Title: The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, Vol. III (of VI), "The Eternal Quest" - The First Complete and Unabridged English Translation, - Illustrated with Old Engravings
Author: Seingalt, Jacques Casanova de
Language: English
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The Complete Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt 1725-1798, VOLUME 3
— THE ETERNAL QUEST


    Complete Set of Six Volumes   

THE COMPLETE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT

1725-1798

VOLUME 3 -- THE ETERNAL QUEST

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 also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and
The Old Testament. D.W.]



CONTENTS


EPISODE 11 -- PARIS AND HOLLAND

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV


EPISODE 12 -- RETURN TO PARIS

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX


EPISODE 13 -- HOLLAND AND GERMANY

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII


EPISODE 14 -- SWITZERLAND

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII


EPISODE 15 -- WITH VOLTAIRE

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI



ILLUSTRATIONS


Cover 3

Titlepage 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 11

Chapter 12



VOLUME 3 -- THE ETERNAL QUEST



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

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

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

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

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.





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