Title: The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, Vol. IV (of VI), "Adventures In The South" - The First Complete and Unabridged English Translation, - Illustrated with Old Engravings
Author: Seingalt, Jacques Casanova de
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, Vol. IV (of VI), "Adventures In The South" - The First Complete and Unabridged English Translation, - Illustrated with Old Engravings" ***


The Complete Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt 1725-1798, VOLUME 4
— ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH


    Complete Set of Six Volumes   

THE COMPLETE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT

1725-1798

VOLUME 4 -- ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH


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


ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH


EPISODE 16 -- DEPART SWITZERLAND

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III


EPISODE 17 -- RETURN TO ITALY

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII


EPISODE 18--RETURN TO NAPLES

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII


EPISODE 19 -- BACK AGAIN TO PARIS

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII


EPISODE 20 -- MILAN

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII



ILLUSTRATIONS


Cover 4

Titlepage 4

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 16

Chapter 16b



VOLUME 4 -- ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH



EPISODE 16 -- DEPART SWITZERLAND



CHAPTER I


     The Door--Keeper's Daughters--The Horoscopes--Mdlle. Roman

The idea of the sorry plight in which I had left the Marquis de Prie,
his mistress, and perhaps all the company, who had undoubtedly coveted
the contents of my cash-box, amused me till I reached Chamberi, where I
only stopped to change horses. When I reached Grenoble, where I intended
to stay a week, I did not find my lodging to my liking, and went in
my carriage to the post-office, where I found several letters, amongst
others, one from Madame d'Urfe, enclosing a letter of introduction to an
officer named Valenglard, who, she told me, was a learned man, and would
present me at all the best houses in the town.

I called on this officer and received a cordial welcome. After reading
Madame d'Urfe's letter he said he was ready to be useful to me in
anything I pleased.

He was an amiable, middle aged man, and fifteen years before had been
Madame d'Urfe's friend, and in a much more intimate degree the friend
of her daughter, the Princess de Toudeville. I told him that I was
uncomfortable at the inn, and that the first service I would ask of him
would be to procure me a comfortable lodging. He rubbed his head, and
said,--

"I think I can get you rooms in a beautiful house, but it is outside the
town walls. The door-keeper is an excellent cook, and for the sake of
doing your cooking I am sure he will lodge you for nothing."

"I don't wish that," said I.

"Don't be afraid," said the baron, "he will make it up by means of his
dishes; and besides, the house is for sale and costs him nothing. Come
and see it."

I took a suite of three rooms and ordered supper for two, warning the
man that I was dainty, liked good things, and did not care for the cost.
I also begged M. de Valenglard to sup with me. The doorkeeper said that
if I was not pleased with his cooking I had only to say so, and in that
case I should have nothing to pay. I sent for my carriage, and felt
that I had established myself in my new abode. On the ground floor I
saw three charming girls and the door-keeper's wife, who all bowed
profoundly. M. de Valenglard took me to a concert with the idea of
introducing me to everybody, but I begged him not to do so, as I wished
to see the ladies before deciding which of them I should like to know.

The company was a numerous one, especially where women were concerned,
but the only one to attract my attention was a pretty and modest-looking
brunette, whose fine figure was dressed with great simplicity.
Her charming eyes, after having thrown one glance in my direction,
obstinately refused to look at me again. My vanity made me conclude at
once that she behaved thus only to increase my desire of knowing her,
and to give me plenty of time to examine her side-face and her figure,
the proportions of which were not concealed by her simple attire.
Success begets assurance, and the wish is father to the thought. I cast
a hungry gaze on this young lady without more ado, just as if all the
women in Europe were only a seraglio kept for my pleasures. I told the
baron I should like to know her.

"She is a good girl," said he, "who sees no company, and is quite poor."

"Those are three reasons which make me the more anxious to know her."

"You will really find nothing to do in that quarter."

"Very good."

"There is her aunt, I will introduce you to her as we leave the
concert-room."

After doing me this service, he came to sup with me. The door-keeper
and cook struck me as being very like Lebel. He made his two pretty
daughters wait on me, and I saw that Valenglard was delighted at having
lodged me to my satisfaction, but he grumbled when he saw fifteen
dishes.

"He is making a fool of you and me," he said.

"On the contrary, he has guessed my tastes. Don't you think everything
was very good?"

"I don't deny it, but . . . . "

"Don't be afraid; I love spending my money."

"I beg your pardon, I only want you to be pleased."

We had exquisite wines, and at dessert some ratafia superior to the
Turkish 'visnat' I had tasted seventeen years before at Yussuf Ali's.
When my landlord came up at the end of supper, I told him that he ought
to be Louis XV.'s head cook.

"Go on as you have begun, and do better if you can; but let me have your
bill every morning."

"You are quite right; with such an arrangement one can tell how one is
getting on."

"I should like you always to give me ices, and you must let me have two
more lights. But, unless I am mistaken, those are candles that I see. I
am a Venetian, and accustomed to wax lights."

"That is your servant's fault, sir."

"How is that?"

"Because, after eating a good supper, he went to bed, saying he was ill.
Thus I heard nothing as to how you liked things done."

"Very good, you shall learn from my own lips."

"He asked my wife to make chocolate for you tomorrow morning; he gave
her the chocolate, I will make it myself."

When he had left the room M. de Valenglard said, in a manner that was
at the same time pleased and surprised, that Madame d'Urfe had been
apparently joking in telling him to spare me all expense.

"It's her goodness of heart. I am obliged to her all the same. She is an
excellent woman."

We stayed at table till eleven o'clock, discussing in numerable
pleasant topics, and animating our talk with that choice liqueur made
at Grenoble, of which we drank a bottle. It is composed of the juice
of cherries, brandy, sugar, and cinnamon, and cannot be surpassed, I am
sure, by the nectar of Olympus.

I sent home the baron in my carriage, after thanking him for his
services, and begging him to be my companion early and late while I
stayed at Grenoble--a re quest which he granted excepting for those days
on which he was on duty. At supper I had given him my bill of exchange
on Zappata, which I endorsed with the name de Seingalt, which Madame
d'Urfe had given me. He discounted it for me next day. A banker brought
me four hundred louis and I had thirteen hundred in my cash-box. I
always had a dread of penuriousness, and I delighted myself at the
thought that M. de Valenglard would write and tell Madame d'Urfe, who
was always preaching economy to me, what he had seen. I escorted my
guest to the carriage, and I was agreeably surprised when I got back to
find the doorkeeper's two charming daughters.

Le Duc had not waited for me to tell him to find some pretext for not
serving me. He knew my tastes, and that when there were pretty girls in
a house, the less I saw of him the better I was pleased.

The frank eagerness of the two girls to wait on me, their utter freedom
from suspicion or coquetry, made me determine that I would shew myself
deserving of their trust. They took off my shoes and stockings, did my
hair and put on my night-gown with perfect propriety on both sides. When
I was in bed I wished them a goodnight, and told them to shut the door
and bring me my chocolate at eight o'clock next morning.

I could not help confessing that I was perfectly happy as I reflected
over my present condition. I enjoyed perfect health, I was in the prime
of life, I had no calls on me, I was thoroughly independent, I had a
rich store of experience, plenty of money, plenty of luck, and I was a
favourite with women. The pains and troubles I had gone through had been
followed by so many days of happiness that I felt disposed to bless my
destiny. Full of these agreeable thoughts I fell asleep, and all the
night my dreams were of happiness and of the pretty brunette who had
played with me at the concert.

I woke with thoughts of her, and feeling sure that we should become
acquainted I felt curious to know what success I should have with her.
She was discreet and poor; and as I was discreet in my own way she ought
not to despise my friendship.

At eight o'clock, one of the door-keeper's daughters brought me my
chocolate, and told me that Le Duc had got the fever.

"You must take care of the poor fellow."

"My cousin has just taken him some broth."

"What is your name?"

"My name is Rose, and my sister is Manon."

Just then Manon came in with my shirt, on which she had put fresh lace.
I thanked her, and she said with a blush that she did her father's hair
very well.

"I am delighted to hear it, and I shall be very pleased if you will be
kind enough to do the same offices for me till my servant recovers."

"With pleasure, sir."

"And I," said Rose, laughing, "will shave you."

"I should like to see how you do it; get the water."

I rose hastily, while Manon was preparing to do my hair. Rose returned
and shaved me admirably. As soon as she had washed off the lather, I
said,

"You must give me a kiss," presenting my cheek to her. She pretended not
to understand.

"I shall be vexed," said I, gravely but pleasantly, "if you refuse to
kiss me."

She begged to be excused, saying with a little smile, that it was not
customary to do so at Grenoble.

"Well, if you won't kiss me, you shan't shave me."

The father came in at that point, bringing his bill.

"Your daughter has just shaved me admirably," said I, "and she refuses
to kiss me, because it is not the custom at Grenoble."

"You little silly," said he, "it is the custom in Paris. You kiss me
fast enough after you have shaved me, why should you be less polite to
this gentleman?"

She then kissed me with an air of submission to the paternal decree
which made Manon laugh.

"Ah!" said the father, "your turn will come when you have finished doing
the gentleman's hair."

He was a cunning fellow, who knew the best way to prevent me cheapening
him, but there was no need, as I thought his charges reasonable, and as
I paid him in full he went off in great glee.

Manon did my hair as well as my dear Dubois, and kissed me when she had
done without making as many difficulties as Rose. I thought I should
get on well with both of them. They went downstairs when the banker was
announced.

He was quite a young man, and after he had counted me out four hundred
Louis, he observed that I must be very comfortable.

"Certainly," said I, "the two sisters are delightful."

"Their cousin is better. They are too discreet."

"I suppose they are well off."

"The father has two thousand francs a year. They will be able to marry
well-to-do tradesmen."

I was curious to see the cousin who was said to be prettier than the
sisters, and as soon as the banker had gone I went downstairs to satisfy
my curiosity. I met the father and asked him which was Le Duc's room,
and thereon I went to see my fine fellow. I found him sitting up in a
comfortable bed with a rubicund face which did not look as if he were
dangerously ill.

"What is the matter with you?

"Nothing, sir. I am having a fine time of it. Yesterday I thought I
would be ill."

"What made you think that?"

"The sight of the three Graces here, who are made of better stuff than
your handsome housekeeper, who would not let me kiss her. They are
making me wait too long for my broth, however. I shall have to speak
severely about it."

"Le Duc, you are a rascal."

"Do you want me to get well?"

"I want you to put a stop to this farce, as I don't like it." Just then
the door opened, and the cousin came in with the broth. I thought her
ravishing, and I noticed that in waiting on Le Duc she had an imperious
little air which well became her.

"I shall dine in bed," said my Spaniard.

"You shall be attended to," said the pretty girl, and she went out.

"She puts on big airs," said Le Duc, "but that does not impose on me.
Don't you think she is very pretty?"

"I think you are very impudent. You ape your betters, and I don't
approve of it. Get up. You must wait on me at table, and afterwards you
will eat your dinner by yourself, and try to get yourself respected as
an honest man always is, whatever his condition, so long as he does
not forget himself. You must not stay any longer in this room, the
doorkeeper will give you another."

I went out, and on meeting the fair cousin I told her that I was jealous
of the honour which she had done my man, and that I begged her to wait
on him no longer.

"Oh, I am very glad!"

The door-keeper came up, and I gave him my orders, and went back to my
room to write.

Before dinner the baron came and told me that he had just come from the
lady to whom he had introduced me. She was the wife of a barrister named
Morin, and aunt to the young lady who had so interested me.

"I have been talking of you," said the baron, "and of the impression her
niece made on you. She promised to send for her, and to keep her at the
house all day."

After a dinner as good as the supper of the night before, though
different from it in its details, and appetising enough to awaken the
dead, we went to see Madame Morin, who received us with the easy grace
of a Parisian lady. She introduced me to seven children, of whom she was
the mother. Her eldest daughter, an ordinary-looking girl, was twelve
years old, but I should have taken her to be fourteen, and said so. To
convince me of her age the mother brought a book in which the year, the
month, the day, the hour, and even the minute of her birth were entered.
I was astonished at such minute accuracy, and asked if she had had a
horoscope drawn.

"No," said she, "I have never found anybody to do it."

"It is never too late," I replied, "and without doubt God has willed
that this pleasure should be reserved for me."

At this moment M. Morin came in, his wife introduced me, and after the
customary compliments had passed, she returned to the subject of the
horoscope. The barrister sensibly observed that if judicial astrology
was not wholly false, it was, nevertheless, a suspected science; that he
had been so foolish as once to devote a considerable portion of his time
to it, but that on recognizing the inability of man to deal with the
future he had abandoned astrology, contenting himself with the veritable
truths of astronomy. I saw with pleasure that I had to deal with a man
of sense and education, but Valenglard, who was a believer in astrology,
began an argument with him on the subject. During their discussion I
quietly copied out on my tablets the date of Mdlle. Morin's birth. But
M. Morin saw what I was about, and shook his head at me, with a smile. I
understood what he meant, but I did not allow that to disconcert me,
as I had made up my mind fully five minutes ago that I would play the
astrologer on this occasion.

At last the fair niece arrived. Her aunt introduced me to her as Mdlle.
Roman Coupier, her sister's daughter; and then, turning to her, she
informed her how ardently I had been longing to know her since I had
seen her at the concert.

She was then seventeen. Her satin skin by its dazzling whiteness
displayed to greater advantage her magnificent black hair. Her features
were perfectly regular, and her complexion had a slight tinge of red;
her fine eyes were at once sweet and sparkling, her eyebrows were well
arched, her mouth small, her teeth regular and as white as pearls, and
her lips, of an exquisite rosy hue, afforded a seat to the deities of
grace and modesty.

After some moments' conversation, M. Morin was obliged to go out on
business, and a game of quadrille was proposed, at which I was greatly
pitied for having lost a louis. I thought Mdlle. Roman discreet,
judicious, pleasant without being brilliant, and, still better, without
any pretensions. She was high-spirited, even-tempered, and had a natural
art which did not allow her to seem to understand too flattering a
compliment, or a joke which passed in any way the bounds of propriety.
She was neatly dressed, but had no ornaments, and nothing which shewed
wealth; neither ear-rings, rings, nor a watch. One might have said that
her beauty was her only adornment, the only ornament she wore being a
small gold cross hanging from her necklace of black ribbon. Her breast
was well shaped and not too large. Fashion and custom made her shew half
of it as innocently as she shewed her plump white hand, or her cheeks,
whereon the lily and the rose were wedded. I looked at her features to
see if I might hope at all; but I was completely puzzled, and could come
to no conclusion. She gave no sign which made me hope, but on the other
hand she did nothing to make me despair. She was so natural and so
reserved that my sagacity was completely at fault. Nevertheless, a
liberty which I took at supper gave me a gleam of hope. Her napkin fell
down, and in returning it to her I pressed her thigh amorously, and
could not detect the slightest displeasure on her features. Content with
so much I begged everybody to come to dinner with me next day, telling
Madame Morin that I should not be going out, and that I was therefore
delighted to put my carriage at her service.

When I had taken Valenglard home, I went to my lodging building castles
in Spain as to the conquest of Mdlle. Roman.

I warned my landlord that we should be six at dinner and supper the
following day, and then I went to bed. As Le Duc was undressing me he
said,

"Sir, you are punishing me, but what makes me sorry you are punishing
yourself in depriving yourself of the services of those pretty girls."

"You are a rogue."

"I know it, but I serve you with all my heart, and I love your pleasure
as well as my own."

"You plead well for yourself; I am afraid I have spoilt you."

"Shall I do your hair to-morrow?"

"No; you may go out every day till dinner-time."

"I shall be certain to catch it."

"Then I shall send you to the hospital."

"That is a fine prospect, 'por Dios'."

He was impudent, sly, profligate, and a rascally fellow; but also
obedient, devoted, discreet, and faithful, and his good qualities made
me overlook his defects.

Next morning, when Rose brought my chocolate, she told me with a laugh
that my man had sent for a carriage, and after dressing himself in the
height of fashion he had gone off with his sword at his side, to pay
calls, as he said.

"We laughed at him."

"You were quite right, my dear Rose."

As I spoke, Manon came in under some pretext or other. I saw that
the two sisters had an understanding never to be alone with me; I was
displeased, but pretended not to notice anything. I got up, and I had
scarcely put on my dressing-gown when the cousin came in with a packet
under her arm.

"I am delighted to see you, and above all to look at your smiling face,
for I thought you much too serious yesterday."

"That's because M. le Duc is a greater gentleman than you are; I should
not have presumed to laugh in his presence; but I had my reward in
seeing him start off this morning in his gilded coach."

"Did he see you laughing at him?"

"Yes, unless he is blind."

"He will be vexed."

"All the better."

"You are really very charming. What have you got in that parcel?"

"Some goods of our own manufacture. Look; they are embroidered gloves."

"They are beautiful; the embroidery is exquisitely done. How much for
the lot?"

"Are you a good hand at a bargain."

"Certainly."

"Then we must take that into account."

After some whisperings together the cousin took a pen, put down the
numbers of gloves, added up and said,

"The lot will cost you two hundred and ten francs."

"There are nine louis; give me six francs change."

"But you told us you would make a bargain."

"You were wrong to believe it."

She blushed and gave me the six francs. Rose and Manon shaved me and
did my hair, giving me a kiss with the best grace imaginable; and when
I offered my cheek to the cousin she kissed me on the mouth in a manner
that told me she would be wholly mine on the first opportunity.

"Shall we have the pleasure of waiting on you at the table?" said Rose.

"I wish you would."

"But we should like to know who is coming to dinner first; as if it is
officers from the garrison we dare not come; they make so free."

"My guests are Madame Morin, her husband, and her niece."

"Very good."

The cousin said, "Mdlle. Roman is the prettiest and the best girl in
Grenoble; but she will find some difficulty in marrying as she has no
money."

"She may meet some rich man who will think her goodness and her beauty
worth a million of money."

"There are not many men of that kind."

"No; but there are a few."

Manon and the cousin went out, and I was left alone with Rose, who
stayed to dress me. I attacked her, but she defended herself so
resolutely that I desisted, and promised it should not occur again. When
she had finished I gave her a louis, thanked her, and sent her away.

As soon as I was alone I locked the door, and proceeded to concoct the
horoscope I had promised to Madame Morin. I found it an easy task to
fill eight pages with learned folly; and I confined myself chiefly to
declaring the events which had already happened to the native. I
had deftly extracted some items of information in the course of
conversation, and filling up the rest according to the laws of
probability and dressing up the whole in astrological diction, I was
pronounced to be a seer, and no doubts were cast on my skill. I did
not indeed run much risk, for everything hung from an if, and in the
judicious employment of ifs lies the secret of all astrology.

I carefully re-read the document, and thought it admirable. I felt in
the vein, and the use of the cabala had made me an expert in this sort
of thing.

Just after noon all my guests arrived, and at one we sat down to table.
I have never seen a more sumptuous or more delicate repast. I saw that
the cook was an artist more in need of restraint than encouragement.
Madame Morin was very polite to the three girls, whom she knew well, and
Le Duc stood behind her chair all the time, looking after her wants, and
dressed as richly as the king's chamberlain. When we had nearly finished
dinner Mdlle. Roman passed a compliment on my three fair waiting-maids,
and this giving me occasion to speak of their talents I got up and
brought the gloves I had purchased from them. Mdlle. Roman praised the
quality of the material and the work. I took the opportunity, and begged
leave of the aunt to give her and her niece a dozen pair apiece. I
obtained this favour, and I then gave Madame Morin the horoscope. Her
husband read it, and though an unbeliever he was forced to admire,
as all the deductions were taken naturally from the position of the
heavenly bodies at the instant of his daughter's birth. We spent a
couple of hours in talking about astrology, and the same time in
playing at quadrille, and then we took a walk in the garden, where I was
politely left to enjoy the society of the fair Roman.

Our dialogue, or rather my monologue, turned solely on the profound
impression she had made on me, on the passion she had inspired, on her
beauty, her goodness, the purity of my intentions, and on my need of
love, lest I should go down to the grave the most hapless of men.

"Sir," said she, at last, "if my destiny points to marriage I do not
deny that I should be happy to find a husband like you."

I was emboldened by this frank declaration, and seizing her hand I
covered it with fiery kisses, saying passionately that I hoped she would
not let me languish long. She turned her head to look for her aunt. It
was getting dark, and she seemed to be afraid of something happening to
her. She drew me gently with her, and on rejoining the other guests we
returned to the dining-room, where I made a small bank at faro for their
amusement. Madame Morin gave her daughter and niece, whose pockets were
empty, some money, and Valenglard directed their play so well that when
we left off to go to supper I had the pleasure of seeing that each of
the three ladies had won two or three louis.

We sat at table till midnight. A cold wind from the Alps stopped my plan
of proposing a short turn in the garden. Madame Morin overwhelmed me
with thanks for my entertainment, and I gave each of my lady-visitors a
respectful kiss.

I heard singing in the kitchen, and on going in I found Le Duc in a high
state of excitement and very drunk. As soon as he saw me he tried
to rise, but he lost his centre of gravity, and fell right under the
kitchen table. He was carried away to bed.

I thought this accident favourable to my desire of amusing myself, and
I might have succeeded if the three Graces had not all been there.
Love only laughs when two are present, and thus it is that the ancient
mythology tells no story of the loves of the Graces, who were always
together. I had not yet found an opportunity of getting my three maids
one after the other, and I dared not risk a general attack, which might
have lost me the confidence of each one. Rose, I saw, was openly jealous
of her cousin, as she kept a keen look-out after her movements. I was
not sorry, for jealousy leads to anger, and anger goes a long way. When
I was in bed I sent them away with a modest good night.

Next morning, Rose came in by herself to ask me for a cake of chocolate,
for, as she said, Le Duc was now ill in real earnest. She brought me the
box, and I gave her the chocolate, and in doing so I took her hand and
shewed her how well I loved her. She was offended, drew back her hand
sharply, and left the room. A moment after Manon came in under the
pretext of shewing me a piece of lace I had torn away in my attempts of
the day before, and of asking me if she should mend it. I took her hand
to kiss it, but she did not give me time, presenting her lips, burning
with desire. I took her hand again, and it was just on the spot when the
cousin came in. Manon held the piece of lace, and seemed to be waiting
for my answer. I told her absently that I should be obliged if she would
mend it when she had time, and with this she went out.

I was troubled by this succession of disasters, and thought that the
cousin would not play me false from the earnest of her affection which
she had given me the day before in that ardent kiss of hers. I begged
her to give me my handkerchief, and gently drew her hand towards me. Her
mouth fastened to mine, and her hand, which she left to my pleasure with
all the gentleness of a lamb, was already in motion when Rose came in
with my chocolate. We regained our composure in a moment, but I was
furious at heart. I scowled at Rose, and I had a right to do so after
the manner in which she had repulsed me a quarter of an hour before.
Though the chocolate was excellent, I pronounced it badly made. I chid
her for her awkwardness in waiting on me, and repulsed her at every
step. When I got up I would not let her shave me; I shaved myself, which
seemed to humiliate her, and then Manon did my hair. Rose and the cousin
then went out, as if to make common cause together, but it was easy to
see that Rose was less angry with her sister than her cousin.

As Manon was finishing my toilette, M. de Valenglard came in. As soon as
we were alone, the officer, who was a man of honour and of much sense,
in spite of his belief in astrology and the occult sciences, said that
he thought me looking rather melancholy, and that if my sadness had any
connection with the fair Roman, he warned me to think no more of her,
unless I had resolved to ask her hand in marriage. I replied that to put
an end to all difficulties I had decided on leaving Grenoble in a few
days. We dined together and we then called on Madame Morin, with whom we
found her fair niece.

Madame Morin gave me a flattering welcome, and Mdlle. Roman received
me so graciously that I was emboldened to kiss her and place her on my
knee. The aunt laughed, the niece blushed, and then slipping into my
hand a little piece of paper made her escape. I read on the paper the
year, day, Hour, and minute of her birth, and guessed what she meant.
She meant, I thought, that I could do nothing with her before I had
drawn up her horoscope. My resolve was soon taken to profit by this
circumstance, and I told her that I would tell her whether I could
oblige her or not next day, if she would come to a ball I was giving.
She looked at her aunt and my invitation was accepted.

Just then the servant announced "The Russian Gentleman." I saw a
well-made man of about my own age, slightly marked with the small-pox,
and dressed as a traveller. He accosted Madame Morin with easy grace,
was welcomed heartily by her, spoke well, scarcely gave me a glance, and
did not say a word to the nieces. In the evening M. Morin came in, and
the Russian gave him a small phial full of a white liquid, and then made
as if he would go, but he was kept to supper.

At table the conversation ran on this marvellous liquid of his. M. Morin
told me that he had cured a young man of a bruise from a billiard ball
in five minutes, by only rubbing it with the liquid. He said modestly
that it was a trifling thing of his own invention, and he talked a good
deal about chemistry to Valenglard. As my attention was taken up by the
fair Mdlle. Roman I could not take part in their conversation; my hope
of succeeding with her on the following day absorbed all my thoughts.
As I was going away with Valenglard he told me that nobody knew who the
Russian was, and that he was nevertheless received everywhere.

"Has he a carriage and servants?"

"He has nothing, no servants and no money."

"Where did he come from?"

"From the skies."

"A fair abode, certainly; how long has he been here?"

"For the last fortnight. He visits, but asks for nothing."

"How does he live?"

"On credit at the inn; he is supposed to be waiting for his carriage and
servants."

"He is probably a vagabond."

"He does not look like one, as you saw for yourself, and his diamonds
contradict that hypothesis."

"Yes, if they are not imitation stones, for it seems to me that if they
were real he would sell them."

When I got home Rose came by herself to attend on me, but she continued
to sulk. I tried to rouse her up, but as I had no success I ordered her
to go and tell her father that I was going to give a ball next day in
the room by the garden, and that supper was to be laid for twenty.

When the door-keeper came to take my orders the following morning, I
told him that I should like his girls to dance if he didn't mind. At
this Rose condescended to smile, and I thought it a good omen. Just as
she went out with her father, Manon came in under the pretext of asking
me what lace I would wear for the day. I found her as gentle as a lamb
and as loving as a dove. The affair was happily consummated, but we had
a narrow escape of being caught by Rose, who came in with Le Duc and
begged me to let him dance, promising that he would behave himself
properly. I was glad that everybody should enjoy themselves and
consented, telling him to thank Rose, who had got him this favour.

I had a note from Madame Morin, asking me if she might bring with her to
the ball two ladies of her acquaintance and their daughters. I replied
that I should be delighted for her to invite not only as many ladies
but as many gentlemen as she pleased, as I had ordered supper for twenty
people. She came to dinner with her niece and Valenglard, her daughter
being busy dressing and her husband being engaged till the evening. She
assured me that I should have plenty of guests.

The fair Mdlle. Roman wore the same dress, but her beauty unadorned was
dazzling. Standing by me she asked if I had thought about her horoscope.
I took her hand, made her sit on my knee, and promised that she should
have it on the morrow. I held her thus, pressing her charming breasts
with my left hand, and imprinting fiery kisses on her lips, which she
only opened to beg me to calm myself. She was more astonished than
afraid to see me trembling, and though she defended herself successfully
she did not lose countenance for a moment, and in spite of my ardent
gaze she did not turn her face away. I calmed myself with an effort, and
her eyes expressed the satisfaction of one who has vanquished a generous
enemy by the force of reason. By my silence I praised the virtue of
this celestial being, in whose destiny I only had a part by one of those
caprices of chance which philosophy seeks to explain in vain.

Madame Morin came up to me, and asked me to explain some points in her
daughter's horoscope. She then told me that if I wanted to have four
beauties at my ball she had only to write a couple of notes.

"I shall only see one beauty," said I, looking at her niece.

"God alone knows," said Valenglard, "what people will say in Grenoble!"

"They will say it is your wedding ball," said Madame Morin to her niece.

"Yes, and they will doubtless talk of my magnificent dress, my lace, and
my diamonds," said the niece, pleasantly.

"They will talk of your beauty, your wit, and your goodness," I replied,
passionately, "goodness which will make your husband a happy man."

There was a silence, because they all thought I was alluding to myself.
I was doing nothing of the sort. I should have been glad to give five
hundred louis for her, but I did not see how the contract was to be
drawn up, and I was not going to throw my money away.

We went to my bedroom, and while Mdlle. Roman was amusing herself with
looking at the jewellry on my toilette-table, her aunt and Valenglard
examined the books on the table by my bedside. I saw Madame Morin going
to the window and looking closely at something she held in her hand. I
remembered I had left out the portrait of the fair nun. I ran to her
and begged her to give me the indecent picture I had so foolishly left
about.

"I don't mind the indecency of it," she said, "but what strikes me is
the exact likeness."

I understood everything, and I shuddered at the carelessness of which I
had been guilty.

"Madam," I said, "that is the portrait of a Venetian, lady, of whom I
was very found."

"I daresay, but it's very curious. These two M's, these cast-off robes
sacrificed to love, everything makes my surprise greater."

"She is a nun and named M---- M----."

"And a Welsh niece of mine at Camberi is also named M---- M----, and
belongs to the same order. Nay, more, she has been at Aix, whence you
have come, to get cured of an illness."

"And this portrait is like her?"

"As one drop of water is like another."

"If you go to Chamberi call on her and say you come from me; you will be
welcome and you will be as much surprised as I am."

"I will do so, after I have been in Italy. However, I will not shew
her this portrait, which would scandalize her; I will put it away
carefully."

"I beg you not to shew it to anyone."

"You may rely on me."

I was in an ecstasy at having put her off so effectually.

At eight o'clock all my guests arrived, and I saw before me all the
fairest ladies and the noblest gentlemen of Grenoble. The only thing
which vexed me was the compliments they lavished on me, as is customary
in the provinces.

I opened the ball with the lady pointed out to me by M. Valenglard, and
then I danced with all the ladies in succession; but my partner in
all the square dances was the fair Mdlle. Roman, who shone from her
simplicity--at least, in my eyes.

After a quadrille, in which I had exerted myself a good deal, I felt hot
and went up to my room to put on a lighter suit, and as I was doing so,
in came the fair cousin, who asked me if I required anything.

"Yes, you, dearest," I replied, going up to her and taking her in my
arms. "Did anyone see you coming in here?"

"No, I came from upstairs, and my cousins are in the dancing-room."

"That is capital. You are fair as Love himself, and this is an excellent
opportunity for skewing you how much I love you."

"Good heavens! What are you doing? Let me go, somebody might come in.
Well, put out the light!"

I put it out, shut the door, and, my head full of Mdlle. Roman, the
cousin found me as ardent as I should have been with that delightful
person. I confess, too, that the door-keeper's niece was well worthy of
being loved on her own merits. I found her perfect, perhaps better
than Mdlle. Roman, a novice, would have been. In spite of my ardour her
passion was soon appeased, and she begged me to let her go, and I did
so; but it was quite time. I wanted to begin over again, but she was
afraid that our absence would be noticed by her two Argus-eyed cousins,
so she kissed me and left the room.

I went back to the ball-room, and we danced on till the king of
door-keepers came to tell us supper was ready.

A collation composed of the luxuries which the season and the country
afforded covered the table; but what pleased the ladies most was the
number and artistic arrangement of the wax lights.

I sat down at a small table with a few of my guests, and I received the
most pressing invitations to spend the autumn in their town. I am sure
that if I had accepted I should have been treated like a prince, for the
nobility of Grenoble bear the highest character for hospitality. I
told them that if it had been possible I should have had the greatest
pleasure in accepting their invitation, and in that case I should
have been delighted to have made the acquaintance of the family of an
illustrious gentleman, a friend of my father's.

"What name is it?" they asked me, altogether.

"Bouchenu de Valbonnais."

"He was my uncle. Ah! sir, you must come and stay with us. You danced
with my daughter. What was your father's name?"

This story, which I invented, and uttered as I was wont, on the spur of
the moment, turned me into a sort of wonder in the eyes of the worthy
people.

After we had laughed, jested, drank, and eaten, we rose from the table
and began to dance anew.

Seeing Madame Morin, her niece, and Valenglard going into the garden, I
followed them, and as we walked in the moonlight I led the fair Mdlle.
Roman through a covered alley; but all my fine speeches were in vain; I
could do nothing. I held her between my arms, I covered her with burning
kisses, but not one did she return to me, and her hands offered a
successful resistance to my hardy attempts. By a sudden effort, however,
I at last attained the porch of the temple of love, and held her in
such a way that further resistance would have been of no avail; but she
stopped me short by saying in a voice which no man of feeling could have
resisted,--

"Be my friend, sir, and not my enemy and the cause of my ruin."

I knelt before her, and taking her hand begged her pardon, swearing not
to renew my attempts. I then rose and asked her to kiss me as a pledge
of her forgiveness. We rejoined her aunt, and returned to the ball-room,
but with all my endeavours I could not regain my calm.

I sat down in a corner of the room, and I asked Rose, who passed by me,
to get me a glass of lemonade. When she brought it she gently chid me
for not having danced with her, her sister, or her cousin.

"It will give people but a poor opinion of our merits."

"I am tired," said I, "but if you will promise to be kind I will dance a
minuet with you."

"What do want me to do?" said she.

"Go into my bedroom and wait for me there in the dark when you see your
sister and your cousin busy dancing."

"And you will only dance with me."

"I swear!"

"Then you will find me in your room."

I found her passionate, and I had full satisfaction. To keep my word
with her I waited for the closing minuet, for having danced with Rose I
felt obliged in common decency to dance with the other two, especially
as I owed them the same debt.

At day-break the ladies began to vanish, and as I put the Morins into my
carriage I told them that I could not have the pleasure of seeing them
again that day, but that if they would come and spend the whole of the
day after with me I would have the horoscope ready.

I went to the kitchen to thank the worthy door-keeper for having made me
cut such a gallant figure, and I found the three nymphs there, filling
their pockets with sweetmeats. He told them, laughing, that as the
master was there they might rob him with a clear conscience, and I
bade them take as much as they would. I informed the door-keeper that I
should not dine till six, and I then went to bed.

I awoke at noon, and feeling myself well rested I set to work at the
horoscope, and I resolved to tell the fair Mdlle. Roman that fortune
awaited her at Paris, where she would become her master's mistress, but
that the monarch must see her before she had attained her eighteenth
year, as at that time her destiny would take a different turn. To give
my prophecy authority, I told her some curious circumstances which had
hitherto happened to her, and which I had learnt now and again from
herself or Madame Morin without pretending to heed what they said.

With an Ephemeris and another astrological book, I made out and copied
in six hours Mdlle. Roman's horoscope, and I had so well arranged it
that it struck Valenglard and even M. Morin with astonishment, and made
the two ladies quite enthusiastic.

My horoscope must only be known to the young lady and her family, who
would no doubt keep the secret well. After I had put the finishing
touches to it, read it, and read it again, I felt certain that I had
made a masterpiece, and I then dined in bed with my three nymphs. I was
polite and affectionate to them all, and we were all happy together, but
I was the happiest. M. de Valenglard came to see me early the next day,
and informed me that nobody suspected me of being in love with Mdlle.
Roman, but that I was thought to be amorous of my landlord's girls.

"Well, let them think so," said I; "they are worthy of love, though not
to be named in the same breath with one past compare, but who leaves me
no hope."

"Let me tell Madame d'Urfe all about it."

"Certainly; I shall be delighted."

M. and Madame Morin and their niece came at noon, and we spent the
hour before dinner in reading the horoscope. It would be impossible to
describe the four distinct sorts of surprise which I saw before me. The
interesting Mdlle. Roman looked very grave, and, not knowing whether she
had a will of her own, listened to what was said in silence. M. Morin
looked at me now and again, and seeing that I kept a serious countenance
did not dare to laugh. Valenglard shewed fanatic belief in astrology in
every feature. Madame Morin seemed struck as by a miracle, and, far from
thinking the fact prophesied too improbable, remarked that her niece was
much more worthy of becoming her sovereign's wife or mistress than the
bigoted Maintenon had been.

"She would never have done anything," said Madame Morin, "if she had not
left America and come to France; and if my niece does not go to Paris
nobody can say that the horoscope has prophesied falsely. We should
therefore--go to Paris, but how is it to be done? I don't see my way
to it. The prediction of the birth of a son has something divine and
entrancing about it. I don't wish to seem prejudiced, but my niece has
certainly more qualifications for gaining the king's affection than the
Maintenon had: my niece is a good girl and young, while the Maintenon
was no longer as young as she had been, and had led a strange life
before she became a devotee. But we shall never accomplish this journey
to Paris."

"Nay," said Valenglard, in a serious tone, which struck me as supremely
ridiculous, "she must go; her fate must be fulfilled."

The fair Mdlle. Roman seemed all amazed. I let them talk on, and we sat
down to dinner.

[The next two paragraphs were misplaced in the original, likely by the
typesetter, and have been inserted here where it seems that they belong.
D.W.]

I hoped I should be asked to take the diamond to Paris myself, and I
felt inclined to grant the request. I flattered myself that they could
not do without me, and that I should get what I wanted, if not for love
at any rate through gratitude; indeed, who knew what might become of the
plan? The monarch would be sure to be caught directly. I had no doubts
on that subject, for where is the man in love who does not think that
his beloved object will win the hearts of all others? For the moment I
felt quite jealous of the king, but, from my thorough knowledge of my
own inconstancy, I felt sure that my jealousy would cease when my love
had been rewarded, and I was aware that Louis XV. did not altogether
hold the opinions of a Turk in such concerns. What gave an almost divine
character to the horoscope was the prediction of a son to be born, who
would make the happiness of France, and could only come from the royal
blood and from a singular vessel of election.

A curious fancy increased my delight, namely, the thought of becoming
a famous astrologer in an age when reason and science had so justly
demolished astrology. I enjoyed the thought of seeing myself sought out
by crowned heads, which are always the more accessible to superstitious
notions. I determined I would be particular to whom I gave my advice.
Who has not made his castles in Spain? If Mdlle. Roman gave birth to a
daughter instead of a son I should be amused, and all would not be lost,
for a son might come afterwards.

At first silence reigned, and then the conversation ran on a thousand
trifles, as is usual in good society, but by degrees, as I had thought,
they returned to the horoscope.

"According to the horoscope," said the aunt, "the king is to fall in
love with my niece in her eighteenth year; she is now close on it. What
are we to do? Where are we to get the hundred louis necessary? And when
she gets to Paris is she to go to the king and say, 'Here I am, your
majesty'? And who is going to take her there? I can't."

"My aunt Roman might," said the young lady, blushing up to her eyes at
the roar of laughter which none of us could restrain.

"Well," said Madame Morin, "there is Madame Varnier, of the Rue de
Richelieu; she is an aunt of yours. She has a good establishment, and
knows everybody."

"See," said Valenglard, "how the ways of destiny are made plain. You
talk of a hundred louis; twelve will be sufficient to take you to Madame
Varnier's. When you get there, leave the rest to your fate, which will
surely favour you."

"If you do go to Paris," said I, "say nothing to Madame Roman or Madame
Varnier about the horoscope."

"I will say nothing to anyone about it; but, after all, it is only a
happy dream. I shall never see Paris, still less Louis XV."

I arose, and going to my cash-box I took out a roll of a hundred and
fifty louis, which I gave to her, saying it was a packet of sweetmeats.
It felt rather heavy, and on opening it she found it to contain fifty
pieces-of-eight, which she took for medals.

"They are gold," said Valenglard.

"And the goldsmith will give you a hundred and fifty louis for them,"
added M. Morin.

"I beg you will keep them; you can give me a bill payable at Paris when
you become rich."

I knew she would refuse to accept my present, although I should have
been delighted if she had kept the money. But I admired her strength of
mind in restraining her tears, and that without disturbing for a moment
the smile on her face.

We went out to take a turn in the garden. Valenglard and Madame Morin
began on the topic of the horoscope anew, and I left them, taking Mdlle.
Roman with me.

"I wish you would tell me," said she, when we were out of hearing of the
others, "if this horoscope is not all a joke."

"No," I answered, "it is quite serious, but it all depends on an if. If
you do not go to Paris the prophecy will never be fulfilled."

"You must think so, certainly, or you would never have offered me those
fifty medals."

"Do me the pleasure of accepting them now; nobody will know anything
about it."

"No, I cannot, though I am much obliged to you. But why should you want
to give me such a large sum?"

"For the pleasure of contributing to your happiness, and in the hope
that you will allow me to love you."

"If you really love met why should I oppose your love? You need not buy
my consent; and to be happy I do not want to possess the King of France,
if you did but know to what my desires are limited."

"Tell me."

"I would fain find a kind husband, rich enough for us not to lack the
necessaries of life."

"But how if you did not love him?"

"If he was a good, kind man how could I help loving him?"

"I see that you do not know what love is."

"You are right. I do not know the love that maddens, and I thank God for
it."

"Well, I think you are wise; may God preserve you from that love."

"You say, that as soon as the king sees me he will fall in love with
me, and to tell you the truth that strikes me as vastly improbable; for
though it is quite possible that he may not think me plain, or he might
even pronounce me pretty, yet I do not think he will become so madly in
love as you say."

"You don't? Let us sit down. You have only got to fancy that the king
will take the same liking to you that I have done; that is all."

"But what do you find in me that you will not find in most girls of my
age? I certainly may have struck you; but that only proves that I was
born to exercise this sway over you, and not at all that I am to rule
the king in like manner. Why should I go and look for the king, if you
love me yourself?"

"Because I cannot give you the position you deserve."

"I should have thought you had plenty of money."

"Then there's another reason: you are not in love with me."

"I love you as tenderly as if I were your wife. I might then kiss you,
though duty now forbids my doing so."

"I am much obliged to you for not being angry with me for being so happy
with you!"

"On the contrary, I am delighted to please you."

"Then you will allow me to call on you at an early hour to-morrow, and
to take coffee at your bedside."

"Do not dream of such a thing. If I would I could not. I sleep with my
aunt, and I always rise at the same time she does. Take away your hand;
you promised not to do it again. In God's name, let me alone."

Alas! I had to stop; there was no overcoming her. But what pleased me
extremely was that in spite of my amorous persecution she did not lose
that smiling calm which so became her. As for myself I looked as if I
deserved that pardon for which I pleaded on my knees, and in her eyes I
read that she was sorry that she could not grant what I required of her.

I could no longer stay beside her, my senses were too excited by her
beauty. I left her and went to my room where I found the kind Manon
busying herself on my cuffs, and she gave me the relief I wanted, and
when we were both satisfied made her escape. I reflected that I should
never obtain more than I had obtained hitherto from young Mdlle.
Roman--at least, unless I gave the lie to my horoscope by marrying her,
and I decided that I would not take any further steps in the matter. I
returned to the garden, and going up to the aunt I begged her to walk
with me. In vain I urged the worthy woman to accept a hundred louis for
her niece's journey from me. I swore to her by all I held sacred that no
one else should ever know of the circumstance. All my eloquence and all
my prayers were in vain. She told me that if her niece's destiny only
depended on that journey all would be well, for she had thought over a
plan which would, with her husband's consent, enable Mdlle. Roman to go
to Paris. At the same time she gave me her sincerest thanks, and said
that her niece was very fortunate to have pleased me so well.

"She pleased me so well," I replied, "that I have resolved to go away
to-morrow to avoid making proposals to you which would bring the great
fortune that awaits her to nought. If it were not for that I should have
been happy to have asked her hand of you."

"Alas! her happiness would, perhaps, be built on a better foundation.
Explain yourself."

"I dare not wage war with fate."

"But you are not going to-morrow?"

"Excuse me, but I shall call to take leave at two o'clock."

The news of my approaching departure saddened the supper-table. Madame
Morin, who, for all I know, may be alive now, was a most kind-hearted
woman. At table she announced her resolve that as I had decided on
going, and as I should only leave my house to take leave of her, she
would not force me to put myself out to such an extent, and ordained
that our farewells should be said that evening.

"At least," I said, "I may have the honour of escorting you to your
door?"

"That will protract our happiness for some minutes." Valenglard went
away on foot, and the fair Mdlle. Roman sat on my knee. I dared to be
bold with her, and contrary to expectation she shewed herself so kind
that I was half sorry I was going; but the die was cast.

A carriage lying overturned on the road outside an inn made my coachman
stop a short while, and this accident which made the poor driver curse
overwhelmed me with joy, for in these few moments I obtained all the
favours that she could possibly give under the circumstances.

Happiness enjoyed alone is never complete. Mine was not until I assured
myself, by looking at my sweetheart's features, that the part she had
taken had not been an entirely passive one; and I escorted the ladies to
their room. There, without any conceit, I was certain that I saw sadness
and love upon that fair creature's face. I could see that she was
neither cold nor insensible, and that the obstacles she had put in
my way were only suggested by fear and virtue. I gave Madame Morin a
farewell kiss, and she was kind enough to tell her niece to give me a
similar mark of friendship, which she did in a way that shewed me how
completely she had shared my ardour.

I left them, feeling amorous and sorry I had obliged myself to go. On
entering my room I found the three nymphs together, which vexed me as
I only wanted one. I whispered my wishes to Rose as she curled my hair,
but she told me it was impossible for her to slip away as they all slept
in one room. I then told them that I was going away the next day, and
that if they would pass the night with me I would give them a present
of six louis each. They laughed at my proposal and said it couldn't
possibly be done. I saw by this they had not made confidantes of one
another, as girls mostly do, and I also saw that they were jealous of
each other. I wished them a good night, and as soon as I was in bed the
god of dreams took me under his care, and made me pass the night with
the adorable Mdlle. Roman.

I rang rather late in the morning, and the cousin came in and said that
Rose would bring my chocolate, and that M. Charles Ivanoff wanted to
speak to me. I guessed that this was the Russian, but as he had not been
introduced to me I thought I might decline to see him.

"Tell him I don't know his name."

Rose went out, and came in again saying he was the gentleman who had had
the honour of supping with me at Madame Morin's.

"Tell him to come in."

"Sir," said he, "I want to speak with you in private."

"I cannot order these young ladies to leave my room, sir. Be kind enough
to wait for me outside till I have put on my dressing-gown, and then I
shall be ready to speak to you."

"If I am troubling you, I will call again to-morrow."

"You would not find me, as I am leaving Grenoble to-day."

"In that case I will wait."

I got up in haste and went out to him.

"Sir," said he, "I must leave this place, and I have not a penny to pay
my landlord. I beg of you to come to my aid. I dare not have recourse to
anyone else in the town for fear of exposing myself to the insult of a
refusal."

"Perhaps I ought to feel myself flattered at the preference you have
shewn me, but without wishing to insult you in any way I am afraid I
shall be obliged to refuse your request."

"If you knew who I am I am sure you would not refuse me some small
help."

"If you think so, tell me who you are; you may count on my silence."

"I am Charles, second son of Ivan, Duke of Courland, who is in exile in
Siberia. I made my escape."

"If you go to Genoa you will find yourself beyond the reach of poverty;
for no doubt the brother of your lady-mother would never abandon you."

"He died in Silesia."

"When?"

"Two years ago, I believe."

"You have been deceived, for I saw him at Stuttgart scarcely six months
ago. He is the Baron de Treiden."

It did not cost me much to get wind of the adventurer, but I felt angry
that he had had the impudence to try and dupe me. If it had not been for
that I would willingly have given him six louis, for it would have been
bad form on my part to declare war against adventurers, as I was one
myself, and I ought to have pardoned his lies as nearly all adventurers
are more or less impostors. I gave a glance at his diamond buckles,
which were considered real at Grenoble, and I saw directly that they
were counterfeits of a kind made in Venice, which imitate the facets
of the diamonds in perfection, except to people who are experienced in
diamonds.

"You have diamond buckles," said I. "Why don't you sell them?"

"It's the last piece of jewellery I possess out of all my mother gave
me, and I promised her never to part with them."

"I would not shew those buckles if I were you; your pocket would be a
better place for them. I may tell you frankly that I believe the stones
to be counterfeit, and that your lie displeases me."

"Sir, I am not a liar."

"We shall see. Prove that the stones are genuine, and I will give you
six louis. I shall be delighted if I am in the wrong. Farewell."

Seeing M. de Valerlglard coming up to my door, he begged me not to tell
him of what had passed between us; and I promised that I would tell no
one.

Valenglard came to wish me a prosperous journey; he himself was obliged
to go with M. Monteinard. He begged me to correspond constantly with
him, and I had been intending to prefer the same request, as I took too
great an interest in the fair Mdlle. Roman not to wish to hear of her
fate, and the correspondence the worthy officer desired was the best way
possible for me to hear about her. As will be imagined, I promised what
he asked without making any difficulty. He shed tears as he embraced me,
and I promised to be his friend.



CHAPTER II


     My Departure from Grenoble--Avignon--The Fountain of
     Vaucluse--The False Astrodi and the Humpback--Gaetan Costa--
     I Arrive at Marseilles

While the three girls were helping Le Duc to pack my mails my landlord
entered, gave me his bill, and finding everything correct I paid him,
much to his satisfaction. I owed him a compliment, too, at which he
seemed extremely gratified.

"Sir," said I, "I do not wish to leave your house without having
the pleasure of dining with your charming girls, to shew them how I
appreciate the care they have taken of me. Let me have, then, a delicate
repast for four, and also order post horses, that I may start in the
evening."

"Sir," broke in Le Duc, "I entreat you to order a saddle-horse besides;
I was not made for a seat behind a chaise."

The cousin laughed openly at his vain boasting, and to avenge himself
the rascal told her that he was better than she.

"Nevertheless, M. le Duc, you will have to wait on her at table."

"Yes, as she waits on you in bed."

I ran for my stick, but the rogue, knowing what was going to happen,
opened the window and jumped into the courtyard. The girls gave a
shriek of terror, but when we looked out we saw him jumping about and
performing a thousand apish tricks.

Very glad to find that he had not broken a limb, I called out, "Come
back, I forgive you." The girls, and the man himself who escaped
so readily, were as delighted as I. Le Duc came in in high spirits,
observing that he did not know he was such a good jumper.

"Very good, but don't be so impudent another time. Here, take this
watch."

So saying, I gave him a valuable gold watch, which he received,
saying,--

"I would jump again for another watch like this."

Such was my Spaniard, whom I had to dismiss two years afterwards. I have
often missed him.

The hours went by with such speed when I was seated at table with the
three girls, whom I vainly endeavoured to intoxicate, that I decided
that I would not leave till the next day. I was tired of making
mysteries and wanted to enjoy them all together, and resolved that the
orgy should take place that night. I told them that if they would pass
the night in my room I would not go till the next day. This proposition
was received with a storm of exclamations and with laughter, as at an
impossibility, while I endeavoured to excite them to grant my request.
In the midst of this the door-keeper came in, advising me not to travel
by night, but to go to Avignon by a boat in which I could ship my
carriage.

"You will save time and money," said he.

"I will do so," I answered, "if these girls of yours will keep me
company all night, as I am determined I will not go to bed."

"O Lord!" said he with a laugh, "that's their business."

This decided them and they gave in. The door-keeper sent to order the
boat, and promised to let me have a dainty supper by midnight.

The hours passed by in jests and merriment, and when we sat down to
supper I made the champagne corks fly to such an extent that the girls
began to get rather gay. I myself felt a little heated, and as I held
each one's secret I had the hardihood to tell them that their scruples
were ridiculous, as each of them had shewn no reserve to me in private.

At this they gazed at one another in a kind of blank surprise, as if
indignant at what I had said. Foreseeing that feminine pride might
prompt them to treat my accusation as an idle calumny, I resolved not to
give them time, and drawing Manon on to my knee I embraced her with such
ardour that she gave in and abandoned herself to my passion. Her example
overcame the others, and for five hours we indulged in every kind of
voluptuous enjoyment. At the end of that time we were all in need of
rest, but I had to go. I wanted to give them some jewels, but they said
they would rather I ordered gloves to the amount of thirty louis, the
money to be paid in advance, and the gloves not to be called for.

I went to sleep on board the boat, and did not awake till we got to
Avignon. I was conducted to the inn of "St. Omen" and supped in my room
in spite of the marvellous tales which Le Duc told me of a young beauty
at the public table.

Next morning my Spaniard told me that the beauty and her husband slept
in a room next to mine. At the same time he brought me a bill of the
play, and I saw Company from Paris, with Mdlle. Astrodi, who was to sing
and dance. I gave a cry of wonder, and exclaimed,--

"The famous Astrodi at Avignon--how she will be astonished to see me!"

Not wanting to live in hermit fashion, I went downstairs to dine at
the public table, and I found a score of people sitting down to such a
choice repast that I could not conceive how it could be done for forty
sous a head. The fair stranger drew all eyes, and especially mine,
towards her. She was a young and perfect beauty, silent, her eyes fixed
on a napkin, replying in monosyllables to those who addressed her, and
glancing at the speaker with large blue eyes, the beauty of which it
would be difficult to describe. Her husband was seated at the other
end of the table--a man of a kind that inspires contempt at the first
glance. He was young, marked with the small-pox, a greedy eater, a loud
talker, laughing and speaking at random, and altogether I took him for a
servant in disguise. Feeling sure that such a fellow did not know how to
refuse, I sent him a glass of champagne, which he drank off to my health
forthwith. "May I have the pleasure of sending a glass to your wife?" He
replied, with a roar of laughter, to ask her myself; and with a slight
bow she told me that she never took anything to drink. When the dessert
came in she rose, and her husband followed her to their room.

A stranger who like myself had never seen her before, asked me who she
was. I said I was a newcomer and did not know, and somebody else said
that her husband called himself the Chevalier Stuard, that he came from
Lyons, and was going to Marseilles; he came, it appeared, to Avignon a
week ago, without servants, and in a very poor carriage.

I intended staying at Avignon only as long as might be necessary to see
the Fountain or Fall of Vaucluse, and so I had not got any letters of
introduction, and had not the pretext of acquaintance that I might stay
and enjoy her fine eyes. But an Italian who had read and enjoyed the
divine Petrarch would naturally wish to see the place made divine by
the poet's love for Laura. I went to the theatre, where I saw the
vice-legate Salviati, women of fashion, neither fair nor foul, and a
wretched comic opera; but I neither saw Astrodi nor any other actor from
the Comedie Italienne at Paris.

"Where is the famous Astrodi?" said I, to a young man sitting by me, "I
have not seen her yet."

"Excuse me, she has danced and sang before your eyes."

"By Jove, it's impossible! I know her perfectly, and if she has so
changed as not to be recognized she is no longer herself."

I turned to go, and two minutes after the young man I had addressed
came up and begged me to come back, and he would take me to Astradi's
dressing-room, as she had recognized me. I followed him without saying a
word, and saw a plain-looking girl, who threw her arms round my neck and
addressed me by my name, though I could have sworn I had never seen her
before, but she did not leave me time to speak. Close by I saw a man who
gave himself out as the father of the famous Astrodi, who was known to
all Paris, who had caused the death of the Comte d'Egmont, one of the
most amiable noblemen of the Court of Louis XV. I thought this ugly
female might be her sister, so I sat down and complimented her on her
talents. She asked if I would mind her changing her dress; and in a
moment she was running here and there, laughing and shewing a liberality
which possibly might have been absent if what she had to display had
been worth seeing.

I laughed internally at her wiles, for after my experiences at Grenoble
she would have found it a hard task to arouse my desires if she had been
as pretty as she was ugly. Her thinness and her tawny skin could not
divert my attention from other still less pleasing features about her.
I admired her confidence in spite of her disadvantages. She must have
credited me with a diabolic appetite, but these women often contrive
to extract charms out of their depravity which their delicacy would be
impotent to furnish. She begged me to sup with her, and as she persisted
I was obliged to refuse her in a way I should not have allowed myself
to use with any other woman. She then begged me to take four tickets
for the play the next day, which was to be for her benefit. I saw it
was only a matter of twelve francs, and delighted to be quit of her so
cheaply I told her to give me sixteen. I thought she would have gone mad
with joy when I gave her a double louis. She was not the real Astrodi. I
went back to my inn and had a delicious supper in my own room.

While Le Duc was doing my hair before I went to bed, he told me that the
landlord had paid a visit to the fair stranger and her husband before
supper, and had said in clear terms that he must be paid next morning;
and if he were not, no place would be laid for them at table, and their
linen would be detained.

"Who told you that?"

"I heard it from here; their room is only separated from this by a
wooden partition. If they were in it now, I am sure they could hear all
we are saying."

"Where are they, then?"

"At table, where they are eating for to-morrow, but the lady is crying.
There's a fine chance for you, sir."

"Be quiet; I shan't have anything to do with it. It's a trap, for a
woman of any worth would die rather than weep at a public table."

"Ah, if you saw how pretty she looks in tears! I am only a poor devil,
but I would willingly give her two louis if she would earn them."

"Go and offer her the money."

A moment after the gentleman and his wife came back to their room, and I
heard the loud voice of the one and the sobs of the other, but as he was
speaking Walloon I did not understand what he said.

"Go to bed," said I to Le Duc, "and next morning tell the landlord to
get me another room, for a wooden partition is too thin a barrier to
keep off people whom despair drive to extremities."

I went to bed myself, and the sobs and muttering did not die away till
midnight.

I was shaving next morning, when Le Duc announced the Chevalier Stuard.

"Say I don't know anybody of that name."

He executed my orders, and returned saying that the chevalier on hearing
my refusal to see him had stamped with rage, gone into his chamber, and
come out again with his sword beside him.

"I am going to see," added Le Duc, "that your pistols are well primed
for the future."

I felt inclined to laugh, but none the less I admired the foresight of
my Spaniard, for a man in despair is capable of anything.

"Go," said I, "and ask the landlord to give me another room."

In due course the landlord came himself and told me that he could not
oblige me until the next day.

"If you don't get me another room I shall leave your house on the spot,
because I don't like hearing sobs and reproaches all night."

"Can you hear them, sir?"

"You can hear them yourself now. What do you think of it? The woman will
kill herself, and you will be the cause of her death."

"I, sir? I have only asked them to pay me my just debts."

"Hush! there goes the husband. I am sure he is telling his wife in his
language that you are an unfeeling monster."

"He may tell her what he likes so long as he pays me."

"You have condemned them to die of hunger. How much do they owe you?"

"Fifty francs."

"Aren't you ashamed of making such a row for a wretched sum like that?"

"Sir, I am only ashamed of an ill deed, and I do not commit such a deed
in asking for my own."

"There's your money. Go and tell them that you have been paid, and that
they may eat again; but don't say who gave you the money."

"That's what I call a good action," said the fellow; and he went and
told them that they did not owe him anything, but that they would never
know who paid the money.

"You may dine and sup," he added, "at the public table, but you must pay
me day by day."

After he had delivered this speech in a high voice, so that I could hear
as well as if I had been in the room, he came back to me.

"You stupid fool!" said I, pushing him away, "they will know
everything." So saying I shut my door.

Le Duc stood in front of me, staring stupidly before him.

"What's the matter with you, idiot?" said I.

"That's fine. I see. I am going on the stage. You would do well to
become an actor."

"You are a fool."

"Not so big a fool as you think."

"I am going for a walk; mind you don't leave my room for a moment."

I had scarcely shut the door when the chevalier accosted me and
overwhelmed me with thanks.

"Sir, I don't know to what you are referring."

He thanked me again and left me, and walking by the banks of the Rhone,
which geographers say is the most rapid river in Europe, I amused myself
by looking at the ancient bridge. At dinner-time I went back to the inn,
and as the landlord knew that I paid six francs a meal he treated me
to an exquisite repast. Here, I remember, I had some exceedingly choice
Hermitage. It was so delicious that I drank nothing else. I wished to
make a pilgrimage to Vaucluse and begged the landlord to procure me a
good guide, and after I had dressed I went to the theatre.

I found the Astrodi at the door, and giving her my sixteen tickets, I
sat down near the box of the vice-legate Salviati, who came in a little
later, surrounded by a numerous train of ladies and gentlemen bedizened
with orders and gold lace.

The so-called father of the false Astrodi came and whispered that his
daughter begged me to say that she was the celebrated Astrodi I had
known at Paris. I replied, also in a whisper, that I would not run the
risk of being posted as a liar by bolstering up an imposture. The
ease with which a rogue invites a gentleman to share in a knavery is
astonishing; he must think his confidence confers an honour.

At the end of the first act a score of lackeys in the prince's livery
took round ices to the front boxes. I thought it my duty to refuse.
A young gentleman, as fair as love, came up to me, and with easy
politeness asked me why I had refused an ice.

"Not having the honour to know anyone here, I did not care that anyone
should be able to say that he had regaled one who was unknown to him."

"But you, sir, are a man who needs no introduction."

"You do me too much honour."

"You are staying at the 'St. Omer'!"

"Yes; I am only stopping here to see Vaucluse, where I think of going
to-morrow if I can get a good guide."

"If you would do me the honour of accepting me, I should be delighted.
My name is Dolci, I am son of the captain of the vice-legate's guard."

"I feel the honour you do me, and I accept your obliging offer. I will
put off my start till your arrival."

"I will be with you at seven."

I was astonished at the easy grace of this young Adonis, who might
have been a pretty girl if the tone of his voice had not announced his
manhood. I laughed at the false Astrodi, whose acting was as poor as
her face, and who kept staring at me all the time. While she sang she
regarded me with a smile and gave me signs of an understanding, which
must have made the audience notice me, and doubtless pity my bad taste.
The voice and eyes of one actress pleased me; she was young and tall,
but hunchbacked to an extraordinary degree. She was tall in spite of her
enormous humps, and if it had not been for this malformation she would
have been six feet high. Besides her pleasing eyes and very tolerable
voice I fancied that, like all hunchbacks, she was intelligent. I found
her at the door with the ugly Astrodi when I was leaving the theatre.
The latter was waiting to thank me, and the other was selling tickets
for her benefit.

After the Astrodi had thanked me, the hunchbacked girl turned towards
me, and with a smile that stretched from ear to ear and displayed at
least twenty-four exquisite teeth, she said that she hoped I would
honour her by being present at her benefit.

"If I don't leave before it comes off, I will," I replied.

At this the impudent Astrodi laughed, and in the hearing of several
ladies waiting for their carriages told me that her friend might be sure
of my presence, as she would not let me go before the benefit night.
"Give him sixteen tickets," she added. I was ashamed to refuse, and gave
her two louis. Then in a lower voice the Astrodi said, "After the show
we will come and sup with you, but on the condition that you ask nobody
else, as we want to be alone."

In spite of a feeling of anger, I thought that such a supper-party would
be amusing, and as no one in the town knew me I resolved to stay in the
hope of enjoying a hearty laugh.

I was having my supper when Stuard and his wife went to their room.
This night I heard no sobs nor reproaches, but early next morning I was
surprised to see the chevalier who said, as if we had been old friends,
that he had heard that I was going to Vaucluse, and that as I had taken
a carriage with four places he would be much obliged if I would allow
him and his wife, who wanted to see the fountain, to go with me. I
consented.

Le Duc begged to be allowed to accompany me on horseback, saying that he
had been a true prophet. In fact it seemed as if the couple had agreed
to repay me for my expenditure by giving me new hopes. I was not
displeased with the expedition, and it was all to my advantage, as I had
had recourse to no stratagems to obtain it.

Dolci came, looking as handsome as an angel; my neighbours were ready,
and the carriage loaded with the best provisions in food and drink that
were obtainable; and we set off, Dolci seated beside the lady and I
beside the chevalier.

I had thought that the lady's sadness would give place, if not to
gaiety, at least to a quiet cheerfulness, but I was mistaken; for, to
all my remarks, grave or gay, she replied, either in monosyllables or
in a severely laconic style. Poor Dolci, who was full of wit, was
stupefied. He thought himself the cause of her melancholy, and was
angry with himself for having innocently cast a shadow on the party
of pleasure. I relieved him of his fears by telling him that when he
offered me his pleasant society I was not aware that I was to be of
service to the fair lady. I added that when at day-break I received this
information, I was pleased that he would have such good company. The
lady did not say a word. She kept silent and gloomy all the time, and
gazed to right and left like one who does not see what is before his
[her] eyes.

Dolci felt at ease after my explanation, and did his best to arouse
the lady, but without success. He talked on a variety of topics to the
husband, always giving her an opportunity of joining in, but her lips
remained motionless. She looked like the statue of Pandora before it had
been quickened by the divine flame.

The beauty of her face was perfect; her eyes were of a brilliant blue,
her complexion a delicate mixture of white and red, her arms were as
rounded as a Grace's, her hands plump and well shaped, her figure was
that of a nymph's, giving delightful hints of a magnificent breast; her
hair was a chestnut brown, her foot small: she had all that constitutes
a beautiful woman save that gift of intellect, which makes beauty more
beautiful, and gives a charm to ugliness itself. My vagrant fancy shewed
me her naked form, all seemed ravishing, and yet I thought that though
she might inspire a passing fancy she could not arouse a durable
affection. She might minister to a man's pleasures, she could not make
him happy. I arrived at the isle resolved to trouble myself about her no
more; she might, I thought, be mad, or in despair at finding herself in
the power of a man whom she could not possibly love. I could not help
pitying her, and yet I could not forgive her for consenting to be of a
party which she knew she must spoil by her morose behaviour.

As for the self-styled Chevalier Stuard, I did not trouble my
head whether he were her husband or her lover. He was young,
commonplace-looking, he spoke affectedly; his manners were not good, and
his conversation betrayed both ignorance and stupidity. He was a beggar,
devoid of money and wits, and I could not make out why he took with him
a beauty who, unless she were over-kind, could add nothing to his means
of living. Perhaps he expected to live at the expense of simpletons, and
had come to the conclusion, in spite of his ignorance, that the world
is full of such; however, experience must have taught him that this plan
cannot be relied on.

When we got to Vaucluse I let Dolci lead; he had been there a hundred
times, and his merit was enhanced in my eyes by the fact that he was a
lover of the lover of Laura. We left the carriage at Apt, and wended our
way to the fountain which was honoured that day with a numerous throng
of pilgrims. The stream pours forth from a vast cavern, the handiwork of
nature, inimitable by man. It is situated at the foot of a rock with a
sheer descent of more than a hundred feet. The cavern is hardly half
as high, and the water pours forth from it in such abundance that it
deserves the name of river at its source. It is the Sorgue which falls
into the Rhone near Avignon. There is no other stream as pure and clear,
for the rocks over which it flows harbour no deposits of any kind. Those
who dislike it on account of its apparent blackness should remember that
the extreme darkness of the cavern gives it that gloomy tinge.


     Chiare fresche a dolce aque
     Ove le belle membra
     Pose colei the sola a me pay donna.

I wished to ascend to that part of the rock where Petrarch's house
stood. I gazed on the remains with tears in my eyes, like Leo Allatius
at Homer's grave. Sixteen years later I slept at Arqua, where Petrarch
died, and his house still remains. The likeness between the two
situations was astonishing, for from Petrarch's study at Arqua a rock
can be seen similar to that which may be viewed at Vaucluse; this was
the residence of Madonna Laura.

"Let us go there," said I, "it is not far off."

I will not endeavour to delineate my feelings as I contemplated the
ruins of the house where dwelt the lady whom the amorous Petrarch
immortalised in his verse--verse made to move a heart of stone:


     "Morte bella parea nel suo bel viso"

I threw myself with arms outstretched upon the ground as if I would
embrace the very stones. I kissed them, I watered them with my tears, I
strove to breathe the holy breath they once contained. I begged Madame
Stuard's pardon for having left her arm to do homage to the spirit of a
woman who had quickened the profoundest soul that ever lived.

I say soul advisedly, for after all the body and the senses had nothing
to do with the connection.

"Four hundred years have past and gone," said I to the statue of a
woman who gazed at me in astonishment, "since Laura de Sade walked here;
perhaps she was not as handsome as you, but she was lively, kindly,
polite, and good of heart. May this air which she breathed and which
you breathe now kindle in you the spark of fire divine; that fire that
coursed through her veins, and made her heart beat and her bosom swell.
Then you would win the worship of all worthy men, and from none would
you receive the least offence. Gladness, madam, is the lot of the happy,
and sadness the portion of souls condemned to everlasting pains. Be
cheerful, then, and you will do something to deserve your beauty."

The worthy Dolci was kindled by my enthusiasm. He threw himself upon me,
and kissed me again and again; the fool Stuard laughed; and his wife,
who possibly thought me mad, did not evince the slightest emotion. She
took my arm, and we walked slowly towards the house of Messer Francesco
d'Arezzo, where I spent a quarter of an hour in cutting my name. After
that we had our dinner.

Dolci lavished more attention on the extraordinary woman than I did.
Stuard did nothing but eat and drink, and despised the Sorgue water,
which, said he, would spoil the Hermitage; possibly Petrarch may have
been of the same opinion. We drank deeply without impairing our reason,
but the lady was very temperate. When we reached Avignon we bade her
farewell, declining the invitation of her foolish husband to come and
rest in his rooms.

I took Dolci's arm and we walked beside the Rhone as the sun went down.
Among other keen and witty observations the young man said,--

"That woman is an old hand, infatuated with a sense of her own merit.
I would bet that she has only left her own country because her charms,
from being too freely displayed, have ceased to please there. She must
be sure of making her fortune out of anybody she comes across. I suspect
that the fellow who passes for her husband is a rascal, and that
her pretended melancholy is put on to drive a persistent lover to
distraction. She has not yet succeeded in finding a dupe, but as she
will no doubt try to catch a rich man, it is not improbable that she is
hovering over you.".

When a young man of Dolci's age reasons like that, he is bound to become
a great master. I kissed him as I bade him good-night, thanked him for
his kindness, and we agreed that we would see more of one another.

As I came back to my inn I was accosted by a fine-looking man of middle
age, who greeted me by name and asked with great politeness if I had
found Vaucluse as fine as I had expected. I was delighted to recognize
the Marquis of Grimaldi, a Genoese, a clever and good-natured man,
with plenty of money, who always lived at Venice because he was more at
liberty to enjoy himself there than in his native country; which shews
that there is no lack of freedom at Venice.

After I had answered his question I followed him into his room, where
having exhausted the subject of the fountain he asked me what I thought
of my fair companion.

"I did not find her satisfactory in all respects," I answered; and
noticing the reserve with which I spoke, he tried to remove it by the
following confession:

"There are some very pretty women in Genoa, but not one to compare with
her whom you took to Vaucluse to-day. I sat opposite to her at table
yesterday evening, and I was struck with her perfect beauty. I offered
her my arm up the stair; I told her that I was sorry to see her so sad,
and if I could do anything for her she had only to speak. You know I was
aware she had no money. Her husband, real or pretended, thanked me for
my offer, and after I had wished them a good night I left them.

"An hour ago you left her and her husband at the door of their
apartment, and soon afterwards I took the liberty of calling. She
welcomed me with a pretty bow, and her husband went out directly,
begging me to keep her company till his return. The fair one made no
difficulty in sitting next to me on a couch, and this struck me as a
good omen, but when I took her hand she gently drew it away. I then
told, her, in as few words as I could, that her beauty had made me in
love with her, and that if she wanted a hundred louis they were at
her service, if she would drop her melancholy, and behave in a manner
suitable to the feelings with which she had inspired me. She only
replied by a motion of the head, which shewed gratitude, but also an
absolute refusal of my offer. 'I am going to-morrow,' said I. No answer.
I took her hand again, and she drew it back with an air of disdain which
wounded me. I begged her to excuse me, and I left the room without more
ado.

"That's an account of what happened an hour ago. I am not amorous of
her, it was only a whim; but knowing, as I do, that she has no money,
her manner astonished me. I fancied that you might have placed her in a
position to despise my offer, and this would explain her conduct, in a
measure; otherwise I can't understand it at all. May I ask you to tell
me whether you are more fortunate than I?"

I was enchanted with the frankness of this noble gentleman, and did not
hesitate to tell him all, and we laughed together at our bad fortune: I
had to promise to call on him at Genoa, and tell him whatever happened
between us during the two days I purposed to remain at Avignon. He asked
me to sup with him and admire the fair recalcitrant.

"She has had an excellent dinner," said I, "and in all probability she
will not have any supper."

"I bet she will," said the marquis; and he was right, which made me see
clearly that the woman was playing a part. A certain Comte de Bussi, who
had just come, was placed next to her at table. He was a good-looking
young man with a fatuous sense of his own superiority, and he afforded
us an amusing scene.

He was good-natured, a wit, and inclined to broad jokes, and his manner
towards women bordered on the impudent. He had to leave at midnight and
began to make love to his fair neighbour forthwith, and teased her in
a thousand ways; but she remained as dumb as a statue, while he did
all the talking and laughing, not regarding it within the bounds of
possibility that she might be laughing at him.

I looked at M. Grimaldi, who found it as difficult to keep his
countenance as I did. The young roue was hurt at her silence, and
continued pestering her, giving her all the best pieces on his plate
after tasting them first. The lady refused to take them, and he tried to
put them into her mouth, while she repulsed him in a rage. He saw that
no one seemed inclined to take her part, and determined to continue the
assault, and taking her hand he kissed it again and again. She tried to
draw it away, and as she rose he put his arm round her waist and made
her sit down on his knee; but at this point the husband took her arm and
led her out of the room. The attacking party looked rather taken aback
for a moment as he followed her with his eyes, but sat down again and
began to eat and laugh afresh, while everybody else kept a profound
silence. He then turned to the footman behind his chair and asked him if
his sword was upstairs. The footman said no, and then the fatuous young
man turned to an abbe who sat near me, and enquired who had taken away
his mistress:

"It was her husband," said the abbe.

"Her husband! Oh, that's another thing; husbands don't fight--a man of
honour always apologises to them."

With that he got up, went upstairs, and came down again directly,
saying,--

"The husband's a fool. He shut the door in my face, and told me to
satisfy my desires somewhere else. It isn't worth the trouble of
stopping, but I wish I had made an end of it."

He then called for champagne, offered it vainly to everybody, bade the
company a polite farewell and went upon his way.

As M. Grimaldi escorted me to my room he asked me what I had thought of
the scene we had just witnessed. I told him I would not have stirred a
finger, even if he had turned up her clothes.

"No more would I," said he, "but if she had accepted my hundred louis it
would have been different. I am curious to know the further history
of this siren, and I rely upon you to tell me all about it as you go
through Genoa."

He went away at day-break next morning.

When I got up I received a note from the false Astrodi, asking me if I
expected her and her great chum to supper. I had scarcely replied in
the affirmative, when the sham Duke of Courland I had left at Grenoble
appeared on the scene. He confessed in a humble voice that he was the
son of clock-maker at Narva, that his buckles were valueless, and that
he had come to beg an alms of me. I gave him four Louis, and he asked me
to keep his secret. I replied that if anyone asked me about him that I
should say what was absolutely true, that I knew him nothing about
him. "Thank you; I am now going to Marseilles." "I hope you will have
a prosperous journey." Later on my readers will hear how I found him at
Genoa. It is a good thing to know something about people of his kind, of
whom there are far too many in the world.

I called up the landlord and told him I wanted a delicate supper for
three in my own room.

He told me that I should have it, and then said, "I have just had a row
with the Chevalier Stuard."

"What about?"

"Because he has nothing to pay me with, and I am going to turn them
out immediately, although the lady is in bed in convulsions which are
suffocating her."

"Take out your bill in her charms."

"Ah, I don't care for that sort of thing! I am getting on in life, and I
don't want any more scenes to bring discredit on my house."

"Go and tell her that from henceforth she and her husband will dine and
sup in their own room and that I will pay for them as long as I remain
here."

"You are very generous, sir, but you know that meals in a private room
are charged double."

"I know they are."

"Very good."

I shuddered at the idea of the woman being turned out of doors without
any resources but her body, by which she refused to profit. On the other
hand I could not condemn the inn-keeper who, like his fellows, was
not troubled with much gallantry. I had yielded to an impulse of pity
without any hopes of advantage for myself. Such were my thoughts when
Stuard came to thank me, begging me to come and see his wife and try and
persuade her to behave in a different manner.

"She will give me no answers, and you know that that sort of thing is
rather tedious."

"Come, she knows what you have done for her; she will talk to you, for
her feelings . . . ."

"What business have you to talk about feelings after what happened
yesterday evening?"

"It was well for that gentleman that he went away at midnight, otherwise
I should have killed him this morning."

"My dear sir, allow me to tell you that all that is pure braggadocio.
Yesterday, not to-day, was the time to kill him, or to throw your plate
at his head, at all events. We will now go and see your wife."

I found her in bed, her face to the wall, the coverlet right up to her
chin, and her body convulsed with sobs. I tried to bring her to reason,
but as usual got no reply. Stuard wanted to leave me, but I told him
that if he went out I would go too, as I could do nothing to console
her, as he might know after her refusing the Marquis of Grimaldi's
hundred louis for a smile and her hand to kiss.

"A hundred Louis!" cried the fellow with a sturdy oath; "what folly! We
might have been at home at Liege by now. A princess allows one to kiss
her hand for nothing, and she.... A hundred Louis! Oh, damnable!"

His exclamations, very natural under the circumstances, made me feel
inclined to laugh. The poor devil swore by all his gods, and I was about
to leave the room, when all at once the wretched woman was seized with
true or false convulsions. With one hand she seized a water-bottle and
sent it flying into the middle of the room, and with the other she tore
the clothes away from her breast. Stuard tried to hold her, but her
disorder increased in violence, and the coverlet was disarranged to such
a degree that I could see the most exquisite naked charms imaginable. At
last she grew calm, and her eyes closed as if exhausted; she remained in
the most voluptuous position that desire itself could have invented. I
began to get very excited. How was I to look on such beauties without
desiring to possess them? At this point her wretched husband left the
room, saying he was gone to fetch some water. I saw the snare, and my
self-respect prevented my being caught in it. I had an idea that the
whole scene had been arranged with the intent that I should deliver
myself up to brutal pleasure, while the proud and foolish woman would be
free to disavow all participation in the fact. I constrained myself, and
gently veiled what I would fain have revealed in all its naked beauty.
I condemned to darkness these charms which this monster of a woman only
wished me to enjoy that I might be debased.

Stuard was long enough gone. When he came back with the water-bottle
full, he was no doubt surprised to find me perfectly calm, and in no
disorder of any kind, and a few minutes afterwards I went out to cool
myself by the banks of the Rhone.

I walked along rapidly, feeling enraged with myself, for I felt that the
woman had bewitched me. In vain I tried to bring myself to reason; the
more I walked the more excited I became, and I determined that after
what I had seen the only cure for my disordered fancy was enjoyment,
brutal or not. I saw that I should have to win her, not by an appeal
to sentiment but by hard cash, without caring what sacrifices I made.
I regretted my conduct, which then struck me in the light of false
delicacy, for if I had satisfied my desires and she chose to turn prude,
I might have laughed her to scorn, and my position would have been
unassailable. At last I determined on telling the husband that I would
give him twenty-five louis if he could obtain me an interview in which I
could satisfy my desires.

Full of this idea I went back to the inn, and had my dinner in my own
room without troubling to enquire after her. Le Duc told me that she was
dining in her room too, and that the landlord had told the company that
she would not take her meals in public any more. This was information I
possessed already.

After dinner I called on the good-natured Dolci, who introduced me to
his father, an excellent man, but not rich enough to satisfy his son's
desire of travelling. The young man was possessed of considerable
dexterity, and performed a number of very clever conjuring tricks. He
had an amiable nature, and seeing that I was curious to know about his
love affairs he told me numerous little stories which shewed me that he
was at that happy age when one's inexperience is one's sole misfortune.

There was a rich lady for whom he did not care, as she wanted him to
give her that which he would be ashamed to give save for love, and there
was a girl who required him to treat her with respect. I thought I could
give him a piece of good advice, so I told him to grant his favours to
the rich woman, and to fail in respect now and again to the girl, who
would be sure to scold and then forgive. He was no profligate, and
seemed rather inclined to become a Protestant. He amused himself
innocently with his friends of his own age, in a garden near Avignon,
and a sister of the gardener's wife was kind to him when they were
alone.

In the evening I went back to the inn, and I had not long to wait for
the Astrodi and the Lepi (so the hunchbacked girl was named); but when
I saw these two caricatures of women I felt stupefied. I had expected
them, of course, but the reality confounded me. The Astrodi tried to
counterbalance her ugliness by an outrageous freedom of manners; while
the Lepi, who though a hunchback was very talented and an excellent
actress, was sure of exciting desire by the rare beauty of her eyes and
teeth, which latter challenged admiration from her enormous mouth by
their regularity and whiteness. The Astrodi rushed up to me and gave me
an Italian embrace, to which, willy nilly, I was obliged to submit. The
quieter Lepi offered me her cheek, which I pretended to kiss. I saw that
the Astrodi was in a fair way to become intolerable, so I begged her to
moderate her transports, because as a novice at these parties I wanted
to get accustomed to them by degrees. She promised that she would be
very good.

While we were waiting for supper I asked her, for the sake of something
to say, whether she had found a lover at Avignon.

"Only the vice-legate's auditor," she replied; "and though he makes me
his pathic he is good-natured and generous. I have accustomed myself
to his taste easily enough, though I should have thought such a thing
impossible a year ago, as I fancied the exercise a harmful one, but I
was wrong."

"So the auditor makes a boy of you?"

"Yes. My sister would have adored him, as that sort of love is her
passion."

"But your sister has such fine haunches."

"So have I! Look here, feel me."

"You are right; but wait a bit, it is too soon for that kind of thing
yet."

"We will be wanton after supper."

"I think you are wanton now," said the Lepi.

"Why?"

"Why? Ought you to shew your person like that?"

"My dear girl, you will be shewing yourself soon. When one is in good
company, one is in the golden age."

"I wonder at your telling everyone what sort of a connection you have
with the auditor," said I.

"Nonsense! I don't tell everyone, but everyone tells me and
congratulates me too. They know the worthy man never cared for women,
and it would be absurd to deny what everybody guesses. I used to be
astonished at my sister, but the best plan in this world is to be
astonished at nothing. But don't you like that?"

"No, I only like this."

As I spoke I laid hands on the Lepi, on the spot where one usually finds
what I called "this;" but the Astrodi, seeing that I found nothing,
burst into a roar of laughter, and taking my hand put it just under her
front hump, where at last I found what I wanted. The reader will guess
my surprise. The poor creature, too ashamed to be prudish, laughed too.
My spirits also begin to rise, as I thought of the pleasure I should get
out of this new discovery after supper.

"Have you never had a lover?" said I to the Lepi.

"No," said the Astrodi, "she is still a maid."

"No, I am not," replied the Lepi, in some confusion, "I had a lover at
Bordeaux, and another at Montpellier."

"Yes, I know, but you are still as you were born."

"I can't deny it."

"What's that? Two lovers and still a maid! I don't understand; please
tell me about it, for I have never heard of such a thing."

"Before I satisfied my first lover which happened when I was only
twelve, I was just the same as I am now."

"It's wonderful. And what did he say when he saw it?"

"I swore that he was my first, and he believed me, putting it down to
the peculiar shape of my body."

"He was a man of spirit; but didn't he hurt you?"

"Not a bit; but then he was very gentle."

"You must have a try after supper," said the Astrodi to me, "that would
be fine fun."

"No, no," said the Lepi, "the gentleman would be too big for me."

"Nonsense! You don't want to take in all of him. I will show you how it
is."

With these words the impudent hussy proceeded to exhibit me, and I let
her do what she liked.

"That's just what I should have thought," cried the Lepi; "it could
never be done."

"Well, he is rather big," answered the Astrodi; "but there's a cure for
everything, and he will be content with half-measures."

"It's not the length, my dear, but the thickness which frightens me; I
am afraid the door is too narrow."

"All the better for you, for you can sell your maidenhead after having
had two lovers."

This conversation, not devoid of wit, and still more the simplicity of
the hunchback, had made me resolve to verify things for myself.

Supper came up, and I had the pleasure of seeing the two nymphs eat like
starving savages, and drink still better. When the Hermitage had done
its work the Astrodi proposed that we should cast off the clothes which
disfigure nature.

"Certainly," said I; "and I will turn away while you are getting ready."

I went behind the curtains, took off my clothes, and went to bed with my
back to them. At last the Astrodi told me that they were ready, and
when I looked the Lepi took up all my attention. In spite of her double
deformity she was a handsome woman. My glances frightened her, for she
was doubtless taking part in an orgy for the first time. I gave her
courage, however, by dint of praising those charms which the white and
beautiful hands could not hide, and at last I persuaded her to come
and lie beside me. Her hump prevented her lying on her back, but the
ingenious Astrodi doubled up the pillows and succeeded in placing her in
a position similar to that of a ship about to be launched. It was also
by the tender care of the Astrodi that the introduction of the knife was
managed, to the great delight of priest and victim. After the operation
was over she got up and kissed me, which she could not do before, for
her mouth reached to the middle of my chest, while my feet were scarcely
down to her knees. I would have given ten louis to have been able to see
the curious sight we must have presented at work.

"Now comes my turn," said the Astrodi; "but I don't want you to infringe
on the rights of my auditor, so come and look round and see where the
path lies. Take that."

"What am I to do with this slice of lemon?"

"I want you to try whether the place is free from infection, or whether
it would be dangerous for you to pay it a visit."

"Is that a sure method?"

"Infallible; if everything were not right I could not bear the smart."

"There you are. How's that?"

"All right; but don't deceive me, I want no half measures. My reputation
would be made if I became with child."

I ask my reader's leave to draw a veil over some incidents of this truly
scandalous orgy, in which the ugly woman taught me some things I did not
know before. At last, more tired than exhausted, I told them to begone,
but the Astrodi insisted on finishing up with a bowl of punch. I agreed,
but not wishing to have anything more to do with either of them I
dressed myself again. However, the champagne punch excited them to such
an extent that at last they made me share their transports. The Astrodi
placed her friend in such a singular position that the humps were no
longer visible, and imagining that I had before me the high priestess
of Jove, I paid her a long sacrifice, in which death and resurrection
followed one another in succession. But I felt disgusted with myself,
and drew away from their lascivious frenzies, and gave them ten Louis to
get rid of them. The Astrodi fell on her knees, blessed me, thanked me,
called me her god; and the Lepi wept and laughed for joy at the same
time; and thus for a quarter of an hour I was treated to a scene of an
extraordinary kind.

I had them taken home in my carriage, and slept till ten o'clock next
morning. Just as I was going out for a walk Stuard came to my room and
told me, with an air of despair, that if I did not give him the means of
going away before I left he would throw himself in the Rhine.

"That's rather tragic," said I, "but I can find a cure. I will disburse
twenty-five Louis, but it is your wife who must receive them; and the
only condition is that she must receive me alone for an hour, and be
entirely kind."

"Sir, we need just that sum; my wife is disposed to receive you; go and
talk to her. I shall not be in till noon."

I put twenty-five Louis in a pretty little purse, and left my room
thinking that the victory was won. I entered her room and approached her
bed respectfully. When she heard me she sat up in bed without taking the
trouble to cover her breast, and before I could wish her good-day she
spoke to me as follows:

"I am ready, sir, to pay with my body for the wretched twenty-five Louis
of which my husband is in need. You can do what you like with me; but
remember that in taking advantage of my position to assuage your brutal
lust you are the viler of the two, for I only sell myself so cheaply
because necessity compels me to do so. Your baseness is more shameful
than mine. Come on; here I am."

With this flattering address she threw off the coverlet with a vigorous
gesture, and displayed all her beauties, which I might have gazed on
with such different feelings from those which now filled my breast. For
a moment I was silent with indignation. All my passion had evaporated;
in those voluptuous rounded limbs I saw now only the covering of a wild
beast's soul. I put back the coverlet with the greatest calmness, and
addressed her in a tone of cold contempt:

"No, madam, I shall not leave this room degraded because you have told
me so, but I shall leave it after imparting to you a few degrading
truths, of which you cannot be ignorant if you are a woman of any
decency whatever. Here are twenty-five louis, a wretched sum to give
a virtuous woman in payment of her favours, but much more than you
deserve. I am not brutal, and to convince you of the fact I am going to
leave you in the undisturbed possession of your charms, which I despise
as heartily as I should have admired them if your behaviour had been
different. I only give you the money from a feeling of compassion which
I cannot overcome, and which is the only feeling I now have for you.
Nevertheless, let me tell you that whether a woman sells herself
for twenty-five louis or twenty-five million louis she is as much a
prostitute in the one case as in the other, if she does not give her
love with herself, or at all events the semblance of love. Farewell."

I went back to my room, and in course of time Stuard came to thank me.

"Sir," said I, "let me alone; I wish to hear no more about your wife."

They went away the next day for Lyons, and my readers will hear of them
again at Liege.

In the afternoon Dolci took me to his garden that I might see the
gardener's sister. She was pretty, but not so pretty as he was. He
soon got her into a good humour, and after some trifling objection she
consented to be loved by him in my presence. I saw that this Adonis had
been richly dowered by nature, and I told him that with such a physical
conformation he had no need of emptying his father's purse to travel,
and before long he took my advice. This fair Ganymede might easily
have turned me into Jove, as he struggled amorously with the gardener's
sister.

As I was going home I saw a young man coming out of a boat; he was from
twenty to twenty-five years old, and looked very sad. Seeing me looking
at him, he accosted me, and humbly asked for alms, shewing me a document
authorizing him to beg, and a passport stating he had left Madrid six
weeks before. He came from Parma, and was named Costa. When I saw
Parma my national prejudice spoke in his favour, and I asked him what
misfortune had reduced him to beggary.

"Only lack of money to return to my native country," said he.

"What were you doing at Madrid, and why did you leave?"

"I was there four years as valet to Dr. Pistoria, physician to the King
of Spain, but on my health failing I left him. Here is a certificate
which will shew you that I gave satisfaction."

"What can you do?"

"I write a good hand, I can assist a gentleman as his secretary, and
I intend being a scribe when I get home. Here are some verses I copied
yesterday."

"You write well; but can you write correctly without a book?"

"I can write from dictation in French, Latin, and Spanish."

"Correctly?"

"Yes, sir, if the dictation is done properly, for it is the business of
the one who dictates to see that everything is correct."

I saw that Master Gaetan Costa was an ignoramus, but in spite of that
I took him to my room and told Le Duc to address him in Spanish. He
answered well enough, but on my dictating to him in Italian and French I
found he had not the remotest ideas on orthography.

"But you can't write," said I to him. However, I saw he was mortified
at this, and I consoled him by saying that I would take him to his own
country at my expense. He kissed my hand, and assured me that I should
find a faithful servant in him.

This young fellow took my fancy by his originality; he had probably
assumed it to distinguish himself from the blockheads amongst whom
he had hitherto lived, and now used it in perfect good faith with
everybody. He thought that the art of a scribe solely consisted in
possessing a good hand, and that the fairest writer would be the best
scribe. He said as much while he was examining a paper I had written,
and as my writing was not as legible as his he tacitly told me I was
his inferior, and that I should therefore treat him with some degree
of respect. I laughed at this fad, and, not thinking him incorrigible I
took him into my service. If it had not been for that odd notion of his
I should probably have merely given him a louis, and no more. He said
that spelling was of no consequence, as those who knew how to spell
could easily guess the words, while those who did not know were unable
to pick out the mistakes. I laughed, but as I said nothing he thought
the laugh signified approval. In the dictation I gave him the Council
of Trent happened to occur. According to his system he wrote Trent by
a three and a nought. I burst out laughing; but he was not in the least
put out, only remarking that the pronunciation being the same it was of
no consequence how the word was spelt. In point of fact this lad was
a fool solely through his intelligence, matched with ignorance and
unbounded self-confidence. I was pleased with his originality and kept
him, and was thus the greater fool of the two, as the reader will see.

I left Avignon next day, and went straight to Marseilles, not troubling
to stop at Aix. I halted at the "Treize Cantons," wishing to stay for
a week at least in this ancient colony of the Phocaeans, and to do as
I liked there. With this idea I took no letter of introduction; I had
plenty of money, and needed nobody's help. I told my landlord to give
me a choice fish dinner in my own room, as I was aware that the fish in
those parts is better than anywhere else.

I went out the next morning with a guide, to take me back to the inn
when I was tired of walking. Not heeding where I went, I reached a fine
quay; I thought I was at Venice again, and I felt my bosom swell, so
deeply is the love of fatherland graven on the heart of every good man.
I saw a number of stalls where Spanish and Levantine wines were kept,
and a number of people drinking in them. A crowd of business men went
hither and thither, running up against each other, crossing each other's
paths, each occupied with his own business, and not caring whose way
he got into. Hucksters, well dressed and ill dressed, women, pretty and
plain, women who stared boldly at everyone, modest maidens with downcast
eyes, such was the picture I saw.

The mixture of nationalities, the grave Turk and the glittering
Andalusian, the French dandy, the gross Negro, the crafty Greek, the
dull Hollander; everything reminded me of Venice, and I enjoyed the
scene.

I stopped a moment at a street corner to read a playbill, and then
I went back to the inn and refreshed my weary body with a delicious
dinner, washed down with choice Syracusan wine. After dinner I dressed
and took a place in the amphitheatre of the theatre.



CHAPTER III


     Rosalie--Toulon--Nice--I Arrive at Genoa--M. Grimaldi--
     Veronique and Her Sister

I noticed that the four principal boxes on both sides of the proscenium
were adorned with pretty women, but not a single gentleman. In the
interval between the first and second acts I saw gentlemen of all
classes paying their devoirs to these ladies. Suddenly I heard a Knight
of Malta say to a girl, who was the sole occupant of a box next to me,

"I will breakfast with you to-morrow."

This was enough for me. I looked at her more closely and finding her to
be a dainty morsel I said, as soon as the knight had gone--

"Will you give me my supper?"

"With pleasure; but I have been taken in so often that I shan't expect
you without an earnest."

"How can I give you an earnest? I don't understand."

"You must be a new-comer here."

"Just arrived."

She laughed, called the knight, and said,--

"Be pleased to explain to this gentleman, who has just asked me for
supper, the meaning of the word 'earnest.'"

The good-natured knight explained, with a smile, that the lady, fearing
lest my memory should prove defective, wanted me to pay for my supper in
advance. I thanked him, and asked her if a louis would be enough; and on
her replying in the affirmative, I gave her the Louis and asked for her
address. The knight told me politely that he would take me there himself
after the theatre, adding,--

"She's the wantonest wench in all Marseilles."

He then asked me if I knew the town, and when I told him that I had
only come that day he said he was glad to be the first to make my
acquaintance. We went to the middle of, the amphitheatre and he pointed
out a score of girls to right and left, all of them ready to treat the
first comer to supper. They are all on the free list, and the manager
finds they serve his ends as respectable women will not sit in their
boxes, and they draw people to the theatre. I noticed five or six of a
better type than the one I had engaged, but I resolved to stick to her
for the evening, and to make the acquaintance of the others another
time.

"Is your favourite amongst them?" I said to the knight.

"No, I keep a ballet-girl, and I will introduce you to her, as I am glad
to say that I am free from all jealousy."

When the play came to an end he took me to my nymph's lodging, and we
parted with the understanding that we were to see more of one another.

I found the lady in undress--a circumstance which went against her,
for what I saw did not please me. She gave me a capital supper, and
enlivened me by some witty and wanton sallies which made me regard her
in a more favourable light. When we had supper she got into bed, and
asked me to follow her example; but I told her that I never slept out.
She then offered me the English article which brings peace to the soul,
but I did not accept the one she offered as I thought it looked of a
common make.

"I have finer ones, but they are three francs each, and the maker only
sells them by the dozen," she said. "I will take a dozen if they are
really good," I replied.

She rang the bell, and a young, charming, and modest-looking girl came
in. I was struck with her.

"You have got a nice maid," I remarked, when the girl had gone for the
protective sheaths.

"She is only fifteen," she said, "and won't do anything, as she is new
to it."

"Will you allow me to see for myself?"

"You may ask her if you like, but I don't think she will consent."

The girl came back with the packet, and putting myself in a proper
position I told her to try one on. She proceeded to do so with a sulky
air and with a kind of repugnance which made me feel interested in
her. Number one would not go on, so she had to try on a second, and the
result was that I besprinkled her plentifully. The mistress laughed, but
she was indignant, threw the whole packet in my face, and ran away in
a rage. I wanted nothing more after this, so I put the packet in my
pocket, gave the woman two Louis, and left the room. The girl I had
treated so cavalierly came to light me downstairs, and thinking I owed
her an apology I gave her a Louis and begged her pardon. The poor girl
was astonished, kissed my hand, and begged me to say nothing to her
mistress.

"I will not, my dear, but tell me truly whether you are still a 'virgo
intacta'."

"Certainly, sir!"

"Wonderful! but tell me why you wouldn't let me see for myself?"

"Because it revolted me."

"Nevertheless you will have to do so, for otherwise, in spite of your
prettiness, people will not know what to make of you. Would you like to
let me try?"

"Yes, but not in this horrible house."

"Where, then?"

"Go to my mother's to-morrow, I will be there. Your guide knows where
she lives."

When I got outside, I asked the man if he knew her. He replied in the
affirmative, and said he believed her to be an honest girl.

"You will take me to-morrow to see her mother," I said.

Next morning he took me to the end of the town, to a poor house, where
I found a poor woman and poor children living on the ground floor, and
eating hard black bread.

"What do you want?" said she.

"Is you daughter here?"

"No, and what if she were? I am not her bawd."

"No, of course not, my good woman."

Just then the girl came in, and the enraged mother flung an old pot
which came handy, at her head. Luckily it missed, but she would not
have escaped her mother's talons if I had not flung myself between them.
However, the old woman set up a dismal shriek, the children imitated
her, and the poor girl began to cry. This hubbub made my man come in.

"You hussy!" screamed the mother, "you are bringing disgrace on me; get
out of my house. You are no longer my daughter!"

I was in a difficult position. The man begged her not to make such a
noise, as it would draw all the neighbours about the house; but the
enraged woman answered only by abuse. I drew six francs from my pocket
and gave them to her, but she flung them in my face. At last I went out
with the daughter, whose hair she attempted to pull out by the roots,
which project was defeated by the aid of my man. As soon as we got
outside, the mob which the uproar had attracted hooted me and followed
me, and no doubt I should have been torn to pieces if I had not escaped
into a church, which I left by another door a quarter of an hour later.
My fright saved me, for I knew the ferocity of the Provencals, and I
took care not to reply a word to the storm of abuse which poured on me.
I believe that I was never in greater danger than on that day.

Before I got back to my inn I was rejoined by the servant and the girl.

"How could you lead me into such a dangerous position?" said I. "You
must have known your mother was savage."

"I hoped she would behave respectfully to you."

"Be calm; don't weep any more. Tell me how I can serve you."

"Rather than return to that horrible house I was in yesterday I would
throw myself into the sea."

"Do you know of any respectable house where I can keep her?" said I to
the man.

He told me he did know a respectable individual who let furnished
apartments.

"Take me to it, then."

The man was of an advanced age, and he had rooms to let on all the
floors.

"I only want a little nook," said the girl; and the old man took us to
the highest story, and opened the door of a garret, saying--

"This closet is six francs a month, a month's rent to be paid in
advance, and I may tell you that my door is always shut at ten o'clock,
and that nobody can come and pass the night with you."

The room held a bed with coarse sheets, two chairs, a little table, and
a chest of drawers.

"How much will you board this young woman for?" said I.

He asked twenty sous, and two sous for the maid who would bring her
meals and do her room.

"That will do," said the girl, and she paid the month's rent and the
day's board. I left her telling her I would come back again.

As I went down the stairs I asked the old man to shew me a room for
myself. He skewed me a very nice one at a Louis a month, and I paid in
advance. He then gave me a latch-key, that I might go and come when I
liked.

"If you wish to board here," said he, "I think I could give
satisfaction."

Having done this good work, I had my dinner by myself, and then went
to a coffee-house where I found the amiable Knight of Malta who was
playing. He left the game as soon as he saw me, put the fistfull of gold
he had won into his pocket, accosted me with the politeness natural to
a Frenchman, and asked me how I had liked the lady who had given me my
supper. I told him what had happened, at which he laughed, and asked me
to come and see his ballet-girl. We found her under the hairdresser's
hands, and she received me with the playful familiarity with which one
greets an old acquaintance. I did not think much of her, but I pretended
to be immensely struck, with the idea of pleasing the good-natured
knight.

When the hairdresser left her, it was time for her to get ready for the
theatre, and she dressed herself, without caring who was present. The
knight helped her to change her chemise, which she allowed him to do as
a matter of course, though indeed she begged me to excuse her.

As I owed her a compliment, I could think of nothing better than to
tell her that though she had not offended me she had made me feel very
uncomfortable.

"I don't believe you," said she.

"It's true all the same."

She came up to me to verify the fact, and finding I had deceived her,
she said half crossly,

"You are a bad fellow."

The women of Marseilles are undoubtedly the most profligate in France.
They not only pride themselves on never refusing, but also on being the
first to propose. This girl skewed me a repeater, for which she had got
up a lottery at twelve francs a ticket. She had ten tickets left; I took
them all, and so delighted was she to touch my five Louis that she came
and kissed me, and told the knight that her unfaithfulness to him rested
only with me.

"I am charmed to hear it," said the Maltese. He asked me to sup with
her, and I accepted the invitation, but the sole pleasure I had was
looking at the knight at work. He was far inferior to Dolci!

I wished them good night, and went to the house where I had placed the
poor girl. The maid skewed me to my room, and I asked her if I might go
to the garret. She took the light, I followed her up, and Rosalie, as
the poor girl was named, heard my voice and opened the door. I told the
maid to wait for me in my room, and I went in and sat down on the bed.

"Are you contented, dear?" I said.

"I am quite happy."

"Then I hope you will be kind, and find room for me in your bed."

"You may come if you like, but I must tell you that you will not find me
a maid, as I have had one lover."

"You told me a lie, then?"

"Forgive me, I could not guess you would be my lover."

"I forgive you willingly; all the more so as I am no great stickler for
maidenheads."

She was as gentle as a lamb, and allowed me to gaze on all those charms
of which my hands and my lips disputed the possession; and the notion
that I was master of all these treasures put fire in all my veins, but
her submissive air distressed me.

"How is it you do not partake my desires?" said I.

"I dare not, lest you take me for a pretender."

Artifice or studied coquetry might have prompted such an answer, but
the real timidity and the frankness with which these words were uttered
could not have been assumed. Impatient to gain possession of her I took
off my clothes, and on getting into bed to her I was astonished to find
her a maid.

"Why did you tell me you had a lover?" said I. "I never heard of a girl
telling a lie of that sort before."

"All the same I did not tell a lie, but I am very glad that I seem as if
I had done so."

"Tell me all about it."

"Certainly I will, for I want to win your confidence. This is the story:

"Two years ago my mother, though she was hot-tempered, still loved me.
I was a needle-woman, and earned from twenty to thirty sous a day.
Whatever I earned I gave my mother. I had never had a lover, never
thought of such a thing, and when my goodness was praised I felt
inclined to laugh. I had been brought up from a child never to look at
young men when I met them in the street, and never to reply to them when
they addressed any impudence to me.

"Two months ago a fine enough looking young man, a native of Genoa, and
a merchant in a small way, came to my mother to get her to wash some
very fine cotton stockings which the sea-water had stained. When he saw
me he was very complimentary, but in an honest way. I liked him, and,
no doubt seeing it, he came and came again every evening. My mother was
always present at our interviews, and he looked at me and talked to me,
but did not so much as ask to kiss my hand. My mother was very pleased
to notice that the young man liked me, and often scolded me because I
was not polite enough to him. In time he had to go to Genoa in a small
ship which belonged to him, and which was laden with goods. He
assured us that he would return again the next spring and declare his
intentions. He said he hoped he should find me as good as ever, and
still without any lover. This was enough; my mother looked upon him as
my betrothed, and let us talk together at the door till midnight. When
he went I would shut the door and lie down beside my mother, who was
always asleep.

"Four or five days before his departure, he took my arm and got me to go
with him to a place about fifty paces from the house to drink a glass
of Muscat at a Greek's, who kept his tavern open all night. We were only
away for half an hour, and then it was that he first kissed me. When
I got home I found my mother awake, and told her all; it seemed so
harmless to me.

"Next day, excited by the recollection of what had happened the night
before, I went with him again, and love began to gain ground. We
indulged in caresses which were no longer innocent, as we well knew.
However, we forgave each other, as we had abstained from the chief
liberty.

"The day after, my lover--as he had to journey in the night--took leave
of my mother, and as soon as she was in bed I was not longer in granting
what I desired as much as he. We went to the Greek's, ate and drank, and
our heated senses gained love's cause; we forgot our duty, and fancied
our misdemeanour a triumph.

"Afterwards we fell asleep, and when we awoke we saw our fault in the
clear, cold light of day. We parted sorrowful rather than rejoicing,
and the reception my mother gave me was like that you witnessed this
morning. I assured her that marriage would take away the shame of my
sin, and with this she took up a stick and would have done for me, if I
had not taken to my heels, more from instinct than from any idea of what
I was doing.

"Once in the street I knew not where to turn, and taking refuge in
a church I stayed there like one in a dream till noon. Think of my
position. I was hungry, I had no refuge, nothing but the clothes I wore,
nothing that would get me a morsel of bread. A woman accosted me in the
street. I knew her and I also knew that she kept a servants' agency. I
asked her forthwith if she could get me a place.

"'I had enquiries about a maid this morning,' said she, 'but it is for a
gay woman, and you are pretty. You would have a good deal of difficulty
in remaining virtuous.'

"'I can keep off the infection,' I answered, 'and in the position I am
in I cannot pick and choose.'

"She thereupon took me to the lady, who was delighted to see me, and
still more delighted when I told her that I had never had anything to do
with a man. I have repented of this lie bitterly enough, for in the week
I spent at that profligate woman's house I have had to endure the most
humiliating insults that an honest girl ever suffered. No sooner did
the men who came to the house hear that I was a maid than they longed to
slake their brutal lust upon me, offering me gold if I would submit to
their caresses. I refused and was reviled, but that was not all. Five or
six times every day I was obliged to remain a witness of the disgusting
scenes enacted between my mistress and her customers, who, when I was
compelled to light them about the house at night, overwhelmed me
with insults, because I would not do them a disgusting service for a
twelve-sous piece. I could not bear this sort of life much longer, and
I was thinking of drowning myself. When you came you treated me so
ignominiously that my resolve to die was strengthened, but you were so
kind and polite as you went away that I fell in love with you directly,
thinking that Providence must have sent you to snatch me away from the
abyss. I thought your fine presence might calm my mother and persuade
her to take me back till my lover came to marry me. I was undeceived,
and I saw that she took me for a prostitute. Now, if you like, I am
altogether yours, and I renounce my lover of whom I am no longer worthy.
Take me as your maid, I will love you and you only; I will submit myself
to you and do whatever you bid me."

Whether it were weakness or virtue on my part, this tale of woe and a
mother's too great severity drew tears from my eyes, and when she saw my
emotion she wept profusely, for her heart was in need of some relief.

"I think, my poor Rosalie, you have only one chemise."

"Alas! that is all."

"Comfort yourself, my dear; all your wants shall be supplied tomorrow,
and in the evening you shall sup with me in my room on the second floor.
I will take care of you."

"You pity me, then?"

"I fancy there is more love than pity in it."

"Would to God it were so!"

This "would to God," which came from the very depths of her soul, sent
me away in a merry mood. The servant who had been waiting for me for two
hours, and was looking rather glum, relaxed when she saw the colour of a
crown which I gave her by way of atonement.

"Tell your master," said I, "that Rosalie will sup with me to-morrow;
let us have a fasting dinner, but let it be a good one."

I returned to my inn quite in love with Rosalie, and I congratulated
myself on having at last heard a true tale from a pretty mouth. She
appeared to me so well disposed that her small failing seemed to make
her shine the more. I resolved never to abandon her, and I did so in all
sincerity; was I not in love?

After I had had my chocolate next morning I went out with a guide to
the shops, where I got the necessary articles, paying a good but not
an excessive price. Rosalie was only fifteen, but with her figure, her
well-formed breasts, and her rounded arms, she would have been taken for
twenty. Her shape was so imprinted on my brain that everything I got for
her fitted as if she had been measured for it. This shopping took up
all the morning, and in the afternoon the man took her a small trunk
containing two dresses, chemises, petticoats, handkerchiefs, stockings,
gloves, caps, a pair of slippers, a fan, a work-bag, and a mantle. I
was pleased at giving her such a delightful surprise, and I longed for
suppertime that I might enjoy the sight of her pleasure.

The Knight of Malta came to dine with me without ceremony, and I was
charmed to see him. After we had dined he persuaded me to go to
the theatre, as in consequence of the suspense of the subscription
arrangements the boxes would be filled with all the quality in
Marseilles.

"There will be no loose women in the amphitheatre," said he, "as
everybody has to pay."

That decided me and I went. He presented me to a lady with an excellent
connection, who asked me to come and see her. I excused myself on the
plea that I was leaving so shortly. Nevertheless she was very useful to
me on my second visit to Marseilles. Her name was Madame Audibert.

I did not wait for the play to end, but went where love called me. I had
a delightful surprise when I saw Rosalie; I should not have known her.
But I cannot resist the pleasure of recalling her picture as she stood
before me then, despite the years that have rolled by since that happy
moment.

Rosalie was an enticing-looking brunette, above the middle height. Her
face was a perfect oval, and exquisitely proportioned. Two fine black
eyes shed a soft and ravishing light around. Her eyebrows were arched,
and she had a wealth of hair, black and shining as ebony; her skin was
while and lightly tinged with colour. On her chin was a dimple, and
her slightest smile summoned into being two other dimples, one on
each cheek. Her mouth was small, disclosing two rows of fairest orient
pearls, and from her red lips flowed forth an indefinable sweetness. The
lower lip projected ever so lightly, and seemed designed to hold a
kiss. I have spoken of her arms, her breast, and her figure, which left
nothing to be desired, but I must add to this catalogue of her charms,
that her hand was exquisitely shaped, and that her foot was the smallest
I have ever seen. As to her other beauties, I will content myself with
saying that they were in harmony with those I have described.

To see her at her best, one had to see her smiling; and hitherto she
had been sad or vexed--states of mind which detract from a woman's
appearance. But now sadness was gone, and gratitude and pleasure had
taken its place. I examined her closely, and felt proud, as I saw what
a transformation I had effected; but I concealed my surprise, lest
she should think I had formed an unfavourable impression of her.
I proceeded, therefore, to tell her that I should expose myself to
ridicule if I attempted to keep a beauty like herself for a servant.

"You shall be my mistress," I said, "and my servants shall respect you
as if you were my wife."

At this Rosalie, as if I had given her another being, began to try and
express her gratitude for what I had done. Her words, which passion
made confused, increased my joy; here was no art nor deceit, but simple
nature.

There was no mirror in her garret, so she had dressed by her sense
of touch, and I could see that she was afraid to stand up and look at
herself in the mirror in my room. I knew the weak spot in all women's
hearts (which men are very wrong in considering as matter for reproach),
and I encouraged her to admire herself, whereupon she could not restrain
a smile of satisfaction.

"I think I must be in disguise," said she, "for I have never seen myself
so decked out before."

She praised the tasteful simplicity of the dress I had chosen, but was
vexed at the thought that her mother would still be displeased.

"Think no more of your mother, dearest one. You look like a lady of
quality, and I shall be quite proud when the people at Genoa ask me if
you are my daughter."

"At Genoa?"

"Yes, at Genoa. Why do you blush?"

"From surprise; perhaps I may see there one whom I have not yet
forgotten."

"Would you like to stay here better?"

"No, no! Love me and be sure that I love you and for your own sake, not
from any thought of my own interests."

"You are moved, my angel; let me wipe away your tears with kisses."

She fell into my arms, and she relieved the various feelings of which
her heart was full by weeping for some time. I did not try to console
her, for she had not grief; she wept as tender souls, and women, more
especially, often will. We had a delicious supper to which I did honour
for two, for she ate nothing. I asked her if she was so unfortunate as
not to care for good food.

"I have as good an appetite as anyone," she replied, "and an excellent
digestion. You shall see for yourself when I grow more accustomed to my
sudden happiness."

"At least you can drink; this wine is admirable. If you prefer Greek
muscat I will send for some. It will remind you of your lover."

"If you love me at all, I beg you will spare me that mortification."

"You shall have no more mortification from me, I promise you. It was
only a joke, and I beg your pardon for it."

"As I look upon you I feel in despair at not having known you first."

"That feeling of yours, which wells forth from the depths of your open
soul, is grand. You are beautiful and good, for you only yielded to the
voice of love with the prospect of becoming his wife; and when I think
what you are to me I am in despair at not being sure you love me. An
evil genius whispers in my ear that you only bear with me because I had
the happiness of helping you."

"Indeed, that is an evil genius. To be sure, if I had met you in the
street I should not have fallen head over ears in love with you, like a
wanton, but you would certainly have pleased me. I am sure I love you,
and not for what you have done for me; for if I were rich and you were
poor, I would do anything in the world for you. But I don't want it to
be like that, for I had rather be your debtor than for you to be mine.
These are my real feelings, and you can guess the rest."

We were still talking on the same subject when midnight struck, and my
old landlord came and asked me if I were pleased.

"I must thank you," I replied, "I am delighted. Who cooked this
delicious supper?"

"My daughter."

"She understands her craft; tell her I thought it excellent."

"Yes, sir, but it is dear."

"Not too dear for me. You shall be pleased with me as I with you, and
take care to have as good a supper to-morrow evening, as I hope the lady
will be well enough to do justice to the products of your daughter's
culinary skill."

"Bed is a capital place to get an appetite. Ah! it is sixty years since
I have had anything to do with that sort of thing. What are you laughing
at, mademoiselle?"

"At the delight with which you must recollect it."

"You are right, it is a pleasant recollection; and thus I am always
ready to forgive young folks the peccadilloes that love makes them
commit."

"You are a wise old man," said I, "everyone should sympathise with the
tenderest of all our mortal follies."

"If the old man is wise," said Rosalie, when he had left the room, "my
mother must be very foolish."

"Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?"

"Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I
don't want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here.
Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but
elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart."

"Very good, my dear, just as you please. But look at your room; no more
garret for you; and in three days we will start."

"So soon?"

"Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don't
want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might
forget something which would vex me."

"Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a
night-cap, and a prayer-book."

"You know how to read, do you?"

"Certainly; and I can write fairly well."

"I am glad to hear it. Your asking me so freely for what you want is a
true proof of your love; where confidence dwells not there is no love.
I will not forget anything, but your feet are so small that I should
advise you to get your boots yourself."

Our talk was so pleasant, and I experienced such delight in studying her
disposition, that we did not go to bed till five o'clock. In the arms of
love and sleep we spent seven delicious hours, and when we rose at
noon we were fast lovers. She called me thou, talked of love and not of
gratitude, and, grown more familiar with her new estate, laughed at her
troubles. She kissed me at every opportunity, called me her darling boy,
her joy, and as the present moment is the only real thing in this life,
I enjoyed her love, I was pleased with her caresses, and put away all
ideas of the dreadful future, which has only one certainty--death,
'ultima linea rerum'.

The second night was far sweeter than the first; she had made a good
supper, and drunk well, though moderately; thus she was disposed to
refine on her pleasure, and to deliver herself with greater ardour to
all the voluptuous enjoyments which love inspires.

I gave her a pretty watch and a gold shuttle for her to amuse herself
with.

"I wanted it," said she, "but I should never have dared to ask for it."

I told her that this fear of my displeasure made me doubt once more
whether she really loved me. She threw herself into my arms, and
promised that henceforth she would shew me the utmost confidence.

I was pleased to educate this young girl, and I felt that when her mind
had been developed she would be perfect.

On the fourth day I warned her to hold herself in readiness to start at
a moment's notice. I had said nothing about my plans to Costa or Le Duc,
but Rosalie knew that I had two servants, and I told her that I should
often make them talk on the journey for the sake of the laughter their
folly would afford me.

"You, my dear," I had said to her, "must be very reserved with them, and
not allow them to take the slightest liberty. Give them your orders as
a mistress, but without pride, and you will be obeyed and respected. If
they forget themselves in the slightest particular, tell me at once."

I started from the hotel of the "Treize Cantons" with four post-horses,
Le Duc and Costa sitting on the coachman's seat. The guide, whom I had
paid well for his services, took us to Rosalie's door. I got out of the
carriage, and after thanking the kindly old landlord, who was sorry
to lose so good a boarder, I made her get in, sat down beside her, and
ordered the postillions to go to Toulon, as I wished to see that fine
port before returning to Italy. We got to Toulon at five o'clock.

My Rosalie behaved herself at supper like the mistress of a house
accustomed to the best society. I noticed that Le Duc as head man made
Costa wait upon her, but I got over him by telling my sweetheart that
he would have the honour of doing her hair, as he could do it as well as
the best barber in Paris. He swallowed the golden pill, and gave in with
a good grace, and said, with a profound bow, that he hoped to give madam
satisfaction.

We went out next morning to see the port, and were shewn over the place
by the commandant, whose acquaintance we made by a lucky chance. He
offered his arm to Rosalie, and treated her with the consideration she
deserved for her appearance and the good sense of her questions. The
commandant accepted my invitation to dinner, at which Rosalie spoke to
the point though not to excess, and received the polite compliments of
our worthy guest with much grace. In the afternoon he took us over the
arsenal, and after having him to dinner could not refuse his invitation
to supper. There was no difficulty about Rosalie; the commandant
introduced her immediately to his wife, his daughter, and his son. I was
delighted to see that her manner with ladies even surpassed her manner
with gentlemen. She was one of Nature's own ladies. The commandant's
wife and daughter caressed her again and again, and she received their
attentions with that modest sensibility which is the seal of a good
education.

They asked me to dinner the next day, but I was satisfied with what I
had seen, so I took leave, intending to start on the morrow.

When we got back to the inn I told her how pleased I was with her, and
she threw her arms round my neck for joy.

"I am always afraid," said she, "of being asked who I am."

"You needn't be afraid, dearest; in France no gentleman or lady would
think of asking such a question."

"But if they did, what ought I to do?"

"You should make use of an evasion."

"What's an evasion?"

"A way of escaping from a difficulty without satisfying impertinent
curiosity."

"Give me an example."

"Well, if such a question were asked you, you might say, 'You had better
ask this gentleman.'"

"I see, the question is avoided; but is not that impolite?"

"Yes; but not so impolite as to ask an embarrassing question."

"And what would you say if the question was passed on to you?"

"Well, my answer would vary in a ratio with the respect in which I held
the questioner. I would not tell the truth, but I should say something.
And I am glad to see you attentive to my lessons. Always ask questions,
and you will always find me ready to answer, for I want to teach you.
And now let us to bed; we have to start for Antibes at an early hour,
and love will reward you for the pleasure you have given me to-day."

At Antibes I hired a felucca to take me to Genoa, and as I intended
to return by the same route I had my carriage warehoused for a small
monthly payment. We started early with a good wind, but the sea becoming
rough, and Rosalie being mortally afraid, I had the felucca rowed into
Villafranca, where I engaged a carriage to take me to Nice. The
weather kept us back for three days, and I felt obliged to call on the
commandant, an old officer named Peterson.

He gave me an excellent reception, and after the usual compliments had
passed, said,--

"Do you know a Russian who calls himself Charles Ivanoff?"

"I saw him once at Grenoble."

"It is said that he has escaped from Siberia, and that he is the younger
son of the Duke of Courland."

"So I have heard, but I know no proof of his claim to the title."

"He is at Genoa, where it is said a banker is to give him twenty
thousand crowns. In spite of that, no one would give him a sou here, so
I sent him to Genoa at my own expense, to rid the place of him."

I felt very glad that the Russian had gone away before my arrival. An
officer named Ramini, who was staying at the same inn as myself, asked
if I would mind taking charge of a packet which M. de St. Pierre, the
Spanish consul, had to send to the Marquis Grimaldi, at Genoa. It was
the nobleman I had just seen at Avignon, and I was pleased to execute
the commission. The same officer asked me whether I had ever seen a
certain Madame Stuard.

"She came here a fortnight ago with a man who calls himself her husband.
The poor devils hadn't a penny, and she, a great beauty, enchanted
everybody, but would give no one a smile or a word."

"I have both seen and know her," I answered. "I furnished her with the
means to come here. How could she leave Nice without any money?"

"That's just what no one can understand. She went off in a carriage, and
the landlord's bill was paid. I was interested in the woman. The Marquis
Grimaldi told me that she had refused a hundred louis he offered her,
and that a Venetian of his acquaintance had fared just as badly. Perhaps
that is you?"

"It is, and I gave her some money despite my treatment."

M. Peterson came to see me, and was enchanted with Rosalie's amiable
manner. This was another conquest for her, and I duly complimented her
upon it.

Nice is a terribly dull place, and strangers are tormented by the
midges, who prefer them to the inhabitants. However, I amused myself
at a small bank at faro, which was held at a coffee-house, and at which
Rosalie, whose play I directed, won a score of Piedmontese pistoles. She
put her little earnings into a purse, and told me she liked to have some
money of her own. I scolded her for not having told me so before, and
reminded her of her promise.

"I don't really want it," said she, "it's only my thoughtlessness."

We soon made up our little quarrel.

In such ways did I make this girl my own, in the hope that for the
remnant of my days she would be mine, and so I should not be forced to
fly from one lady to another. But inexorable fate ordained it otherwise.

The weather grew fine again, and we got on board once more, and the next
day arrived at Genoa, which I had never seen before. I put up at "St.
Martin's Inn," and for decency's sake took two rooms, but they were
adjoining one another. The following day I sent the packet to M.
Grimaldi, and a little later I left my card at his palace.

My guide took me to a linen-draper's, and I bought some stuff for
Rosalie, who was in want of linen. She was very pleased with it.

We were still at table when the Marquis Grimaldi was announced; he
kissed me and thanked me for bringing the parcel. His next remark
referred to Madame Stuard. I told him what had happened, and he laughed,
saying that he was not quite sure what he would have done under the
circumstances.

I saw him looking at Rosalie attentively, and I told him she was as good
as she was beautiful.

"I want to find her a maid," I said, "a good seamstress, who could go
out with her, and above all who could talk Italian to her, for I want
her to learn the language that I may take her into society at Florence,
Rome and Naples."

"Don't deprive Genoa of the pleasure of entertaining her," said the
marquis. "I will introduce her under whatever name she pleases, and in
my own house to begin with."

"She has good reasons for preserving her incognito here."

"Ah, I see!--Do you think of staying here long?"

"A month, or thereabouts, and our pleasures will be limited to seeing
the town and its surroundings and going to the theatre. We shall also
enjoy the pleasures of the table. I hope to eat champignons every day,
they are better here than anywhere else."

"An excellent plan. I couldn't suggest a better. I am going to see what
I can do in the way of getting you a maid, mademoiselle."

"You sir? How can I deserve such great kindness?"

"My interest in you is the greater, as I think you come from
Marseilles."

Rosalie blushed. She was not aware that she lisped, and that this
betrayed her. I extricated her from her confusion by telling the marquis
his conjecture was well founded.

I asked him how I could get the Journal de Savans, the Mercure de
France, and other papers of the same description. He promised to send me
a man who would get me all that kind of thing. He added that if I would
allow him to send me some of his excellent chocolate he would come and
breakfast with us. I said that both gift and guest were vastly agreeable
to me.

As soon as he had gone Rosalie asked me to take her to a milliner's.

"I want ribbons and other little things," said she, "but I should like
to bargain for them and pay for them out of my own money, without your
having anything to do with it."

"Do whatever you like, my dear, and afterwards we will go to the play."

The milliner to whom we went proved to be a Frenchwoman. It was a
charming sight to see Rosalie shopping. She put on an important air,
seemed to know all about it, ordered bonnets in the latest fashion,
bargained, and contrived to spend five or six louis with great grandeur.
As we left the shop I told her that I had been taken for her footman,
and I meant to be revenged. So saying, I made her come into a
jeweller's, where I bought her a necklace, ear-rings, and brooches in
imitation diamonds, and without letting her say a word I paid the price
and left the shop.

"You have bought me some beautiful things," said she, "but you are too
lavish with your money; if you had bargained you might have saved four
louis at least."

"Very likely, dearest, but I never was any hand at a bargain."

I took her to the play, but as she did not understand the language she
got dreadfully tired, and asked me to take her home at the end of the
first act, which I did very willingly. When we got in I found a box
waiting for me from M. Grimaldi. It proved to contain twenty-four pounds
of chocolate. Costa, who had boasted of his skill in making chocolate
in the Spanish fashion, received orders to make us three cups in the
morning.

At nine o'clock the marquis arrived with a tradesman, who sold me
some beautiful oriental materials. I gave them to Rosalie to make two
'mezzaro' for herself. The 'mezzaro' is a kind of hooded cloak worn by
the Genoese women, as the 'cendal' is worn at Venice, and the 'mantilla'
at Madrid.

I thanked M. Grimaldi for the chocolate, which was excellent; Costa
was quite proud of the praise the marquis gave him. Le Duc came in to
announce a woman, whose name I did not know.

"It's the mother of the maid I have engaged," said M. Grimaldi.

She came in, and I saw before me a well-dressed woman, followed by a
girl from twenty to twenty-four years old, who pleased me at the first
glance. The mother thanked the marquis, and presented her daughter to
Rosalie, enumerating her good qualities, and telling her that she would
serve her well, and walk with her when she wished to go out.

"My daughter," she added, "speaks French, and you will find her a good,
faithful, and obliging girl."

She ended by saying that her daughter had been in service lately with
a lady, and that she would be obliged if she could have her meals by
herself.

The girl was named Veronique. Rosalie told her that she was a good girl,
and that the only way to be respected was to be respectable. Veronique
kissed her hand, the mother went away, and Rosalie took the girl into
her room to begin her work.

I did not forget to thank the marquis, for he had evidently chosen a
maid more with a view to my likings than to those of my sweetheart. I
told him that I should not fail to call on him, and he replied that he
would be happy to see me at any hour, and that I should easily find him
at his casino at St. Pierre d'Arena, where he often spent the night.



EPISODE 17 -- RETURN TO ITALY

GENOA--TUSCANY--ROME



CHAPTER IV


     The Play--The Russian--Petri--Rosalie at the Convent

When the marquis had gone, seeing Rosalie engaged with Veronique, I set
myself to translate the 'Ecossaise' for the actors at Genoa, who seemed
pretty good ones, to play.

I thought Rosalie looking sad at dinner, and said,

"What is the matter, dearest? You know I do not like to see you looking
melancholy."

"I am vexed at Veronique's being prettier than I."

"I see what you mean; I like that! But console your self, Veronique
is nothing compared to you, in my eyes at all events. You are my only
beauty; but to reassure you I will ask M. de Grimaldi to tell her
mother to come and fetch her away, and to get me another maid as ugly as
possible."

"Oh, no! pray do not do so; he will think I am jealous, and I wouldn't
have him think so for the world."

"Well, well, smile again if you do not wish to vex me."

"I shall soon do that, if, as you assure me, she will not make me lose
your love. But what made the old gentleman get me a girl like that? Do
you think he did it out of mischief?"

"No, I don't think so. I am sure, on the other hand, that he wanted to
let you know that you need not fear being compared with anybody. Are you
pleased with her in other respects?"

"She works well, and she is very respectful. She does not speak four
words without addressing me as signora, and she is careful to translate
what she says from Italian into French. I hope that in a month I shall
speak well enough for us to dispense with her services when we go to
Florence. I have ordered Le Duc to clear out the room I have chosen for
her, and I will send her her dinner from our own table. I will be kind
to her, but I hope you will not make me wretched."

"I could not do so; and I do not see what there can be in common between
the girl and myself."

"Then you will pardon my fears."

"The more readily as they shew your love."

"I thank you, but keep my secret."

I promised never to give a glance to Veronique, of whom I was already
afraid, but I loved Rosalie and would have done anything to save her the
least grief.

I set to at my translation after dinner; it was work I liked. I did not
go out that day, and I spent the whole of the next morning with M. de
Grimaldi.

I went to the banker Belloni and changed all my gold into gigliati
sequins. I made myself known after the money was changed, and the head
cashier treated me with great courtesy. I had bills on this banker for
forty thousand Roman crowns, and on Lepri bills for twenty thousand.

Rosalie did not want to go to the play again, so I got her a piece of
embroidery to amuse her in the evening. The theatre was a necessity for
me; I always went unless it interfered with some still sweeter pleasure.
I went by myself, and when I got home I found the marquis talking to my
mistress. I was pleased, and after I had embraced the worthy nobleman I
complimented Rosalie on having kept him till my arrival, adding gently
that she should have put down her work.

"Ask him," she replied, "if he did not make me keep on. He said he would
go if I didn't, so I gave in to keep him."

She then rose, stopped working, and in the course of an interesting
conversation she succeeded in making the marquis promise to stay to
supper, thus forestalling my intention. He was not accustomed to take
anything at that hour, and ate little; but I saw he was enchanted with
my treasure, and that pleased me, for I did not think I had anything
to fear from a man of sixty; besides, I was glad at the opportunity
of accustoming Rosalie to good society. I wanted her to be a little
coquettish, as a woman never pleases in society unless she shews a
desire to please.

Although the position was quite a strange one for her, she made me
admire the natural aptitude of women, which may be improved or spoiled
by art but which exists more or less in them all, from the throne to the
milk-pail. She talked to M. de Grimaldi in a way that seemed to hint she
was willing to give a little hope. As our guest did not eat, she said
graciously that he must come to dinner some day that she might have an
opportunity of seeing whether he really had any appetite.

When he had gone I took her on my knee, and covering her with kisses
asked her where she had learnt to talk to great people so well.

"It's an easy matter," she replied. "Your eyes speak to my soul, and
tell me what to do and what to say."

A professed rhetorician could not have answered more elegantly or more
flatteringly.

I finished the translation; I had it copied out by Costa and took it to
Rossi, the manager, who said he would put it on directly, when I told
him I was going to make him a present of the play. I named the actors of
my choice, and asked him to bring them to dine with me at my inn, that I
might read the play and distribute the parts.

As will be guessed, my invitation was accepted, and Rosalie enjoyed
dining with the actors and actresses, and especially hearing herself
called Madame Casanova every moment. Veronique explained everything she
did not understand.

When my actors were round me in a ring, they begged me to tell them
their parts, but I would not give in on this point.

"The first thing to be done," said I, "is for you to listen attentively
to the whole piece without minding about your parts. When you know the
whole play I will satisfy your curiosity."

I knew that careless or idle actors often pay no attention to anything
except their own parts, and thus a piece, though well played in its
parts, is badly rendered as a whole.

They submitted with a tolerably good grace, which the high and mighty
players of the Comedie Francaise would certainly not have done. Just
as I was beginning my heading the Marquis de Grimaldi and the banker
Belloni came in to call on me. I was glad for them to be present at the
trial, which only lasted an hour and a quarter.

After I had heard the opinion of the actors, who by their praise of
various situations shewed me that they had taken in the plot, I told
Costa to distribute the parts; but no sooner was this done than the
first actor and the first actress began to express their displeasure;
she, because I had given her the part of Lady Alton; he, because I had
not given him Murray's part; but they had to bear it as it was my will.
I pleased everybody by asking them all to dinner for the day after the
morrow, after dinner the piece to be rehearsed for the first time.

The banker Belloni asked me to dinner for the following day, including
my lady, who excused herself with great politeness, in the invitation;
and M. Grimaldi was glad to take my place at dinner at her request.

When I got to M. Belloni's, I was greatly surprised to see the impostor
Ivanoff, who instead of pretending not to know me, as he ought to have
done, came forward to embrace me. I stepped back and bowed, which might
be put down to a feeling of respect, although my coldness and scant
ceremony would have convinced any observant eye of the contrary. He was
well dressed, but seemed sad, though he talked a good deal, and to some
purpose, especially on politics. The conversation turned on the Court
of Russia, where Elizabeth Petrovna reigned; and he said nothing, but
sighed and turned away pretending to wipe the tears from his eyes. At
dessert, he asked me if I had heard anything of Madame Morin, adding, as
if to recall the circumstance to my memory, that we had supped together
there:

"I believe she is quite well," I answered.

His servant, in yellow and red livery, waited on him at table. After
dinner he contrived to tell me that he had a matter of the greatest
importance he wanted to discuss with me.

"My only desire sir, is to avoid all appearance of knowing anything
about you."

"One word from you will gain me a hundred thousand crowns, and you shall
have half."

I turned my back on him, and saw him no more at Genoa.

When I got back to the inn I found M. de Grimaldi giving Rosalie a
lesson in Italian.

"She has given me an exquisite dinner," said he, "you must be very happy
with her."

In spite of his honest face, M. Grimaldi was in love with her, but I
thought I had nothing to fear. Before he went she invited him to come to
the rehearsal next day.

When the actors came I noticed amongst them a young man whose face I did
not know, and on my enquiring Rossi told me he was the prompter.

"I won't have any prompter; send him about his business."

"We can't get on without him."

"You'll have to; I will be the prompter."

The prompter was dismissed, but the three actresses began to complain.

"If we knew our parts as well as the 'pater noster' we should be certain
to come to a dead stop if the prompter isn't in his box."

"Very good," said I to the actress, who was to play Lindane, "I will
occupy the box myself, but I shall see your drawers."

"You would have some difficulty in doing that," said the first actor,
"she doesn't wear any."

"So much the better."

"You know nothing about it," said the actress.

These remarks put us all in high spirits, and the ministers of Thalia
ended by promising that they would dispense with a prompter. I was
pleased with the way the piece was read, and they said they would be
letter-perfect in three days. But something happened.

On the day fixed for the rehearsal they came without the Lindane and
Murray. They were not well, but Rossi said they would not fail us
eventually. I took the part of Murray, and asked Rosalie to be the
Lindane.

"I don't read Italian well enough," she whispered, "and I don't wish to
have the actors laughing at me; but Veronique could do it."

"Ask if she will read the part."

However, Veronique said that she could repeat it by heart.

"All the better," said I to her, laughing internally, as I thought of
Soleure, for I saw that I should thus be obliged to make love to the
girl to whom I had not spoken for the fortnight she had been with us.
I had not even had a good look at her face. I was so afraid of Rosalie
(whom I loved better every day) taking fright.

What I had feared happened. When I took Veronique's hand, and said, "Si,
bella Lindana, debbe adorarvi!" everybody clapped, because I gave the
words their proper expression; but glancing at Rosalie I saw a shadow
on her face, and I was angry at not having controlled myself better.
Nevertheless, I could not help feeling amazed at the way Veronique
played the part. When I told her that I adored her she blushed up to her
eyes; she could not have played the love-sick girl better.

We fixed a day for the dress-rehearsal at the theatre, and the company
announced the first night a week in advance to excite public curiosity.
The bills ran:

"We shall give Voltaire's Ecossaise, translated by an anonymous author:
no prompter will be present."

I cannot give the reader any idea of the trouble I had to quiet Rosalie.
She refused to be comforted; wept incessantly, and touched my heart by
gentle reproaches.

"You love Veronique," said she, "and you only translated that piece to
have an opportunity of declaring your love."

I succeeded in convincing her that she wronged me, and at last after
I had lavished caresses on her she suffered herself to be calmed. Next
morning she begged pardon for her jealousy, and to cure it insisted on
my speaking constantly to Veronique. Her heroism went farther. She got
up before me and sent me my coffee by Veronique, who was as astonished
as I was.

At heart Rosalie was a great creature, capable of noble resolves, but
like all women she gave way to sudden emotions. From that day she gave
me no more signs of jealousy, and treated her maid with more kindness
than ever. Veronique was an intelligent and well-mannered girl, and if
my heart had not been already occupied she would have reigned there.

The first night of the play I took Rosalie to a box, and she would have
Veronique with her. M. de Grimaldi did not leave her for a moment. The
play was praised to the skies; the large theatre was full of the best
people in Genoa. The actors surpassed themselves, though they had no
prompter, and were loudly applauded. The piece ran five nights and was
performed to full houses. Rossi, hoping perhaps that I would make him a
present of another play, asked my leave to give my lady a superb pelisse
of lynx-fur, which pleased her immensely.

I would have done anything to spare my sweetheart the least anxiety, and
yet from my want of thought I contrived to vex her. I should never have
forgiven myself if Providence had not ordained that I should be the
cause of her final happiness.

"I have reason to suspect," she said one day, "that I am with child, and
I am enchanted at the thought of giving you a dear pledge of my love."

"If it comes at such a time it will be mine, and I assure you I shall
love it dearly."

"And if it comes two or three weeks sooner you will not be sure that you
are the parent?"

"Not quite sure; but I shall love it just as well, and look upon it as
my child as well as yours."

"I am sure you must be the father. It is impossible the child can be
Petri's, who only knew me once, and then very imperfectly, whilst you
and I have lived in tender love for so long a time."

She wept hot tears.

"Calm yourself, dearest, I implore you! You are right; it cannot be
Petri's child. You know I love you, and I cannot doubt that you are
with child by me and by me alone. If you give me a baby as pretty as
yourself, it will be mine indeed. Calm yourself."

"How can I be calm when you can have such a suspicion?"

We said no more about it; but in spite of my tenderness, my caresses,
and all the trifling cares which bear witness to love, she was often sad
and thoughtful. How many times I reproached myself bitterly for having
let out my silly calculations.

A few days later she gave me a sealed letter, saying,--

"The servant has given me this letter when you were away. I am offended
by his doing so, and I want you to avenge me."

I called the man, and said,--

"Where did you get this letter?"

"From a young man, who is unknown to me. He gave me a crown, and
begged me to give the letter to the lady without your seeing me, and he
promised to give me two crowns more if I brought him a reply tomorrow. I
did not think I was doing wrong, sir, as the lady was at perfect liberty
to tell you."

"That's all very well, but you must go, as the lady, who gave me the
letter unopened, as you can see for yourself, is offended with you."

I called Le Duc, who paid the man and sent him away. I opened the
letter, and found it to be from Petri. Rosalie left my side, not wishing
to read the contents. The letter ran as follows:

"I have seen you, my dear Rosalie. It was just as you were coming out of
the theatre, escorted by the Marquis de Grimaldi, who is my godfather.
I have not deceived you; I was still intending to come and marry you at
Marseilles next spring, as I promised. I love you faithfully, and if you
are still my good Rosalie I am ready to marry you here in the presence
of my kinfolk. If you have done wrong I promise never to speak of it,
for I know that it was I who led you astray. Tell me, I entreat you,
whether I may speak to the Marquis de Grimaldi with regard to you. I am
ready to receive you from the hands of the gentleman with whom you are
living, provided you are not his wife. Be sure, if you are still free,
that you can only recover your honour by marrying your seducer."

"This letter comes from an honourable man who is worthy of Rosalie," I
thought to myself, "and that's more than I shall be, unless I marry her
myself. But Rosalie must decide."

I called her to me, gave her the letter, and begged her to read it
attentively. She did so, and gave it me back, asking me if I advised her
to accept Petri's offer.

"If you do dear Rosalie, I shall die of grief; but if I do not yield
you, my honour bids me marry you, and that I am quite ready to do."

At this the charming girl threw herself on my breast, crying in the
voice of true love, "I love you and you alone, darling; but it is not
true that your honour bids you marry me. Ours is a marriage of the
heart; our love is mutual, and that is enough for my happiness."

"Dear Rosalie, I adore you, but I am the best judge of my own honour.
If Petri is a well-to-do man and a man who would make you happy, I must
either give you up or take you myself."

"No, no; there is no hurry to decide. If you love me I am happy, for I
love you and none other. I shall not answer the letter, and I don't want
to hear anything more of Petri."

"You may be sure that I will say no more of him, but I am sure that the
marquis will have a hand in it."

"I daresay, but he won't speak to me twice on the subject."

After this treaty--a more sincere one than the Powers of Europe usually
make--I resolved to leave Genoa as soon as I got some letters for
Florence and Rome. In the meanwhile all was peace and love between
myself and Rosalie. She had not the slightest shadow of jealousy in her
soul, and M. de Grimaldi was the sole witness of our happiness.

Five or six days later I went to see the marquis at his casino at St.
Pierre d'Arena, and he accosted me by saying that he was happy to see
me as he had an important matter he wished to discuss with me. I guessed
what it would be, but begged him to explain himself. He then spoke as
follows:

"A worthy merchant of the town brought his nephew, a young man named
Petri, to see me two days ago. He told me that the young man is my
godson, and he asked me to protect him. I answered that as his godfather
I owed him my protection, and I promised to do what I could.

"He left my godson to talk it over with me, and he informed me that he
knew your mistress before you did at Marseilles, that he had promised
to marry her next spring, that he had seen her in my company, and that
having followed us he found out that she lived with you. He was told
that she was your wife, but not believing it, wrote her a letter saying
that he was ready to marry her; but this letter fell into your hands,
and he has had no reply to it.

"He could not make up his mind to lose a hope which made his happiness,
so he resolved to ascertain, through my good offices, whether Rosalie
would accept his proposition. He flatters himself that on his informing
me of his prosperous condition, I can tell you that he is a likely man
to make his wife happy. I told him that I knew you, and would speak
to you on the matter, and afterwards inform him of the result of our
interview.

"I have made enquires into his condition, and find that he has already
amassed a considerable sum of money. His credit, morals, and reputation,
are all excellent; besides, he is his uncle's sole heir, and the uncle
passes for a man very comfortably off. And now, my dear M. Casanova,
tell me what answer I am to make."

"Tell him that Rosalie is much obliged to him, and begs him to forget
her. We are going away in three or four days. Rosalie loves me, and I
her, and I am ready to marry her whenever she likes."

"That's plain speaking; but I should have thought a man like you would
prefer freedom to a woman, however beautiful, to whom you would be bound
by indissoluble ties. Will you allow me to speak to Rosalie myself about
it?"

"You need not ask, my leave; speak to her, but in your own person and
not as representing my opinions. I adore her, and would not have her
think that I could cherish the thought of separating from her."

"If you don't want me to meddle in the matter, tell me so frankly."

"On the contrary, I wish you to see for yourself that I am not the
tyrant of the woman I adore."

"I will talk to her to-night."

I did not come home till supper-time, that the marquis might say what he
had to say in perfect freedom. The noble Genoese supped with us, and
the conversation turned on indifferent subjects. After he had gone, my
sweetheart told me what had passed between them. He had spoken to her in
almost the same words that he had addressed to me, and our replies were
nearly identical, though she had requested the marquis to say no more
about his godson, to which request he had assented.

We thought the matter settled, and busied ourselves with preparations
for our departure; but three or four days after, the marquis (who we
imagined had forgotten all about his godson) came and asked us to dine
with him at St. Pierre d'Arena, where Rosalie had never been.

"I want you to see my beautiful garden before you go," said M. Grimaldi
to her; "it will be one more pleasant recollection of your stay for me."

We went to see him at noon the next day. He was with an elderly man and
woman, to whom he introduced us. He introduced me by name, and Rosalie
as a person who belonged to me.

We proceeded to walk in the garden, where the two old people got Rosalie
between them, and overwhelmed her with politeness and complimentary
remarks. She, who was happy and in high spirits, answered in Italian,
and delighted them by her intelligence, and the grace which she gave to
her mistakes in grammar.

The servants came to tell us that dinner was ready, and what was my
astonishment on entering the room to see the table laid for six. I did
not want much insight now to see through the marquis's trick, but it was
too late. We sat down, and just then a young man came in.

"You are a little late," said the marquis; and then, without waiting for
his apology, he introduced him to me as M. Petri, his godson, and nephew
to his other guests, and he made him sit down at his left hand, Rosalie
being on his right. I sat opposite to her, and seeing that she turned as
pale as death the blood rushed to my face; I was terribly enraged. This
small despot's plot seemed disgraceful to me; it was a scandalous insult
to Rosalie and myself--an insult which should be washed away in blood.
I was tempted to stab him at his table, but in spite of my agitation I
constrained myself. What could I do? Take Rosalie's arm, and leave the
room with her? I thought it over, but foreseeing the consequences I
could not summon up courage.

I have never spent so terrible an hour as at that fatal dinner. Neither
Rosalie nor myself ate a morsel, and the marquis who helped all the
guests was discreet enough not to see that we left one course after
another untouched. Throughout dinner he only spoke to Petri and his
uncle, giving them opportunities for saying how large a trade they did.
At dessert the marquis told the young man that he had better go and look
after his affairs, and after kissing his hand he withdrew with a bow to
which nobody replied.

Petri was about twenty-four, of a moderate height, with ordinary but yet
good-natured and honest features; respectful in his manner, and sensible
though not witty in what he said. After all was said and done, I thought
him worthy of Rosalie, but I shuddered at the thought that if she became
his wife she was lost to me forever. After he had gone, the marquis said
he was sorry he had not known him before as he might be of use to him in
his business.

"However, we will see to that in the future," said he, meaningly, "I
mean to make his fortune."

At this the uncle and aunt, who no doubt knew what to say, began to laud
and extol their nephew, and ended by saying that as they had no children
they were delighted that Petri, who would be their heir, was to have his
excellency's patronage.

"We are longing," they added, "to see the girl from Marseilles he is
going to marry. We should welcome her as a beloved daughter."

Rosalie whispered to me that she could bear it no longer, and begged
me to take her away. We rose, and after we had saluted the company with
cold dignity we left the room. The marquis was visibly disconcerted. As
he escorted us to the door he stammered out compliments, for the want of
something to say, telling Rosalie that he should not have the honour of
seeing her that evening, but that he hoped to call on her the next day.

When we were by ourselves we seemed to breathe again, and spoke to one
another to relieve ourselves of the oppression which weighed on our
minds.

Rosalie thought, as well as I, that the marquis had played us a shameful
trick, and she told me I ought to write him a note, begging him not to
give himself the trouble of calling on us again.

"I will find some means of vengeance," said I; "but I don't think it
would be a good plan to write to him. We will hasten our preparations
for leaving, and receive him to-morrow with that cold politeness which
bears witness to indignation. Above all, we will not make the slightest
reference to his godson."

"If Petri really loves me," said she, "I pity him. I think he is a good
fellow, and I don't feel angry with him for being present at dinner,
as he may possibly be unaware that leis presence was likely to give me
offence. But I still shudder when I think of it: I thought I should have
died when our eyes met! Throughout dinner he could not see my eyes, as I
kept them nearly shut, and indeed he could hardly see me. Did he look at
me while he was talking?"

"No, he only looked at me. I am as sorry for him as you are, for, as you
say, he looks an honest fellow."

"Well, it's over now, and I hope I shall make a good supper. Did you
notice what the aunt said? I am sure she was in the plot. She thought
she would gain me over by saying she was ready to treat me like her own
child. She was a decent-looking woman, too."

We made a good supper, and a pleasant night inclined us to forget the
insult the marquis had put upon us. When we woke up in the morning we
laughed at it. The marquis came to see us in the evening, and greeting
me with an air of mingled confusion and vexation, he said that he knew
he had done wrong in surprising me as he had, but that he was ready
to do anything in his power by way of atonement, and to give whatever
satisfaction I liked.

Rosalie did not give me time to answer. "If you really feel," said she,
"that you have insulted us, that is enough; we are amply avenged. But
all the same, sir, we shall be on our guard against you for the future,
though that will be for a short while, as we are just leaving."

With this proud reply she made him a low bow and left the room.

When he was left alone with me M. Grimaldi addressed me as follows:

"I take a great interest in your mistress's welfare; and as I feel sure
that she cannot long be happy in her present uncertain position, while
I am sure that she would make my godson an excellent wife, I was
determined that both of you should make his acquaintance, for Rosalie
herself knows very little of him. I confess that the means I employed
were dishonourable, but you will pardon the means for the sake of the
excellent end I had in view. I hope you will have a pleasant journey,
and that you may live for a long time in uninterrupted happiness with
your charming mistress. I hope you will write to me, and always reckon
on my standing your friend, and doing everything in my power for you.
Before I go, I will tell you something which will give you an idea of
the excellent disposition of young Petri, to whose happiness Rosalie
seems essential.

"He only told me the following, after I had absolutely refused to take
charge of a letter he had written to Rosalie, despairing of being able
to send it any other way. After assuring me that Rosalie had loved him,
and that consequently she could not have any fixed aversion for him, he
added that if the fear of being with child was the reason why she would
not marry him he would agree to put off the marriage till after the
child was born, provided that she would agree to stay in Genoa in
hiding, her presence to be unknown to all save himself. He offers to pay
all the expenses of her stay. He made a remarkably wise reflection when
we were talking it over.

"'If she gave birth to a child too soon after our marriage,' said he,
'both her honour and mine would suffer hurt; she might also lose the
liking of my relations, and if Rosalie is to be my wife I want her to be
happy in everything."'

At this Rosalie, who had no doubt been listening at the door after
the manner of her sex, burst into the room, and astonished me by the
following speech:

"If M. Petri chid not tell you that it was possible that I might be with
child by him, he is a right honest man, but now I tell you so myself. I
do not think it likely, but still it is possible. Tell him, sir, that
I will remain at Genoa until the child is born, in the case of my being
pregnant, of which I have no certain knowledge, or until I am quite sure
that I am not with child. If I do have a child the truth will be made
known. In the case of there being no doubt of M. Petri's being the
parent, I am ready to marry him; but if he sees for himself that the
child is not his I hope he will be reasonable enough to let me alone for
the future. As to the expenses and my lodging at Genoa, tell him that he
need not trouble himself about either."

I was petrified. I saw the consequence of my own imprudent words, and
my heart seemed broken. The marquis asked me if this decision was given
with my authority, and I replied that as my sweetheart's will was mine
he might take her words for law. He went away in high glee, for he
foresaw that all would go well with his plans when once he was able to
exert his influence on Rosalie. The absent always fare ill.

"You want to leave me, then, Rosalie?" said I, when we were alone.

"Yes, dearest, but it will not be for long."

"I think we shall never see each other again."

"Why not, dearest? You have only to remain faithful to me. Listen to me.
Your honour and my own make it imperative that I should convince Petri
that I am not with child by him, and you that I am with child by you."

"I never doubted it, dear Rosalie."

"Yes, dear, you doubted it once and that is enough. Our parting will
cost me many a bitter tear, but these pangs are necessary to my future
happiness. I hope you will write to me, and after the child is born
it will be for you to decide on how I shall rejoin you. If I am not
pregnant I will rejoin you in a couple of months at latest."

"Though I may grieve at your resolve I will not oppose it, for I
promised I would never cross you. I suppose you will go into a convent;
and the marquis must find you a suitable one, and protect you like a
father. Shall I speak to him on the subject? I will leave you as much
money as you will want."

"That will not be much. As for M. de Grimaldi, he is bound in honour
to procure me an asylum. I don't think it will be necessary for you to
speak to him about it."

She was right, and I could not help admiring the truly astonishing tact
of this girl.

In the morning I heard that the self-styled Ivanoff had made his escape
an hour before the police were to arrest him at the suit of the banker,
who had found out that one of the bills he had presented was forged. He
had escaped on foot, leaving all his baggage behind him.

Next day the marquis came to tell Rosalie that his godson had no
objection to make to her plan. He added that the young man hoped she
would become his wife, whether the child proved to be his or not.

"He may hope as much as he likes," said Rosalie, with a smile.

"He also hopes that you will allow him to call on you now and then. I
have spoken to my kinswoman, the mother-superior of convent. You are to
have two rooms, and a very good sort of woman is to keep you company,
wait on you, and nurse you when the time comes. I have paid the amount
you are to pay every month for your board. Every morning I will send you
a confidential man, who will see your companion and will bring me your
orders. And I myself will come and see you at the grating as often as
you please."

It was then my sad duty, which the laws of politeness enjoined, to thank
the marquis for his trouble.

"'Tis to you, my lord," said I, "I entrust Rosalie. I am placing her,
I am sure, in good hands. I will go on my way as soon as she is in the
convent; I hope you will write a letter to the mother-superior for her
to take."

"I will write it directly," said he.

And as Rosalie had told him before that she would pay for everything
herself, he gave her a written copy of the agreement he had made.

"I have resolved," said Rosalie to the marquis, "to go into the convent
to-morrow, and I shall be very glad to have a short visit from you the
day after."

"I will be there," said the marquis, "and you may be sure that I will do
all in my power to make your stay agreeable."

The night was a sad one for both of us. Love scarcely made a pause
amidst our alternate complaints and consolations. We swore to be
faithful for ever, and our oaths were sincere, as ardent lovers' oaths
always are. But they are as nought unless they are sealed by destiny,
and that no mortal mind may know.

Rosalie, whose eyes were red and wet with tears, spent most of the
morning in packing up with Veronique, who cried too. I could not look
at her, as I felt angry with myself for thinking how pretty she was.
Rosalie would only take two hundred sequins, telling me that if she
wanted more she could easily let me know.

She told Veronique to look after me well for the two or three days I
should spend at Genoa, made me a mute curtsy, and went out with Costa to
get a sedan-chair. Two hours after, a servant of the marquis's came to
fetch her belongings, and I was thus left alone and full of grief
till the marquis came and asked me to give him supper, advising that
Veronique should be asked in to keep us company.

"That's a rare girl," said he, "you really don't know her, and you ought
to know her better."

Although I was rather surprised, I did not stop to consider what the
motives of the crafty Genoese might be, and I went and asked Veronique
to come in. She replied politely that she would do so, adding that she
knew how great an honour I did her.

I should have been the blindest of men if I had not seen that the clever
marquis had succeeded in his well-laid plans, and that he had duped me
as if I had been the merest freshman. Although I hoped with all my heart
that I should get Rosalie back again, I had good reasons for suspecting
that all the marquis's wit would be employed to seduce her, and I could
not help thinking that he would succeed.

Nevertheless, in the position I was in, I could only keep my fears to
myself and let him do his utmost.

He was nearly sixty, a thorough disciple of Epicurus, a heavy player,
rich, eloquent, a master of state-craft, highly popular at Genoa, and
well acquainted with the hearts of men, and still more so with the
hearts of women. He had spent a good deal of time at Venice to be more
at liberty, and to enjoy the pleasures of life at his ease. He had never
married, and when asked the reason would reply that he knew too well
that women would be either tyrants or slaves, and that he did not want
to be a tyrant to any woman, nor to be under any woman's orders. He
found some way of returning to his beloved Venice, in spite of the law
forbidding any noble who has filled the office of doge to leave his
native soil. Though he behaved to me in a very friendly manner he knew
how to maintain an air of superiority which imposed on me. Nothing else
could have given him the courage to ask me to dinner when Petri was to
be present. I felt that I had been tricked, and I thought myself in
duty bound to make him esteem me by my behaviour for the future. It was
gratitude on his part which made him smooth the way to my conquest
of Veronique, who doubtless struck him as a fit and proper person to
console me for the loss of Rosalie.

I did not take any part in the conversation at supper, but the marquis
drew out Veronique, and she shone. It was easy for me to see that she
had more wit and knowledge of the world than Rosalie, but in my then
state of mind this grieved rather than rejoiced me. M. de Grimaldi
seemed sorry to see me melancholy, and forced me, as it were, to join in
the conversation. As he was reproaching me in a friendly manner for my
silence, Veronique said with a pleasing smile that I had a good reason
to be silent after the declaration of love I had made to her, and which
she had received so ill. I was astonished at this, and said that I did
not remember having ever made her such a declaration; but she made
me laugh in spite of myself, when she said that her name that day was
Lindane.

"Ah, that's in a play," said I, "in real life the man who declares his
love in words is a simpleton; 'tis with deeds the true lover shews his
love."

"Very true, but your lady was frightened all the same."

"No, no, Veronique; she is very fond of you."

"I know she is; but I have seen her jealous of me."

"If so, she was quite wrong."

This dialogue, which pleased me little, fell sweetly on the marquis's
ears; he told me that he was going to call on Rosalie next morning, and
that if I liked to give him a supper, he would come and tell me about
her in the evening. Of course I told him that he would be welcome.

After Veronique had lighted me to my room, she asked me to let my
servants wait on me, as if she did so now that my lady was gone, people
might talk about her.

"You are right," said I, "kindly send Le Duc to me."

Next morning I had a letter from Geneva. It came from my Epicurean
syndic, who had presented M. de Voltaire with my translation of his
play, with an exceedingly polite letter from me, in which I begged his
pardon for having taken the liberty of travestying his fine French
prose in Italian. The syndic told me plainly that M. de Voltaire had
pronounced my translation to be a bad one.

My self-esteem was so wounded by this, and by his impoliteness in
not answering my letter, with which he could certainly find no fault,
whatever his criticism of my translation might be, that I became the
sworn enemy of the great Voltaire. I have censured him in all the works
I have published, thinking that in wronging him I was avenging myself,
to such an extent did passion blind me. At the present time I feel that
even if my works survive, these feeble stings of mine can hurt nobody
but myself. Posterity will class me amongst the Zoiluses whose own
impotence made them attack this great man to whom civilization and human
happiness owe so much. The only crime that can truthfully be alleged
against Voltaire is his attacks on religion. If he had been a true
philosopher he would never have spoken on such matters, for, even if his
attacks were based on truth, religion is necessary to morality, without
which there can be no happiness.



CHAPTER V


     I Fall in Love With Veronique--Her Sister--Plot Against
     Plot--My Victory--Mutual Disappointment

I have never liked eating by myself, and thus I have never turned
hermit, though I once thought of turning monk; but a monk without
renouncing all the pleasures of life lives well in a kind of holy
idleness. This dislike to loneliness made me give orders that the table
should be laid for two, and indeed, after supping with the marquis and
myself, Veronique had some right to expect as much, to say nothing of
those rights which her wit and beauty gave her.

I only saw Costa, and asked him what had become of Le Duc. He said
he was ill. "Then go behind the lady's chair," said I. He obeyed,
but smiled as he did so. Pride is a universal failing, and though
a servant's pride is the silliest of all it is often pushed to the
greatest extremes.

I thought Veronique prettier than before. Her behaviour, now free and
now reserved, as the occasion demanded, shewed me that she was no new
hand, and that she could have played the part of a princess in the best
society. Nevertheless (so strange a thing is the heart of man), I was
sorry to find I liked her, and my only consolation was that her mother
would come and take her away before the day was over. I had adored
Rosalie, and my heart still bled at the thought of our parting.

The girl's mother came while we were still at table. She was astounded
at the honour I shewed her daughter, and she overwhelmed me with thanks.

"You owe me no gratitude," said I to her; "your daughter is clever,
good, and beautiful."

"Thank the gentleman for his compliment," said the mother, "for you are
really stupid, wanton, and ugly;" and then she added, "But how could you
have the face to sit at table with the gentleman in a dirty chemise?"

"I should blush, mother, if I thought you were right; but I put a clean
one on only two hours ago."

"Madam," said I to the mother, "the chemise cannot look white beside
your daughter's whiter skin."

This made the mother laugh, and pleased the girl immensely. When the
mother told her that she was come to take her back, Veronique said, with
a sly smile,--

"Perhaps the gentleman won't be pleased at my leaving him twenty-four
hours before he goes away."

"On the contrary," said I, "I should be very vexed."

"Well; then, she can stay, sir," said the mother; "but for decency's
sake I must send her younger sister to sleep with her."

"If you please," I rejoined. And with that I left them.

The thought of Veronique troubled me, as I knew I was taken with her,
and what I had to dread was a calculated resistance.

The mother came into my room where I was writing, and wished me a
pleasant journey, telling me for the second time that she was going to
send her daughter Annette. The girl came in the evening, accompanied
by a servant, and after lowering her mezzaro, and kissing my hand
respectfully, she ran gaily to kiss her sister.

I wanted to see what she was like, and called for candles; and on their
being brought I found she was a blonde of a kind I had never before
seen. Her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were the colour of pale gold,
fairer almost than her skin, which was extremely delicate. She was very
short-sighted, but her large pale blue eyes were wonderfully beautiful.
She had the smallest mouth imaginable, but her teeth, though regular,
were not so white as her skin. But for this defect Annette might have
passed for a perfect beauty.

Her shortness of sight made too brilliant a light painful to her, but
as she stood before me she seemed to like me looking at her. My gaze fed
hungrily on the two little half-spheres, which were not yet ripe, but
so white as to make me guess how ravishing the rest of her body must be.
Veronique did not shew her breasts so freely. One could see that she was
superbly shaped, but everything was carefully hidden from the gaze. She
made her sister sit down beside her and work, but when I saw that she
was obliged to hold the stuff close to her face I told her that she
should spare her eyes, for that night at all events, and with that she
obediently put the work down.

The marquis came as usual, and like myself he thought Annette, whom he
had never seen before, an astonishing miniature beauty. Taking advantage
of his age and high rank, the voluptuous old man dared to pass his hand
over her breast, and she, who was too respectful to cross my lord, let
him do it without making the slightest objection. She was a compound of
innocence and coquetry.

The woman who shewing little succeeds in making a man want to see more,
has accomplished three-fourths of the task of making him fall in love
with her; for is love anything else than a kind of curiosity? I think
not; and what makes me certain is that when the curiosity is satisfied
the love disappears. Love, however, is the strongest kind of curiosity
in existence, and I was already curious about Annette.

M. Grimaldi told Veronique that Rosalie wished her to stay with me till
I left Genoa, and she was as much astonished at this as I was.

"Be kind enough to tell her," said I to the marquis, "that Veronique has
anticipated her wishes and has got her sister Annette to stay with her."

"Two are always better than one, my dear fellow," replied the crafty
Genoese.

After these remarks we left the two sisters together and went into my
room, where he said,--

"Your Rosalie is contented, and you ought to congratulate yourself on
having made her happy, as I am sure she will be. The only thing that
vexes me is that you can't go and see her yourself with any decency."

"You are in love with her, my lord."

"I confess that I am, but I am an old man, and it vexes me."

"That's no matter, she will love you tenderly; and if Petri ever becomes
her husband, I am sure she will never be anything more than a good
friend to him. Write to me at Florence and tell me how she receives
him."

"Stay here for another three days; the two beauties there will make the
time seem short."

"It's exactly for that reason that I want to go tomorrow. I am afraid of
Veronique."

"I shouldn't have thought that you would have allowed any woman to
frighten you."

"I am afraid she has cast her fatal nets around me, and when the time
comes she will be strictly moral. Rosalie is my only love."

"Well, here's a letter from her."

I went apart to read the letter, the sight of which made my heart beat
violently; it ran as follows:


   "Dearest,--I see you have placed me in the hands of one who
   will care for me like a father. This is a new kindness which
   I owe to the goodness of your heart. I will write to you at
   whatever address you send me. If you like Veronique, my
   darling, do not fear any jealousy from me; I should be wrong
   to entertain such a feeling in my present position. I expect
   that if you make much of her she will not be able to resist,
   and I shall be glad to hear that she is lessening your
   sadness. I hope you will write me a few lines before you
   go."

I went up to the marquis and told him to read it. He seemed greatly
moved.

"Yes," said he, "the dear girl will find in me her friend and father,
and if she marries my godson and he does not treat her as he ought, he
will not possess her long. I shall remember her in my will, and thus
when I am dead my care will still continue. But what do you think of her
advice as to Veronique? I don't expect she is exactly a vestal virgin,
though I have never heard anything against her."

I had ordered that the table should be laid for four, so Annette sat
down without our having to ask her. Le Duc appeared on the scene, and I
told him that if he were ill he might go to bed.

"I am quite well," said he.

"I am glad to hear it; but don't trouble now, you shall wait on me when
I am at Leghorn."

I saw that Veronique was delighted at my sending him away, and I
resolved then and there to lay siege to her heart. I began by talking
to her in a very meaning manner all supper-time, while the marquis
entertained Annette. I asked him if he thought I could get a felucca
next day to take me to Lerici.

"Yes," said he, "whenever you like and with as many oarsmen as you
please; but I hope you will put off your departure for two or three
days."

"No," I replied, ogling Veronique, "the delay might cost me too dear."

The sly puss answered with a smile that shewed she understood my
meaning.

When we rose from the table I amused myself with Annette, and the
marquis with Veronique. After a quarter of an hour he came and said to
me,--

"Certain persons have asked me to beg you to stay a few days longer, or
at least to sup here to-morrow night."

"Very good. We will talk of the few days more at supper to-morrow."

"Victory!" said the marquis; and Veronique seemed very grateful to
me for granting her request. When our guest was gone, I asked my new
housekeeper if I might send Costa to bed.

"As my sister is with me, there can be no ground for any suspicion."

"I am delighted that you consent; now I am going to talk to you."

She proceeded to do my hair, but she gave no answer to my soft speeches.
When I was on the point of getting into bed she wished me good night,
and I tried to kiss her by way of return. She repulsed me and ran to
the door, much to my surprise. She was going to leave the room, when I
addressed her in a voice of grave politeness.

"I beg you will stay; I want to speak to you; come and sit by me.
Why should you refuse me a pleasure which after all is a mere mark of
friendship?"

"Because, things being as they are, we could not remain friends, neither
could we be lovers."

"Lovers! why not, we are perfectly free."

"I am not free; I am bound by certain prejudices which do not trouble
you."

"I should have thought you were superior to prejudices."

"There are some prejudices which a woman ought to respect. The
superiority you mention is a pitiful thing; always the dupe of itself.
What would become of me, I should like to know, if I abandoned myself to
the feelings I have for you?"

"I was waiting for you to say that, dear Veronique. What you feel for me
is not love. If it were so, you would feel as I do, and you would soon
break the bonds of prejudice."

"I confess that my head is not quite turned yet, but still I feel that I
shall grieve at your departure."

"If so, that is no fault of mine. But tell me what I can do for you
during my short stay here."

"Nothing; we do not know one another well enough."

"I understand you, but I would have you know that I do not intend to
marry any woman who is not my friend."

"You mean you will not marry her till you have ceased to be her lover?"

"Exactly."

"You would like to finish where I would begin."

"You may be happy some day, but you play for high stakes."

"Well, well, it's a case of win all or lose all."

"That's as may be. But without further argument it seems to me that we
could safely enjoy our love, and pass many happy moments undisturbed by
prejudice."

"Possibly, but one gets burnt fingers at that game, and I shudder at the
very thought of it. No, no; leave me alone, there is my sister who will
wonder why I am in your arms."

"Very good; I see I was mistaken, and Rosalie too."

"Why what did she think about me?"

"She wrote and told me that she thought you would be kind."

"I hope she' mayn't have to repent for having been too kind herself."

"Good bye, Veronique."

I felt vexed at having made the trial, for in these matters one always
feels angry at failure. I decided I would leave her and her precepts,
true or false, alone; but when I awoke in the morning and saw her coming
to my bed with a pleasant smile on her face, I suddenly changed my mind.
I had slept upon my anger and I was in love again. I thought she had
repented, and that I should be victorious when I attacked her again. I
put on a smile myself and breakfasted gaily with her and her sister. I
behaved in the same way at dinner; and the general high spirits which M.
de Grimaldi found prevailing in the evening, made him think, doubtless,
that we were getting on well, and he congratulated us. Veronique behaved
exactly as if the marquis had guessed the truth, and I felt sure of
having her after supper, and in the ecstasy of the thought I promised to
stay for four days longer.

"Bravo, Veronique!" said the marquis, "that's the way. You are intended
by nature to rule your lovers with an absolute sway."

I thought she would say something to diminish the marquis's certainty
that there was an agreement between us, but she did nothing of the sort,
seeming to enjoy her triumph which made her appear more beautiful than
ever; whilst I looked at her with the submissive gaze of a captive who
glories in, his chain. I took her behaviour as an omen of my approaching
conquest, and did not speak to M. de Grimaldi alone lest he might ask me
questions which I should not care to answer. He told us before he went
away that he was engaged on the morrow, and so could not come to see us
till the day after.

As soon as we were alone Veronique said to me, "You see how I let people
believe what they please; I had rather be thought kind, as you call it,
than ridiculous, as an honest girl is termed now-a-days. Is it not so?"

"No, dear Veronique, I will never call you ridiculous, but I shall
think you hate me if you make me pass another night in torture. You have
inflamed me."

"Oh, pray be quiet! For pity's sake leave me alone! I will not inflame
you any more. Oh! Oh!"

I had enraged her by thrusting a daring hand into the very door of the
sanctuary. She repulsed me and fled. Three or four minutes later her
sister came to undress me. I told her gently to go to bed as I had to
write for three or four hours; but not caring that she should come on
a bootless errand I opened a box and gave her a watch. She took it
modestly, saying,--

"This is for my sister, I suppose?"

"No, dear Annette, it's for you."

She gave a skip of delight, and I could not prevent her kissing my hand.

I proceeded to write Rosalie a letter of four pages. I felt worried and
displeased with myself and everyone else. I tore up my letter without
reading it over, and making an effort to calm myself I wrote her
another letter more subdued than the first, in which I said nothing
of Veronique, but informed my fair recluse that I was going on the day
following.

I did not go to bed till very late, feeling out of temper with the
world. I considered that I had failed in my duty to Veronique, whether
she loved me or not, for I loved her and I was a man of honour. I had
a bad night, and when I awoke it was noon, and on ringing Costa and
Annette appeared. The absence of Veronique shewed how I had offended
her. When Costa had left the room I asked Annette after her sister, and
she said that she was working. I wrote her a note, in which I begged her
pardon, promising that I would never offend her again, and begging her
to forget everything and to be just the same as before. I was taking my
coffee when she came into my room with an expression of mortification
which grieved me excessively.

"Forget everything, I beg, and I will trouble you no more. Give me my
buckles, as I am going for a country walk, and I shall not be in till
suppertime. I shall doubtless get an excellent appetite, and as you have
nothing more to fear you need not trouble to send me Annette again."

I dressed myself in haste, and left the town by the first road that came
in my way, and I walked fast for two hours with the intention of tiring
myself, and of thus readjusting the balance between mind and body. I
have always found that severe exercise and fresh air are the best cure
for any mental perturbation.

I had walked for more than three leagues when hunger and weariness
made me stop at a village inn, where I had an omelette cooked. I ate it
hungrily with brown bread and wine, which seemed to me delicious though
it was rather sharp.

I felt too tired to walk back to Genoa, so I asked for a carriage; but
there was no such thing to be had. The inn-keeper provided me with a
sorry nag and a man to guide me. Darkness was coming on, and we had
more than six miles to do. Fine rain began to fall when I started, and
continued all the way, so that I got home by eight o'clock wet to the
skin, shivering with cold, dead tired, and in a sore plight from the
rough saddle, against which my satin breeches were no protection. Costa
helped me to change my clothes, and as he went out Annette came in.

"Where is your sister?"

"She is in bed with a bad headache. She gave me a letter for you; here
it is."

"I have been obliged to go to bed on account of a severe headache to
which I am subject. I feel better already, and I shall be able to wait
on you to-morrow. I tell you as much, because I do not wish you to think
that my illness is feigned. I am sure that your repentance for having
humiliated me is sincere, and I hope in your turn that you will forgive
me or pity me, if my way of thinking prevents me from conforming to
yours."

"Annette dear, go and ask your sister if she would like us to sup in her
room."

She soon came back telling me that Veronique was obliged, but begged me
to let her sleep.

I supped with Annette, and was glad to see that, though she only drank
water, her appetite was better than mine. My passion for her sister
prevented me thinking of her, but I felt that Annette would otherwise
have taken my fancy. When we were taking dessert, I conceived the idea
of making her drunk to get her talk of her sister, so I gave her a glass
of Lunel muscat.

"I only drink water, sir."

"Don't you like wine?"

"Yes, but as I am not used to it I am afraid of its getting into my
head."

"Then you can go to bed; you will sleep all the better."

She drank the first glass, which she enjoyed immensely, then a second,
and then a third. Her little brains were in some confusion when she
had finished the third glass. I made her talk about her sister, and in
perfect faith she told me all the good imaginable.

"Then you are very fond of Veronique?" said I.

"Oh, yes! I love her with all my heart, but she will not let me caress
her."

"No doubt she is afraid of your ceasing to love her. But do you think
she ought to make me suffer so?"

"No, but if you love her you ought to forgive her."

Annette was still quite reasonable. I made her drink a fourth glass
of muscat, but an instant after she told me that she could not see
anything, and we rose from the table. Annette began to please me a
little too much, but I determined not to make any attempts upon her for
fear of finding her too submissive. A little resistance sharpens the
appetite, while favours granted with too much ease lose a great deal
of their charm. Annette was only fourteen, she had a soft heart,
no knowledge of the world or her own rights, and she would not have
resisted my embraces for fear of being rude. That sort of thing would
only please a rich and voluptuous Turk.

I begged her to do my hair, intending to dismiss her directly after, but
when she had finished I asked her to give me the ointment.

"What do you want it for?"

"For the blisters that cursed saddle on which I rode six miles gave me."

"Does the ointment do them good?"

"Certainly; it takes away the smart, and by to-morrow I shall be cured,
but you must send Costa to me, as I cannot put it on myself."

"Can't I do it?"

"Yes, but I am afraid that would be an abuse of your kindness."

"I guess why; but as I am short-sighted, how shall I see the blisters?"

"If you want to do it for me, I will place myself so that it will be
easier for you. Stay, put the candle on this table."

"There you are, but don't let Costa put it on again to-morrow, or he
will guess that I or my sister did it to-night."

"You will do me the same service, then, to-morrow?"

"I or my sister, for she will get up early."

"Your sister! No, my dear; she would be afraid of giving me too much
pleasure by touching me so near."

"And I am only afraid of hurting you. Is that right? Good heavens! what
a state your skin is in!"

"You have not finished yet."

"I am so short-sighted; turn round."

"With pleasure. Here I am."

The little wanton could not resist laughing at what she saw, doubtless,
for the first time. She was obliged to touch it to continue rubbing the
ointment in, and I saw that she liked it, as she touched it when she had
no need, and not being able to stand it any longer I took hold of her
hand and made her stop her work in favour of a pleasanter employment.

When she had finished I burst out laughing to hear her ask, in the most
serious way, the pot of ointment still in her left hand,

"Did I do it right!"

"Oh, admirably, dear Annette! You are an angel, and I am sure you know
what pleasure you gave me. Can you come and spend an hour with me?"

"Wait a bit."

She went out and shut the door, and I waited for her to return; but
my patience being exhausted I opened the door slightly, and saw her
undressing and getting into bed with her sister. I went back to my room
and to bed again, without losing all hope. I was not disappointed,
for in five minutes back she came, clad in her chemise and walking on
tip-toe.

"Come to my arms, my love; it is very cold."

"Here I am. My sister is asleep and suspects nothing; and even if she
awoke the bed is so large that she would not notice my absence."

"You are a divine creature, and I love you with all my heart."

"So much the better. I give myself up to you; do what you like with me,
on the condition that you think of my sister no more."

"That will not cost me much. I promise that I will not think of her."

I found Annette a perfect neophyte, and though I saw no blood on the
altar of love next morning I did not suspect her on that account. I have
often seen such cases, and I know by experience that the effusion of
blood or its absence proves nothing. As a general rule a girl cannot be
convicted of having had a lover unless she be with child.

I spent two hours of delight with this pretty baby, for she was so
small, so delicate, and so daintily shaped all over, that I can find no
better name for her. Her docility did not detract from the piquancy of
the pleasure, for she was voluptuously inclined.

When I rose in the morning she came to my room with Veronique, and I was
glad to see that while the younger sister was radiant with happiness the
elder looked pleasant and as if she desired to make herself agreeable.
I asked her how she was, and she told me that diet and sleep had
completely cured her. "I have always found them the best remedy for a
headache." Annette had also cured me of the curiosity I had felt about
her. I congratulated myself on my achievement.

I was in such high spirits at supper that M. de Grimaldi thought I had
won everything from Veronique, and I let him think so. I promised to
dine with him the next day, and I kept my word. After dinner I gave him
a long letter for Rosalie, whom I did not expect to see again except
as Madame Petri, though I took care not to let the marquis know what I
thought.

In the evening I supped with the two sisters, and I made myself equally
agreeable to both of them. When Veronique was alone with me, putting my
hair into curl-papers, she said that she loved me much more now that I
behaved discreetly.

"My discretion," I replied, "only means that I have given up the hope of
winning you. I know how to take my part."

"Your love was not very great, then?"

"It sprang up quickly, and you, Veronique, could have made it increase
to a gigantic size."

She said nothing, but bit her lip, wished me good night and left the
room. I went to bed expecting a visit from Annette, but I waited in
vain. When I rang the next morning the dear girl appeared looking rather
sad. I asked her the reason.

"Because my sister is ill, and spent the whole night in writing," said
she.

Thus I learnt the reason of her not having paid me a visit.

"Do you know what she was writing about?"

"Oh, no! She does not tell me that kind of thing, but here is a letter
for you."

I read through the long and well-composed letter, but as it bore marks
of craft and dissimulation it made me laugh. After several remarks of
no consequence she said that she had repulsed me because she loved me
so much and that she was afraid that if she satisfied my fancy she might
lose me.

"I will be wholly yours," she added, "if you will give me the position
which Rosalie enjoyed. I will travel in your company, but you must give
me a document, which M. de Grimaldi will sign as a witness, in which
you must engage to marry me in a year, and to give me a portion of fifty
thousand francs; and if at the end of a year you do not wish to marry
me, that sum to be at my absolute disposal."

She stipulated also that if she became a mother in the course of a
year the child should be hers in the event of our separating. On these
conditions she would become my mistress, and would have for me all
possible love and kindness.

This proposal, cleverly conceived, but foolishly communicated to me,
shewed me that Veronique had not the talent of duping others. I saw
directly that M. de Grimaldi had nothing to do with it, and I felt sure
that he would laugh when I told him the story.

Annette soon came back with the chocolate, and told me that her sister
hoped I would answer her letter.

"Yes, dear," said I, "I will answer her when I get up."

I took my chocolate, put on my dressing-gown, and went to Veronique's
room. I found her sitting up in bed in a negligent attire that might
have attracted me if her letter had not deprived her of my good opinion.
I sat on the bed, gave her back the letter, and said,--

"Why write, when we can talk the matter over?"

"Because one is often more at ease in writing than in speaking."

"In diplomacy and business that will pass, but not in love. Love
makes no conditions. Let us have no documents, no safeguards, but
give yourself up to me as Rosalie did, and begin to-night without
my promising anything. If you trust in love, you will make him your
prisoner. That way will honour us and our pleasures, and if you like I
will consult M. de Grimaldi on the subject. As to your plan, if it does
not injure your honour, it does small justice to your common sense, and
no one but a fool would agree to it. You could not possibly love the
man to whom you make such a proposal, and as to M. de Grimaldi, far from
having anything to do with it, I am sure he would be indignant at the
very idea."

This discourse did not put Veronique out of countenance. She said she
did not love me well enough to give herself to me unconditionally; to
which I replied that I was not sufficiently taken with her charms to buy
them at the price she fixed, and so I left her.

I called Costa, and told him to go and warn the master of the felucca
that I was going the next day, and with this idea I went to bid good-bye
to the marquis, who informed me that he had just been taking Petri to
see Rosalie, who had received him well enough. I told him I was glad to
hear it, and said that I commended to him the care of her happiness, but
such commendations were thrown away.

It is one of the most curious circumstances of my history, that in one
year two women whom I sincerely loved and whom I might have married were
taken from me by two old men, whose affections I had fostered without
wishing to do so. Happily these gentlemen made my mistresses' fortunes,
but on the other hand they did me a still greater service in relieving
me of a tie which I should have found very troublesome in course of
time. No doubt they both saw that my fortune, though great in outward
show, rested on no solid basis, which, as the reader will see, was
unhappily too true. I should be happy if I thought that my errors or
rather follies would serve as a warning to the readers of these Memoirs.

I spent the day in watching the care with which Veronique and Annette
packed up my trunks, for I would not let my two servants help in any
way. Veronique was neither sad nor gay. She looked as if she had made up
her mind, and as if there had never been any differences between us.
I was very glad, for as I no longer cared for her I should have been
annoyed to find that she still cared for me.

We supped in our usual manner, discussing only commonplace topics, but
just as I was going to bed Annette shook my hand in a way that told
me to prepare for a visit from her. I admired the natural acuteness of
young girls, who take their degrees in the art of love with so much
ease and at such an early age. Annette, almost a child, knew more than
a young man of twenty. I decided on giving her fifty sequins without
letting Veronique see me, as I did not intend to be so liberal towards
her. I took a roll of ducats and gave them to her as soon as she came.

She lay down beside me, and after a moment devoted to love she said that
Veronique was asleep, adding,--

"I heard all you said to my sister, and I am sure you love her."

"If I did, dear Annette, I should not have made my proposal in such
plain terms."

"I should like to believe that, but what would you have done if she had
accepted your offer? You would be in one bed by this, I suppose?"

"I was more than certain, dearest, that her pride would hinder her
receiving me."

We had reached this point in our conversation when we were surprised by
the sudden appearance of Veronique with a lighted candle, and wearing
only her chemise. She laughed at her sister to encourage her, and I
joined in the laughter, keeping a firm hold on the little one for fear
of her escaping. Veronique looked ravishing in her scanty attire, and as
she laughed I could not be angry with her. However, I said,--

"You have interrupted our enjoyment, and hurt your sister's feelings;
perhaps you will despise her for the future?"

"On the contrary, I shall always love her."

"Her feelings overcame her, and she surrendered to me without making any
terms."

"She has more sense than I."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do, really."

"I am astonished and delighted to hear it; but as it is so, kiss your
sister."

At this invitation Veronique put down the candle, and covered Annette's
beautiful body with kisses. The scene made me feel very happy.

"Come, Veronique," said I, "you will die of cold; come and lie down."

I made room for her, and soon there were three of us under the same
sheet. I was in an ecstasy at this group, worthy of Aretin's pencil.

"Dearest ones," said I, "you have played me a pretty trick; was it
premeditated? And was Veronique false this morning, or is she false
now?"

"We did not premeditate anything, I was true this morning, and I am
true now. I feel that I and my plan were very silly, and I hope you
will forgive me, since I have repented and have had my punishment. Now
I think I am in my right senses, as I have yielded to the feelings with
which you inspired me when I saw you first, and against which I have
fought too long."

"What you say pleases me extremely."

"Well, forgive me and finish my punishment by shewing that you are not
angry with me."

"How am I to do that?"

"By telling me that you are vexed no longer, and by continuing to give
my sister proofs of your love."

"I swear to you that so far from being angry with you I am very fond of
you; but would you like us to be fond in your presence?"

"Yes, if you don't mind me."

Feeling excited by voluptuous emotions, I saw that my part could no
longer be a passive one.

"What do you say," said I to my blonde, "will you allow your heroic
sister to remain a mere looker-on at our sweet struggles? Are you not
generous enough to let me make her an actress in the drama?"

"No; I confess I do not feel as if I could be so generous to-night, but
next night, if you will play the same part, we will change. Veronique
shall act and I will look on."

"That would do beautifully," said Veronique, with some vexation in her
manner, "if the gentleman was not going to-morrow morning."

"I will stay, dear Veronique, if only to prove how much I love you."

I could not have wished for plainer speech on her part, and I should
have liked to shew her how grateful I felt on the spot; but that would
have been at Annette's expense, as I had no right to make any alteration
in the piece of which she was the author and had a right to expect all
the profits. Whenever I recall this pleasant scene I feel my heart beat
with voluptuous pleasure, and even now, with the hand of old age upon
me, I can not recall it without delight.

Veronique resigned herself to the passive part which her younger sister
imposed on her, and turning aside she leant her head on her hand,
disclosing a breast which would have excited the coldest of men, and
bade me begin my attack on Annette. It was no hard task she laid upon
me, for I was all on fire, and I was certain of pleasing her as long
as she looked at me. As Annette was short-sighted, she could not
distinguish in the heat of the action which way I was looking, and I
succeeded in getting my right hand free, without her noticing me, and I
was thus enabled to communicate a pleasure as real though not as acute
as that enjoyed by her sister. When the coverlet was disarranged,
Veronique took the trouble to replace it, and thus offered me, as if
by accident, a new spectacle. She saw how I enjoyed the sight of her
charms, and her eye brightened. At last, full of unsatisfied desire, she
shewed me all the treasures which nature had given her, just as I had
finished with Annette for the fourth time. She might well think that
I was only rehearsing for the following night, and her fancy must have
painted her coming joys in the brightest colours. Such at all events
were my thoughts, but the fates determined otherwise. I was in the
middle of the seventh act, always slower and more pleasant for the
actress than the first two or three, when Costa came knocking loudly
at my door, calling out that the felucca was ready. I was vexed at this
untoward incident, got up in a rage, and after telling him to pay the
master for the day, as I was not going till the morrow, I went back to
bed, no longer, however, in a state to continue the work I begun. My two
sweethearts were delighted with me, but we all wanted rest, though the
piece should not have finished with an interruption. I wanted to get
some amusement out of the interval, and proposed an ablution, which made
Annette laugh and which Veronique pronounced to be absolutely necessary.
I found it a delicious hors d'oeuvre to the banquet I had enjoyed. The
two sisters rendered each other various services, standing in the most
lascivious postures, and I found my situation as looker-on an enviable
one.

When the washing and the laughter it gave rise to were over, we returned
to the stage where the last act should have been performed. I longed to
begin again, and I am sure I should have succeeded if I had been well
backed up by my partner; but Annette, who was young and tired out with
the toils of the night, forgot her part, and yielded to sleep as she had
yielded to love. Veronique began to laugh when she saw her asleep, and I
had to do the same, when I saw that she was as still as a corpse.

"What a pity!" said Veronique's eyes; but she said it with her eyes
alone, while I was waiting for these words to issue from her lips. We
were both of us wrong: she for not speaking, and I for waiting for her
to speak. It was a favourable moment, but we let it pass by, and love
punished us. I had, it is true, another reason for abstaining. I wished
to reserve myself for the night. Veronique went to her own bed to quiet
her excited feelings, and I stayed in bed with my sleeping beauty
till noon, when I wished her good morning by a fresh assault which was
completed neither on her side nor on mine to the best of my belief.

The day was spent in talking about ourselves, and determined to eat
only one meal, we did not sit down to table till night began to fall.
We spent two hours in the consumption of delicate dishes, and in defying
Bacchus to make us feel his power. We rose as we saw Annette falling
asleep, but we were not much annoyed at the thought that she would not
see the pleasures we promised each other. I thought that I should have
enough to do to contemplate the charms of the one nymph without looking
at Annette's beauties. We went to bed, our arms interlaced, our bodies
tight together, and lip pressed on lip, but that was all. Veronique saw
what prevented me going any further, and she was too polite and modest
to complain. She dissembled her feelings and continued to caress me,
while I was in a frenzy of rage. I had never had such a misfortune,
unless as the result of complete exhaustion, or from a strong mental
impression capable of destroying my natural faculties. Let my readers
imagine what I suffered; in the flower of my age, with a strong
constitution, holding the body of a woman I had ardently desired in my
arms, while she tenderly caressed me, and yet I could do nothing for
her. I was in despair; one cannot offer a greater insult to a woman.

At last we had to accept the facts and speak reasonably, and I was the
first to bewail my misfortune.

"You tired yourself too much yesterday," said she, "and you were not
sufficiently temperate at supper. Do not let it trouble you, dearest,
I am sure you love me. Do not try to force nature, you will only weaken
yourself more. I think a gentle sleep would restore your manly powers
better than anything. I can't sleep myself, but don't mind me. Sleep, we
will make love together afterwards."

After those excellent and reasonable suggestions, Veronique turned her
back to me and I followed her example, but in vain did I endeavour to
obtain a refreshing slumber; nature which would not give me the power of
making her, the loveliest creature, happy, envied me the power of repose
as well. My amorous ardour and my rage forbade all thoughts of rest, and
my excited passions conspired against that which would enable them to
satisfy their desires. Nature punished me for having distrusted her, and
because I had taken stimulants fit only for the weak. If I had fasted, I
should have done great things, but now there was a conflict between the
stimulants and nature, and by my desire for enjoyment I had deprived
myself of the power to enjoy. Thus nature, wise like its Divine Author,
punishes the ignorance and presumption of poor weak mortals.

Throughout this terrible and sleepless night my mind roamed abroad, and
amidst the reproaches with which I overwhelmed myself I found a certain
satisfaction in the thought that they were not wholly undeserved. This
is the sole enjoyment I still have when I meditate on my past life and
its varied adventures. I feel that no misfortune has befallen me save
by my own fault, whilst I attribute to natural causes the blessings, of
which I have enjoyed many. I think I should go mad if in my soliloquies
I came across any misfortune which I could not trace to my own fault,
for I should not know where to place the reason, and that would degrade
me to the rank of creatures governed by instinct alone. I feel that I am
somewhat more than a beast. A beast, in truth, is a foolish neighbour of
mine, who tries to argue that the brutes reason better than we do.

"I will grant," I said, "that they reason better than you, but I can go
no farther; and I think every reasonable man would say as much."

This reply has made me an enemy, although he admits the first part of
the thesis.

Happier than I, Veronique slept for three hours; but she was
disagreeably surprised on my telling her that I had not been able
to close an eye, and on finding me in the same state of impotence as
before. She began to get angry when I tried to convince her rather too
forcibly that my misfortune was not due to my want of will, and then she
blamed herself as the cause of my impotence; and mortified by the idea,
she endeavoured to destroy the spell by all the means which passion
suggested, and which I had hitherto thought infallible; but her efforts
and mine were all thrown away. My despair was as great as hers when at
last, wearied, ashamed, and degraded in her own eyes, she discontinued
her efforts, her eyes full of tears. She went away without a word,
and left me alone for the two or three hours which had still to elapse
before the dawn appeared.

At day-break Costa came and told me that the sea being rough and a
contrary wind blowing, the felucca would be in danger of perishing.

"We will go as soon as the weather improves," said I; "in the mean time
light me a fire."

I arose, and proceeded to write down the sad history of the night. This
occupation soothed me, and feeling inclined to sleep I lay down again
and slept for eight hours. When I awoke I felt better, but still rather
sad. The two sisters were delighted to see me in good health, but
I thought I saw on Veronique's features an unpleasant expression of
contempt. However, I had deserved it, and I did not take the trouble of
changing her opinion, though if she had been more caressing she might
easily have put me in a state to repair the involuntary wrongs I had
done her in the night. Before we sat down to table I gave her a present
of a hundred sequins, which made her look a little more cheerful. I
gave an equal present to my dear Annette, who had not expected anything,
thinking herself amply recompensed by my first gift and by the pleasure
I had afforded her.

At midnight the master of the felucca came to tell me that the wind had
changed, and I took leave of the sisters. Veronique shed tears, but I
knew to what to attribute them. Annette kissed me affectionately; thus
each played her own part. I sailed for Lerici, where I arrived the next
day, and then posted to Leghorn. Before I speak of this town I think I
shall interest my readers by narrating a circumstance not unworthy of
these Memoirs.



CHAPTER VI


     A Clever Cheat--Passano--Pisa--Corilla--My Opinion of
     Squinting Eyes--Florence--I See Therese Again--My Son--
     Corticelli

I was standing at some distance from my carriage into which they were
putting four horses, when a man accosted me and asked me if I would pay
in advance or at the next stage. Without troubling to look at him I said
I would pay in advance, and gave him a coin requesting him to bring me
the change.

"Directly, sir," said he, and with that he went into the inn.

A few minutes after, just as I was going to look after my change, the
post-master came up and asked me to pay for the stage.

"I have paid already, and I am waiting for my change. Did I not give the
money to you?"

"Certainly not, sir."

"Whom did I give it to, then?"

"I really can't say; but you will be able to recognize the man,
doubtless."

"It must have been you or one of your people."

I was speaking loud, and all the men came about me.

"These are all the men in my employ," said the master, and he asked if
any of them had received the money from me.

They all denied the fact with an air of sincerity which left no room for
suspicion. I cursed and swore, but they let me curse and swear as much
as I liked. At last I discovered that there was no help for it, and I
paid a second time, laughing at the clever rascal who had taken me in
so thoroughly. Such are the lessons of life; always full of new
experiences, and yet one never knows enough. From that day I have always
taken care not to pay for posting except to the proper persons.

In no country are knaves so cunning as in Italy, Greece ancient and
modern excepted.

When I got to the best inn at Leghorn they told me that there was a
theatre, and my luck made me go and see the play. I was recognized by
an actor who accosted me, and introduced me to one of his comrades, a
self-styled poet, and a great enemy of the Abbe Chiari, whom I did not
like, as he had written a biting satire against me, and I had never
succeeded in avenging myself on him. I asked them to come and sup
with me--a windfall which these people are not given to refusing. The
pretended poet was a Genoese, and called himself Giacomo Passano. He
informed me that he had written three hundred sonnets against the abbe,
who would burst with rage if they were ever printed. As I could not
restrain a smile at the good opinion the poet had of his works, he
offered to read me a few sonnets. He had the manuscript about him, and
I could not escape the penance. He read a dozen or so, which I thought
mediocre, and a mediocre sonnet is necessarily a bad sonnet, as this
form of poetry demands sublimity; and thus amongst the myriads of
sonnets to which Italy gives birth very few can be called good.

If I had given myself time to examine the man's features, I should, no
doubt, have found him to be a rogue; but I was blinded by passion, and
the idea of three hundred sonnets against the Abbe Chiari fascinated me.

I cast my eyes over the title of the manuscript, and read, "La Chiareide
di Ascanio Pogomas."

"That's an anagram of my Christian name and my surname; is it not a
happy combination?"

This folly made me smile again. Each of the sonnets was a dull diatribe
ending with "l'abbate Chiari e un coglione." He did not prove that he
was one, but he said so over and over again, making use of the poet's
privilege to exaggerate and lie. What he wanted to do was to annoy the
abbe, who was by no means what Passano called him, but on the contrary,
a wit and a poet; and if he had been acquainted with the requirements of
the stage he would have written better plays than Goldoni, as he had a
greater command of language.

I told Passano, for civility's sake, that he ought to get his Chiareide
printed.

"I would do so," said he, "if I could find a publisher, for I am not
rich enough to pay the expenses, and the publishers are a pack of
ignorant beggars. Besides, the press is not free, and the censor would
not let the epithet I give to my hero pass. If I could go to Switzerland
I am sure it could be managed; but I must have six sequins to walk to
Switzerland, and I have not got them."

"And when you got to Switzerland, where there are no theatres, what
would you do for a living?"

"I would paint in miniature. Look at those."

He gave me a number of small ivory tablets, representing obscene
subjects, badly drawn and badly painted.

"I will give you an introduction to a gentleman at Berne," I said; and
after supper I gave him a letter and six sequins. He wanted to force
some of his productions on me, but I would not have them.

I was foolish enough to give him a letter to pretty Sara's father, and I
told him to write to me at Rome, under cover of the banker Belloni.

I set out from Leghorn the next day and went to Pisa, where I stopped
two days. There I made the acquaintance of an Englishman, of whom I
bought a travelling carriage. He took me to see Corilla, the celebrated
poetess. She received me with great politeness, and was kind enough to
improvise on several subjects which I suggested. I was enchanted, not so
much with her grace and beauty, as by her wit and perfect elocution. How
sweet a language sounds when it is spoken well and the expressions are
well chosen. A language badly spoken is intolerable even from a pretty
mouth, and I have always admired the wisdom of the Greeks who made
their nurses teach the children from the cradle to speak correctly and
pleasantly. We are far from following their good example; witness the
fearful accents one hears in what is called, often incorrectly, good
society.

Corilla was 'straba', like Venus as painted by the ancients--why, I
cannot think, for however fair a squint-eyed woman may be otherwise, I
always look upon her face as distorted. I am sure that if Venus had been
in truth a goddess, she would have made the eccentric Greek, who first
dared to paint her cross-eyed, feel the weight of her anger. I was told
that when Corilla sang, she had only to fix her squinting eyes on a man
and the conquest was complete; but, praised be God! she did not fix them
on me.

At Florence I lodged at the "Hotel Carrajo," kept by Dr. Vannini, who
delighted to confess himself an unworthy member of the Academy Della
Crusca. I took a suite of rooms which looked out on the bank of the
Arno. I also took a carriage and a footman, whom, as well as a coachman,
I clad in blue and red livery. This was M. de Bragadin's livery, and
I thought I might use his colours, not with the intention of deceiving
anyone, but merely to cut a dash.

The morning after my arrival I put on my great coat to escape
observation, and proceeded to walk about Florence. In the evening I went
to the theatre to see the famous harlequin, Rossi, but I considered his
reputation was greater than he deserved. I passed the same judgment
on the boasted Florentine elocution; I did not care for it at all. I
enjoyed seeing Pertici; having become old, and not being able to sing
any more, he acted, and, strange to say, acted well; for, as a rule,
all singers, men and women, trust to their voice and care nothing for
acting, so that an ordinary cold entirely disables them for the time
being.

Next day I called on the banker, Sasso Sassi, on whom I had a good
letter of credit, and after an excellent dinner I dressed and went to
the opera an via della Pergola, taking a stage box, not so much for the
music, of which I was never much of an admirer, as because I wanted to
look at the actress.

The reader may guess my delight and surprise when I recognised in the
prima donna Therese, the false Bellino, whom I had left at Rimini in the
year 1744; that charming Therese whom I should certainly have married
if M. de Gages had not put me under arrest. I had not seen her for
seventeen years, but she looked as beautiful and ravishing as ever as
she came forward on the stage. It seemed impossible. I could not believe
my eyes, thinking the resemblance must be a coincidence, when, after
singing an air, she fixed her eyes on mine and kept them there. I could
no longer doubt that it was she; she plainly recognized me. As she left
the stage she stopped at the wings and made a sign to me with her fan to
come and speak to her.

I went out with a beating heart, though I could not explain my
perturbation, for I did not feel guilty in any way towards Therese,
save in that I had not answered the last letter she had written me from
Naples, thirteen years ago. I went round the theatre, feeling a greater
curiosity as to the results of our interview than to know what had
befallen her during the seventeen years which seemed an age to me.

I came to the stage-door, and I saw Therese standing at the top of the
stair. She told the door-keeper to let me pass; I went up and we stood
face to face. Dumb with surprise I took her hand and pressed it against
my heart.

"Know from that beating heart," said I, "all that I feel."

"I can't follow your example," said she, "but when I saw you I thought
I should have fainted. Unfortunately I am engaged to supper. I shall not
shut my eyes all night. I shall expect you at eight o'clock to-morrow
morning. Where are you staying?"

"At Dr. Vannini's."

"Under what name?"

"My own."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since yesterday."

"Are you stopping long in Florence?"

"As long as you like."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Cursed be that supper! What an event! You must leave me now, I have to
go on. Good-bye till seven o'clock to-morrow."

She had said eight at first, but an hour sooner was no harm. I returned
to the theatre, and recollected that I had neither asked her name or
address, but I could find out all that easily. She was playing Mandane,
and her singing and acting were admirable. I asked a well-dressed young
man beside me what that admirable actress's name was.

"You have only come to Florence to-day, sir?"

"I arrived yesterday."

"Ah! well, then it's excusable. That actress has the same name as I
have. She is my wife, and I am Cirillo Palesi, at your service."

I bowed and was silent with surprise. I dared not ask where she lived,
lest he might think my curiosity impertinent. Therese married to this
handsome young man, of whom, of all others, I had made enquiries about
her! It was like a scene in a play.

I could bear it no longer. I longed to be alone and to ponder over this
strange adventure at my ease, and to think about my visit to Therese at
seven o'clock the next morning. I felt the most intense curiosity to see
what the husband would do when he recognized me, and he was certain to
do so, for he had looked at me attentively as he spoke. I felt that
my old flame for Therese was rekindled in my heart, and I did not know
whether I was glad or sorry at her being married.

I left the opera-house and told my footman to call my carriage.

"You can't have it till nine o'clock, sir; it was so cold the coachman
sent the horses back to the stable."

"We will return on foot, then."

"You will catch a cold."

"What is the prima donna's name?"

"When she came here, she called herself Lanti, but for the last two
months she has been Madame Palesi. She married a handsome young man with
no property and no profession, but she is rich, so he takes his ease and
does nothing."

"Where does she live?"

"At the end of this street. There's her house, sir; she lodges on the
first floor."

This was all I wanted to know, so I said no more, but took note of the
various turnings, that I might be able to find my way alone the next
day. I ate a light supper, and told Le Duc to call me at six o'clock.

"But it is not light till seven."

"I know that."

"Very good."

At the dawn of day, I was at the door of the woman I had loved so
passionately. I went to the first floor, rang the bell, and an old woman
came out and asked me if I were M. Casanova. I told her that I was,
whereupon she said that the lady had informed her I was not coming till
eight.

"She said seven."

"Well, well, it's of no consequence. Kindly walk in here. I will go and
awake her."

In five minutes, the young husband in his night-cap and dressing-gown
came in, and said that his wife would not be long. Then looking at me
attentively with an astounded stare, he said,

"Are you not the gentleman who asked me my wife's name last night?"

"You are right, I did. I have not seen your wife for many years, but
I thought I recognized her. My good fortune made me enquire of her
husband, and the friendship which formerly attached me to her will
henceforth attach me to you."

As I uttered this pretty compliment Therese, as fair as love, rushed
into the room with open arms. I took her to my bosom in a transport of
delight, and thus we remained for two minutes, two friends, two lovers,
happy to see one another after a long and sad parting. We kissed each
other again and again, and then bidding her husband sit down she drew me
to a couch and gave full course to her tears. I wept too, and my tears
were happy ones. At last we wiped our eyes, and glanced towards the
husband whom we had completely forgotten. He stood in an attitude of
complete astonishment, and we burst out laughing. There was something
so comic in his surprise that it would have taxed all the talents of
the poet and the caricaturist to depict his expression of amazement.
Therese, who knew how to manage him, cried in a pathetic an affectionate
voice,--

"My dear Palesi, you see before you my father--nay, more than a father,
for this is my generous friend to whom I owe all. Oh, happy moment for
which my heart has longed for these ten years past."

At the word "father" the unhappy husband fixed his gaze on me, but I
restrained my laughter with considerable difficulty. Although Therese
was young for her age, she was only two years younger than I; but
friendship gives a new meaning to the sweet name of father.

"Yes, sir," said I, "your Therese is my daughter, my sister, my
cherished friend; she is an angel, and this treasure is your wife."

"I did not reply to your last letter," said I, not giving him time to
come to himself.

"I know all," she replied. "You fell in love with a nun. You were
imprisoned under the Leads, and I heard of your almost miraculous flight
at Vienna. I had a false presentiment that I should see you in that
town. Afterwards I heard of you in Paris and Holland, but after you left
Paris nobody could tell me any more about you. You will hear some fine
tales when I tell you all that has happened to me during the past ten
years. Now I am happy. I have my dear Palesi here, who comes from Rome.
I married him a couple of months ago. We are very fond of each other,
and I hope you will be as much his friend as mine."

At this I arose and embraced the husband, who cut such an extraordinary
figure. He met me with open arms, but in some confusion; he was, no
doubt, not yet quite satisfied as to the individual who was his wife's
father, brother, friend, and perhaps lover, all at once. Therese saw
this feeling in his eyes, and after I had done she came and kissed him
most affectionately, which confused me in my turn, for I felt all my
old love for her renewed, and as ardent as it was when Don Sancio Pico
introduced me to her at Ancona.

Reassured by my embrace and his wife's caress, M. Palesi asked me if I
would take a cup of chocolate with them, which he himself would make.
I answered that chocolate was my favourite breakfast-dish, and all the
more so when it was made by a friend. He went away to see to it. Our
time had come.

As soon as we were alone Therese threw herself into my arms, her face
shining with such love as no pen can describe.

"Oh, my love! whom I shall love all my life, clasp me to your breast!
Let us give each other a hundred embraces on this happy day, but not
again, since my fate has made me another's bride. To-morrow we will be
like brother and sister; to-day let us be lovers."

She had not finished this speech before my bliss was crowned. Our
transports were mutual, and we renewed them again and again during the
half hour in which we had no fear of an interruption. Her negligent
morning dress and my great coat were highly convenient under the
circumstances.

After we had satiated in part our amorous ardour we breathed again and
sat down. There was a short pause, and then she said,

"You must know that I am in love with my husband and determined not
to deceive him. What I have just done was a debt I had to pay to the
remembrance of my first love. I had to pay it to prove how much I love
you; but let us forget it now. You must be contented with the thought of
my great affection for you--of which you can have no doubt--and let
me still think that you love me; but henceforth do not let us be alone
together, as I should give way, and that would vex me. What makes you
look so sad?"

"I find you bound, while I am free. I thought we had met never to part
again; you had kindled the old fires. I am the same to you as I was at
Ancona. I have proved as much, and you can guess how sad I feel at your
decree that I am to enjoy you no more. I find that you are not only
married but in love with your husband. Alas! I have come too late, but
if I had not stayed at Genoa I should not have been more fortunate. You
shall know all in due time, and in the meanwhile I will be guided by you
in everything. I suppose your husband knows nothing of our connection,
and my best plan will be to be reserved, will it not?"

"Yes, dearest, for he knows nothing of my affairs, and I am glad to say
he shews no curiosity respecting them. Like everybody else, he knows I
made my fortune at Naples; I told him I went there when I was ten years
old. That was an innocent lie which hurts nobody; and in my position I
find that inconvenient truths have to give way to lies. I give myself
out as only twenty-four, how do you think I look?"

"You look as if you were telling the truth, though I know you must be
thirty-two."

"You mean thirty-one, for when I knew you I couldn't have been more than
fourteen."

"I thought you were fifteen at least."

"Well, I might admit that between ourselves; but tell me if I look more
than twenty-four."

"I swear to you you don't look as old, but at Naples . . . ."

"At Naples some people might be able to contradict me, but nobody would
mind them. But I am waiting for what ought to be the sweetest moment of
your life."

"What is that, pray?"

"Allow me to keep my own counsel, I want to enjoy your surprise. How
are you off? If you want money, I can give you back all you gave me,
and with compound interest. All I have belongs to me; my husband is not
master of anything. I have fifty thousand ducats at Naples, and an equal
sum in diamonds. Tell me how much you want--quick! the chocolate is
coming."

Such a woman was Therese. I was deeply moved, and was about to throw
my arms about her neck without answering when the chocolate came. Her
husband was followed by a girl of exquisite beauty, who carried three
cups of chocolate on a silver-gilt dish. While we drank it Palesi
amused us by telling us with much humour how surprised he was when he
recognized the man who made him rise at such an early hour as the
same who had asked him his wife's name the night before. Therese and
I laughed till our sides ached, the story was told so wittily and
pleasantly. This Roman displeased me less than I expected; his jealousy
seemed only put on for form's sake.

"At ten o'clock," said Theresa, "I have a rehearsal here of the new
opera. You can stay and listen if you like. I hope you will dine with us
every day, and it will give me great pleasure if you will look upon my
house as yours."

"To-day," said I, "I will stay with you till after supper, and then I
will leave you with your fortunate husband."

As I pronounced these words M. Palesi embraced me with effusion, as if
to thank me for not objecting to his enjoying his rights as a husband.

He was between the ages of twenty and twenty-two, of a fair complexion,
and well-made, but too pretty for a man. I did not wonder at Therese
being in love with him, for I knew too well the power of a handsome
face; but I thought that she had made a mistake in marrying him, for a
husband acquires certain rights which may become troublesome.

Therese's pretty maid came to tell me that my carriage was at the door.

"Will you allow me," said I to her, "to have my footman in?"

"Rascal," said I, as soon as he came in, "who told you to come here with
my carriage?"

"Nobody, sir, but I know my duty."

"Who told you that I was here?"

"I guessed as much."

"Go and fetch Le Duc, and come back with him."

When they arrived I told Le Duc to pay the impertinent fellow three
days' wages, to strip him of his livery, and to ask Dr. Vannini to
get me a servant of the same build, not gifted with the faculty of
divination, but who knew how to obey his master's orders. The rascal was
much perturbed at the result of his officiousness, and asked Therese to
plead for him; but, like a sensible woman, she told him that his master
was the best judge of the value of his services.

At ten o'clock all the actors and actresses arrived, bringing with them
a mob of amateurs who crowded the hall. Therese received their greetings
graciously, and I could see she enjoyed a great reputation. The
rehearsal lasted three hours, and wearied me extremely. To relieve
my boredom I talked to Palesi, whom I liked for not asking me any
particulars of my acquaintance with his wife. I saw that he knew how to
behave in the position in which he was placed.

A girl from Parma, named Redegonde, who played a man's part and sang
very well, stayed to dinner. Therese had also asked a young Bolognese,
named Corticelli. I was struck with the budding charms of this pretty
dancer, but as I was just then full of Therese, I did not pay much
attention to her. Soon after we sat down I saw a plump abbe coming in
with measured steps. He looked to me a regular Tartuffe, after nothing
but Therese. He came up to her as soon as he saw her, and going on
one knee in the Portuguese fashion, kissed her hand tenderly and
respectfully. Therese received him with smiling courtesy and put him at
her right hand; I was at their left. His voice, manner, and all about
him told me that I had known him, and in fact I soon recognized him
as the Abbe Gama, whom I had left at Rome seventeen years before with
Cardinal Acquaviva; but I pretended not to recognize him, and indeed he
had aged greatly. This gallant priest had eyes for no one but Therese,
and he was too busy with saying a thousand soft nothings to her to take
notice of anybody else in the company. I hoped that in his turn he would
either not recognize me or pretend not to do so, so I was continuing my
trifling talk with the Corticelli, when Therese told me that the abbe
wanted to know whether I did not recollect him. I looked at his face
attentively, and with the air of a man who is trying to recollect
something, and then I rose and asked if he were not the Abbe Gama, with
whose acquaintance I was honoured.

"The same," said he, rising, and placing his arms round my neck he
kissed me again and again. This was in perfect agreement with his
crafty character; the reader will not have forgotten the portrait of him
contained in the first volume of these Memoirs.

After the ice had been thus broken it will be imagined that we had a
long conversation. He spoke of Barbaruccia, of the fair Marchioness
G----, of Cardinal S---- C----, and told me how he had passed from the
Spanish to the Portuguese service, in which he still continued. I was
enjoying his talk about numerous subjects which had interested me in
my early youth, when an unexpected sight absorbed all my thinking
faculties. A young man of fifteen or sixteen, as well grown as Italians
usually are at that age, came into the room, saluted the company with
easy grace, and kissed Therese. I was the only person who did not know
him, but I was not the only one who looked surprised. The daring Therese
introduced him to me with perfect coolness with the words:--

"That is my brother."

I greeted him as warmly as I could, but my manner was slightly confused,
as I had not had time to recover my composure. This so-called brother
of Therese was my living image, though his complexion was rather clearer
than mine. I saw at once that he was my son; nature had never been so
indiscreet as in the amazing likeness between us. This, then, was the
surprise of which Therese had spoken; she had devised the pleasure of
seeing me at once astounded and delighted, for she knew that my heart
would be touched at the thought of having left her such a pledge of our
mutual love. I had not the slightest foreknowledge in the matter, for
Therese had never alluded to her being with child in her letters. I
thought, however, that she should not have brought about this meeting in
the presence of a third party, for everyone has eyes in their head, and
anyone with eyes must have seen that the young man was either my son or
my brother. I glanced at her, but she avoided meeting my eye, while the
pretended brother was looking at me so attentively that he did not hear
what was said to him. As to the others, they did nothing but look first
at me and then at him, and if they came to the conclusion that he was
my son they would be obliged to suppose that I had been the lover
of Therese's mother, if she were really his sister, for taking into
consideration the age she looked and gave herself out to be she could
not possibly be his mother. It was equally impossible that I could be
Therese's father, as I did not look any older than she did.

My son spoke the Neapolitan dialect perfectly, but he also spoke Italian
very well, and in whatever he said I was glad to recognize taste,
good sense, and intelligence. He was well-informed, though he had been
brought up at Naples, and his manners were very distinguished. His
mother made him sit between us at table.

"His favourite amusement," she said to me, "is music. You must hear
him on the clavier, and though I am eight years older I shall not be
surprised if you pronounce him the better performer."

Only a woman's delicate instinct could have suggested this remark; men
hardly ever approach women in this respect.

Whether from natural impulses or self-esteem, I rose from the table so
delighted with my son that I embraced him with the utmost tenderness,
and was applauded by the company. I asked everybody to dine with me the
next day, and my invitation was joyfully accepted; but the Corticelli
said, with the utmost simplicity,

"May I come, too?"

"Certainty; you too."

After dinner the Abbe Gama asked me to breakfast with him, or to have
him to breakfast the next morning, as he was longing for a good talk
with me.

"Come and breakfast with me," said I, "I shall be delighted to see you."

When the guests had gone Don Cesarino, as the pretended brother of
Therese was called, asked me if I would walk with him. I kissed him,
and replied that my carriage was at his service, and that he and his
brother-in-law could drive in it, but that I had resolved not to leave
his sister that day. Palesi seemed quite satisfied with the arrangement,
and they both went away.

When we were alone, I gave Therese an ardent embrace, and congratulated
her on having such a brother.

"My dear, he is the fruit of our amours; he is your son. He makes me
happy, and is happy himself, and indeed he has everything to make him
so."

"And I, too, am happy, dear Therese. You must have seen that I
recognized him at once."

"But do you want to give him a brother? How ardent you are!"

"Remember, beloved one, that to-morrow we are to be friends, and nothing
more."

By this my efforts were crowned with success, but the thought that it
was the last time was a bitter drop in the cup of happiness.

When we had regained our composure, Therese said,--

"The duke who took me from Rimini brought up our child; as soon as I
knew that I was pregnant I confided my secret to him. No one knew of my
delivery, and the child was sent to nurse at Sorrento, and the duke
had him baptized under the name of Caesar Philip Land. He remained at
Sorrento till he was nine, and then he was boarded with a worthy man,
who superintended his education and taught him music. From his earliest
childhood he has known me as his sister, and you cannot think how happy
I was when I saw him growing so like you. I have always considered him
as a sure pledge of our final union. I was ever thinking what would
happen when we met, for I knew that he would have the same influence
over you as he has over me. I was sure you would marry me and make him
legitimate."

"And you have rendered all this, which would have made me happy, an
impossibility."

"The fates decided so; we will say no more about it. On the death of the
duke I left Naples, leaving Cesarino at the same boarding school, under
the protection of the Prince de la Riccia, who has always looked upon
him as a brother. Your son, though he does not know it, possesses the
sum of twenty thousand ducats, of which I receive the interest, but you
may imagine that I let him want for nothing. My only regret is that I
cannot tell him I am his mother, as I think he would love me still more
if he knew that he owed his being to me. You cannot think how glad I was
to see your surprise to-day, and how soon you got to love him."

"He is wonderfully like me."

"That delights me. People must think that you were my mother's lover. My
husband thinks that our friendship is due to the connection between you
and my mother. He told me yesterday that Cesarino might be my brother on
the mother's side, but not on my father's; as he had seen his father in
the theatre, but that he could not possibly be my father, too. If I have
children by Palesi all I have will go to them, but if not Cesarino will
be my heir. My property is well secured, even if the Prince de Riccia
were to die."

"Come," said she, drawing me in the direction of her bed-room. She
opened a large box which contained her jewels and diamonds, and shares
to the amount of fifty thousand ducats. Besides that she had a large
amount of plate, and her talents which assured her the first place in
all the Italian theatres.

"Do you know whether our dear Cesarino has been in love yet?" said I.

"I don't think so, but I fancy my pretty maid is in love with him. I
shall keep my eyes open."

"You mustn't be too strict."

"No, but it isn't a good thing for a young man to engage too soon in
that pleasure which makes one neglect everything else."

"Let me have him, I will teach him how to live."

"Ask all, but leave me my son. You must know that I never kiss him for
fear of my giving way to excessive emotion. I wish you knew how good and
pure he is, and how well he loves me, I could not refuse him anything."

"What will people say in Venice when they see Casanova again, who
escaped from The Leads and has become twenty years younger?"

"You are going to Venice, then, for the Ascensa?"

"Yes, and you are going to Rome?"

"And to Naples, to see my friend the Duke de Matalone."

"I know him well. He has already had a son by the daughter of the Duke
de Bovino, whom he married. She must be a charming woman to have made a
man of him, for all Naples knew that he was impotent."

"Probably, she only knew the secret of making him a father."

"Well, it is possible."

We spent the time by talking with interest on various topics till
Cesarino and the husband came back. The dear child finished his conquest
of me at supper; he had a merry random wit, and all the Neapolitan
vivacity. He sat down at the clavier, and after playing several pieces
with the utmost skill he began to sing Neapolitan songs which made us
all laugh. Therese only looked at him and me, but now and again she
embraced her husband, saying, that in love alone lies happiness.

I thought then, and I think now, that this day was one of the happiest I
have ever spent.



CHAPTER VII


     The Corticelli--The Jew Manager Beaten--The False Charles
     Ivanoff and the Trick He Played Me--I Am Ordered to Leave
     Tuscany--I Arrive at Rome--My Brother Jean

At nine o'clock the next morning, the Abbe Gama was announced. The first
thing he did was to shed tears of joy (as he said) at seeing me so well
and prosperous after so many years. The reader will guess that the abbe
addressed me in the most flattering terms, and perhaps he may know
that one may be clever, experienced in the ways of the world, and even
distrustful of flattery, but yet one's self-love, ever on the watch,
listens to the flatterer, and thinks him pleasant. This polite and
pleasant abbe, who had become extremely crafty from having lived all his
days amongst the high dignitaries at the court of the 'Servus Servorum
Dei' (the best school of strategy), was not altogether an ill-disposed
man, but both his disposition and his profession conspired to make him
inquisitive; in fine, such as I have depicted him in the first volume of
these Memoirs. He wanted to hear my adventures, and did not wait for
me to ask him to tell his story. He told me at great length the various
incidents in his life for the seventeen years in which we had not seen
one another. He had left the service of the King of Spain for that
of the King of Portugal, he was secretary of embassy to the Commander
Almada, and he had been obliged to leave Rome because the Pope Rezzonico
would not allow the King of Portugal to punish certain worthy Jesuit
assassins, who had only broken his arm as it happened, but who had
none the less meant to take his life. Thus, Gama was staying in Italy
corresponding with Almada and the famous Carvalho, waiting for the
dispute to be finished before he returned to Rome. In point of fact this
was the only substantial incident in the abbe's story, but he worked in
so many episodes of no consequence that it lasted for an hour. No doubt
he wished me to shew my gratitude by telling him all my adventures
without reserve; but the upshot of it was that we both shewed ourselves
true diplomatists, he in lengthening his story, I in shortening mine,
while I could not help feeling some enjoyment in baulking the curiosity
of my cassocked friend.

"What are you going to do in Rome?" said he, indifferently.

"I am going to beg the Pope to use his influence in my favour with the
State Inquisitors at Venice."

It was not the truth, but one lie is as good as another, and if I had
said I was only going for amusement's sake he would not have believed
me. To tell the truth to an unbelieving man is to prostitute, to murder
it. He then begged me to enter into a correspondence with him, and as
that bound me to nothing I agreed to do so.

"I can give you a mark of my friendship," said he, "by introducing you
to the Marquis de Botta-Adamo, Governor of Tuscany; he is supposed to be
a friend of the regent's."

I accepted his offer gratefully, and he began to sound me about Therese,
but found my lips as tightly closed as the lid of a miser's coffer. I
told him she was a child when I made the acquaintance of her family at
Bologna, and that the resemblance between her brother and myself was
a mere accident--a freak of nature. He happened to catch sight of
a well-written manuscript on the table, and asked me if that superb
writing was my secretary's. Costa, who was present, answered in Spanish
that he wrote it. Gama overwhelmed him with compliments, and begged me
to send Costa to him to copy some letters. I guessed that he wanted to
pump him about me, and said that I needed his services all the day.

"Well, well," said the abbe, "another time will do." I gave him no
answer. Such is the character of the curious.

I am not referring to that curiosity which depends on the occult
sciences, and endeavours to pry into the future--the daughter of
ignorance and superstition, its victims are either foolish or ignorant.
But the Abbe Gama was neither; he was naturally curious, and his
employment made him still more so, for he was paid to find out
everything. He was a diplomatist; if he had been a little lower down in
the social scale he would have been treated as a spy.

He left me to pay some calls, promising to be back by dinner-time.

Dr. Vannini brought me another servant, of the same height as the first,
and engaged that he should obey orders and guess nothing. I thanked
the academician and inn-keeper, and ordered him to get me a sumptuous
dinner.

The Corticelli was the first to arrive, bringing with her her brother,
an effeminate-looking young man, who played the violin moderately well,
and her mother, who informed me that she never allowed her daughter to
dine out without herself and her son.

"Then you can take her back again this instant," said I, "or take this
ducat to dine somewhere else, as I don't want your company or your
son's."

She took the ducat, saying that she was sure she was leaving her
daughter in good hands.

"You may be sure of that," said I, "so be off."

The daughter made such witty observations on the above dialogue that
I could not help laughing, and I began to be in love with her. She was
only thirteen, and was so small that she looked ten. She was well-made,
lively, witty, and fairer than is usual with Italian women, but to this
day I cannot conceive how I fell in love with her.

The young wanton begged me to protect her against the manager of the
opera, who was a Jew. In the agreement she had made with him he had
engaged to let her dance a 'pas de deux' in the second opera, and he
had not kept his word. She begged me to compel the Jew to fulfil his
engagement, and I promised to do so.

The next guest was Redegonde, who came from Parma. She was a tall,
handsome woman, and Costa told me she was the sister of my new footman.
After I had talked with her for two or three minutes I found her remarks
well worthy of attention.

Then came the Abbe Gama, who congratulated me on being seated between
two pretty girls. I made him take my place, and he began to entertain
them as if to the manner born; and though the girls were laughing at
him, he was not in the least disconcerted. He thought he was amusing
them, and on watching his expression I saw that his self-esteem
prevented him seeing that he was making a fool of himself; but I did not
guess that I might make the same mistake at his age.

Wretched is the old man who will not recognize his old age; wretched
unless he learn that the sex whom he seduced so often when he was young
will despise him now if he still attempts to gain their favour.

My fair Therese, with her husband and my son, was the last to arrive. I
kissed Therese and then my son, and sat down between them, whispering to
Therese that such a dear mysterious trinity must not be parted; at which
Therese smiled sweetly. The abbe sat down between Redegonde and the
Corticelli, and amused us all the time by his agreeable conversation.

I laughed internally when I observed how respectfully my new footman
changed his sister's plate, who appeared vain of honours to which her
brother could lay no claim. She was not kind; she whispered to me, so
that he could not hear,--

"He is a good fellow, but unfortunately he is rather stupid."

I had put in my pocket a superb gold snuff-box, richly enamelled and
adorned with a perfect likeness of myself. I had had it made at Paris,
with the intention of giving it to Madame d'Urfe, and I had not done
so because the painter had made me too young. I had filled it with some
excellent Havana snuff which M. de Chavigny had given me, and of which
Therese was very fond; I was waiting for her to ask me for a pinch
before I drew it out of my pocket.

The Abbe Gama, who had some exceedingly good snuff in an Origonela box,
sent a pinch to Therese, and she sent him her snuff in a tortoise-shell
box encrusted with gold in arabesques--an exquisite piece of
workmanship. Gama criticised Therese's snuff, while I said that I found
it delicious but that I thought I had some better myself. I took out my
snuff-box, and opening it offered her a pinch. She did not notice the
portrait, but she agreed that my snuff was vastly superior to hers.

"Well, would you like to make an exchange?" said I. "Certainly, give me
some paper."

"That is not requisite; we will exchange the snuff and the snuff-boxes."

So saying, I put Therese's box in my pocket and gave her mine shut. When
she saw the portrait, she gave a cry which puzzled everybody, and her
first motion was to kiss the portrait.

"Look," said she to Cesarino, "here is your portrait."

Cesarino looked at it in astonishment, and the box passed from hand to
hand. Everybody said that it was my portrait, taken ten years ago,
and that it might pass for a likeness of Cesarino. Therese got quite
excited, and swearing that she would never let the box out of her hands
again, she went up to her son and kissed him several times. While this
was going on I watched the Abbe Gama, and I could see that he was making
internal comments of his own on this affecting scene.

The worthy abbe went away towards the evening, telling me that he would
expect me to breakfast next morning.

I spent the rest of the day in making love to Redegonde, and Therese,
who saw that I was pleased with the girl, advised me to declare myself,
and promised that she would ask her to the house as often as I liked.
But Therese did not know her.

Next morning Gama told me that he had informed Marshal Botta that I
would come and see him, and he would present me at four o'clock. Then
the worthy abbe, always the slave of his curiosity, reproached me in a
friendly manner for not having told him anything about my fortune.

"I did not think it was worth mentioning, but as you are interested
in the subject I may tell you that my means are small, but that I have
friends whose purses are always open to me."

"If you have true friends you are a rich man, but true friends are
scarce."

I left the Abbe Gama, my head full of Redegonde, whom I preferred to the
young Corticelli, and I went to pay her a visit; but what a reception!
She received me in a room in which were present her mother, her
uncle, and three or four dirty, untidy little monkeys: these were her
brothers.'

"Haven't you a better room to receive your friends in?" said I.

"I have no friends, so I don't want a room."

"Get it, my dear, and you will find the friends come fast enough. This
is all very well for you to welcome your relations in, but not persons
like myself who come to do homage to your charms and your talents."

"Sir," said the mother, "my daughter has but few talents, and thinks
nothing of her charms, which are small."

"You are extremely modest, and I appreciate your feelings; but everybody
does not see your daughter with the same eyes, and she pleased me
greatly."

"That is an honour for her, and we are duly sensible of it, but not so
as to be over-proud. My daughter will see you as often as you please,
but here, and in no other place."

"But I am afraid of being in the way here."

"An honest man is never in the way."

I felt ashamed, for nothing so confounds a libertine as modesty in the
mouth of poverty; and not knowing what to answer I took my leave.

I told Therese of my unfortunate visit, and we both, laughed at it; it
was the best thing we could do.

"I shall be glad to see you at the opera," said she, "and you can get
into my dressing-room if you give the door-keeper a small piece of
money."

The Abbe Gama came as he promised, to take me to Marshal Botta, a man
of high talents whom the affair of Genoa had already rendered famous.
He was in command of the Austrian army when the people, growing angry
at the sight of the foreigners, who had only come to put them under
the Austrian yoke, rose in revolt and made them leave the town. This
patriotic riot saved the Republic. I found him in the midst of a crowd
of ladies and gentlemen, whom he left to welcome me. He talked about
Venice in a way that shewed he understood the country thoroughly, and I
conversed to him on France, and, I believe, satisfied him. In his turn
he spoke of the Court of Russia, at which he was staying when Elizabeth
Petrovna, who was still reigning at the period in question, so easily
mounted the throne of her father, Peter the Great. "It is only in
Russia," said he, "that poison enters into politics."

At the time when the opera began the marshal left the room, and
everybody went away. On my way the abbe assured me, as a matter of
course, that I had pleased the governor, and I afterwards went to the
theatre, and obtained admission to Therese's dressing-room for a tester.
I found her in the hands of her pretty chamber-maid, and she advised
me to go to Redegonde's dressing-room, as she played a man's part, and
might, perhaps, allow me to assist in her toilette.

I followed her advice, but the mother would not let me come in, as her
daughter was just going to dress. I assured her that I would turn my
back all the time she was dressing, and on this condition she let me in,
and made me sit down at a table on which stood a mirror, which enabled
me to see all Redegonde's most secret parts to advantage; above all,
when she lifted her legs to put on her breeches, either most awkwardly
or most cleverly, according to her intentions. She did not lose anything
by what she shewed, however, for I was so pleased, that to possess her
charms I would have signed any conditions she cared to impose upon me.

"Redegonde must know," I said to myself, "that I could see everything
in the glass;" and the idea inflamed me. I did not turn round till the
mother gave me leave, and I then admired my charmer as a young man of
five feet one, whose shape left nothing to be desired.

Redegonde went out, and I followed her to the wings.

"My dear," said I, "I am going to talk plainly to you. You have inflamed
my passions and I shall die if you do not make me happy."

"You do not say that you will die if you chance to make me unhappy."

"I could not say so, because I cannot conceive such a thing as possible.
Do not trifle with me, dear Redegonde, you must be aware that I saw all
in the mirror, and I cannot think that you are so cruel as to arouse my
passions and then leave me to despair."

"What could you have seen? I don't know what you are talking about."

"May be, but know that I have seen all your charms. What shall I do to
possess you?"

"To possess me? I don't understand you, sir; I'm an honest girl."

"I dare say; but you wouldn't be any less honest after making me happy.
Dear Redegonde, do not let me languish for you, but tell me my fate now
this instant."

"I do not know what to tell you, but you can come and see me whenever
you like."

"When shall I find you alone?"

"Alone! I am never alone."

"Well, well, that's of no consequence; if only your mother is present,
that comes to the same thing. If she is sensible, she will pretend not
to see anything, and I will give you a hundred ducats each time."

"You are either a madman, or you do not know what sort of people we
are."

With these words she went on, and I proceeded to tell Therese what had
passed.

"Begin," said she, "by offering the hundred ducats to the mother, and if
she refuses, have no more to do with them, and go elsewhere."

I returned to the dressing-room, where I found the mother alone, and
without any ceremony spoke as follows:--

"Good evening, madam, I am a stranger here; I am only staying a week,
and I am in love with your daughter. If you like to be obliging, bring
her to sup with me. I will give you a hundred sequins each time, so you
see my purse is in your power."

"Whom do you think you are talking to, sir? I am astonished at your
impudence. Ask the townsfolk what sort of character I bear, and whether
my daughter is an honest girl or not! and you will not make such
proposals again."

"Good-bye, madam."

"Good-bye, sir."

As I went out I met Redegonde, and I told her word for word the
conversation I had had with her mother. She burst out laughing.

"Have I done well or ill?" said I.

"Well enough, but if you love me come and see me."

"See you after what your mother said?"

"Well, why not, who knows of it?"

"Who knows? You don't know me, Redegonde. I do not care to indulge
myself in idle hopes, and I thought I had spoken to you plainly enough."

Feeling angry, and vowing to have no more to do with this strange girl,
I supped with Therese, and spent three delightful hours with her. I had
a great deal of writing to do the next day and kept in doors, and in the
evening I had a visit from the young Corticelli, her mother and brother.
She begged me to keep my promise regarding the manager of the theatre,
who would not let her dance the 'pas de deux' stipulated for in the
agreement.

"Come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning," said I, "and I will
speak to the Israelite in your presence--at least I will do so if he
comes."

"I love you very much," said the young wanton, "can't I stop a little
longer here."

"You may stop as long as you like, but as I have got some letters to
finish, I must ask you to excuse my entertaining you."

"Oh! just as you please."

I told Costa to give her some supper.

I finished my letters and felt inclined for a little amusement, so I
made the girl sit by me and proceeded to toy with her, but in such a way
that her mother could make no objection. All at once the brother came up
and tried to join in the sport, much to my astonishment.

"Get along with you," said I, "you are not a girl."

At this the young scoundrel proceeded to shew me his sex, but in such an
indecent fashion that his sister, who was sitting on my knee, burst out
laughing and took refuge with her mother, who was sitting at the other
end of the room in gratitude for the good supper I had given her. I rose
from my chair, and after giving the impudent pederast a box on the ear
I asked the mother with what intentions she had brought the young rascal
to my house. By way of reply the infamous woman said,--

"He's a pretty lad, isn't he?"

I gave him a ducat for the blow I had given him, and told the mother to
begone, as she disgusted me. The pathic took my ducat, kissed my hand,
and they all departed.

I went to bed feeling amused at the incident, and wondering at the
wickedness of a mother who would prostitute her own son to the basest of
vices.

Next morning I sent and asked the Jew to call on me. The Corticelli
came with her mother, and the Jew soon after, just as we were going to
breakfast.

I proceeded to explain the grievance of the young dancer, and I read the
agreement he had made with her, telling him politely that I could easily
force him to fulfil it. The Jew put in several excuses, of which the
Corticelli demonstrated the futility. At last the son of Judah was
forced to give in, and promised to speak to the ballet-master the same
day, in order that she might dance the 'pas' with the actor she named.

"And that, I hope, will please your excellency," he added, with a low
bow, which is not often a proof of sincerity, especially among Jews.

When my guests had taken leave I went to the Abbe Gama, to dine with
Marshal Botta who had asked us to dinner. I made the acquaintance there
of Sir Mann, the English ambassador, who was the idol of Florence, very
rich, of the most pleasing manners although an Englishman; full of wit,
taste, and a great lover of the fine arts. He invited me to come next
day and see his house and garden. In this home he had made--furniture,
pictures, choice books--all shewed the man of genius. He called on
me, asked me to dinner, and had the politeness to include Therese, her
husband, and Cesarino in the invitation. After dinner my son sat down at
the clavier and delighted the company by his exquisite playing. While we
were talking of likenesses, Sir Mann shewed us some miniatures of great
beauty.

Before leaving, Therese told me that she had been thinking seriously of
me.

"In what respect?" I asked.

"I have told Redegonde that I am going to call for her, that I will
keep her to supper, and have her taken home. You must see that this last
condition is properly carried out. Come to supper too, and have your
carriage in waiting. I leave the rest to you. You will only be a few
minutes with her, but that's something; and the first step leads far."

"An excellent plan. I will sup with you, and my carriage shall be ready.
I will tell you all about it to-morrow."

I went to the house at nine o'clock, and was welcomed as an unexpected
guest. I told Redegonde that I was glad to meet her, and she replied
that she had not hoped to have the pleasure of seeing me. Redegonde
was the only one who had any appetite; she ate capitally, and laughed
merrily at the stories I told her.

After supper Therese asked her if she would like to have a sedan-chair
sent for, or if she would prefer to be taken back in my carriage.

"If the gentleman will be so kind," said she, "I need not send for a
chair."

I thought this reply of such favourable omen that I no longer doubted of
my success. After she had wished the others good night, she took my arm,
pressing it as she did so; we went down the stairs, and she got into the
carriage. I got in after her, and on attempting to sit down I found the
place taken.

"Who is that?" I cried.

Redegonde burst out laughing, and informed me it was her mother.

I was done; I could not summon up courage to pass it off as a jest.
Such a shock makes a man stupid; for a moment it numbs all the mental
faculties, and wounded self-esteem only gives place to anger.

I sat down on the front seat and coldly asked the mother why she had not
come up to supper with us. When the carriage stopped at their door, she
asked me to come in, but I told her I would rather not. I felt that for
a little more I would have boxed her ears, and the man at the house door
looked very like a cut-throat.

I felt enraged and excited physically as well as mentally, and though I
had never been to see the Corticelli, told the coachman to drive there
immediately, as I felt sure of finding her well disposed. Everybody was
gone to bed. I knocked at the door till I got an answer, I gave my name,
and I was let in, everything being in total darkness. The mother told me
she would light a candle, and that if she had expected me she would have
waited up in spite of the cold. I felt as if I were in the middle of an
iceberg. I heard the girl laughing, and going up to the bed and passing
my hand over it I came across some plain tokens of the masculine gender.
I had got hold of her brother. In the meanwhile the mother had got a
candle, and I saw the girl with the bedclothes up to her chin, for, like
her brother, she was as naked as my hand. Although no Puritan, I was
shocked.

"Why do you allow this horrible union?" I said to the mother.

"What harm is there? They are brother and sister."

"That's just what makes it a criminal matter."

"Everything is perfectly innocent."

"Possibly; but it's not a good plan."

The pathic escaped from the bed and crept into his mother's, while the
little wanton told me there was really no harm, as they only loved
each other as brother and sister, and that if I wanted her to sleep by
herself all I had to do was to get her a new bed. This speech, delivered
with arch simplicity, in her Bolognese jargon, made me laugh with all my
heart, for in the violence of her gesticulations she had disclosed half
her charms, and I saw nothing worth looking at. In spite of that, it was
doubtless decreed that I should fall in love with her skin, for that was
all she had.

If I had been alone I should have brought matters to a crisis on
the spot, but I had a distaste to the presence of her mother and her
scoundrelly brother. I was afraid lest some unpleasant scenes might
follow. I gave her ten ducats to buy a bed, said good night, and left
the house. I returned to my lodging, cursing the too scrupulous mothers
of the opera girls.

I passed the whole of the next morning with Sir Mann, in his gallery,
which contained some exquisite paintings, sculptures, mosaics, and
engraved gems. On leaving him, I called on Therese and informed her of
my misadventure of the night before. She laughed heartily at my story,
and I laughed too, in spite of a feeling of anger due to my wounded
self-esteem.

"You must console yourself," said she; "you will not find much
difficulty in filling the place in your affections."

"Ah! why are you married?"

"Well, it's done; and there's no helping it. But listen to me. As you
can't do without someone, take up with the Corticelli; she's as good as
any other woman, and won't keep you waiting long."

On my return to my lodging, I found the Abbe Gama, whom I had invited to
dinner, and he asked me if I would accept a post to represent Portugal
at the approaching European Congress at Augsburg. He told me that if I
did the work well, I could get anything I liked at Lisbon.

"I am ready to do my best," said I; "you have only to write to me, and I
will tell you where to direct your letters." This proposal made me long
to become a diplomatist.

In the evening I went to the opera-house and spoke to the ballet-master,
the dancer who was to take part in the 'pas de deux', and to the Jew,
who told me that my protegee should be satisfied in two or three days,
and that she should perform her favourite 'pas' for the rest of the
carnival. I saw the Corticelli, who told me she had got her bed, and
asked me to come to supper. I accepted the invitation, and when the
opera was over I went to her house.

Her mother, feeling sure that I would pay the bill, had ordered an
excellent supper for four, and several flasks of the best Florence wine.
Besides that, she gave me a bottle of the wine called Oleatico, which
I found excellent. The three Corticellis unaccustomed to good fare and
wine, ate like a troop, and began to get intoxicated. The mother and son
went to bed without ceremony, and the little wanton invited me to follow
their example. I should have liked to do so, but I did not dare. It was
very cold and there was no fire in the room, there was only one blanket
on the bed, and I might have caught a bad cold, and I was too fond of
my good health to expose myself to such a danger. I therefore satisfied
myself by taking her on my knee, and after a few preliminaries she
abandoned herself to my transports, endeavouring to persuade me that I
had got her maidenhead. I pretended to believe her, though I cared very
little whether it were so or not.

I left her after I had repeated the dose three or four times, and gave
her fifty sequins, telling her to get a good wadded coverlet and a large
brazier, as I wanted to sleep with her the next night.

Next morning I received an extremely interesting letter from Grenoble.
M. de Valenglard informed me that the fair Mdlle. Roman, feeling
convinced that her horoscope would never come true unless she went to
Paris, had gone to the capital with her aunt.

Her destiny was a strange one; it depended on the liking I had taken to
her and my aversion to marriage, for it lay in my power to have married
the handsomest woman in France, and in that case it is not likely that
she would have become the mistress of Louis XV. What strange whim could
have made me indicate in her horoscope the necessity of her journeying
to Paris; for even if there were such a science as astrology I was no
astrologer; in fine, her destiny depended on my absurd fancy. And in
history, what a number of extraordinary events would never have happened
if they had not been predicted!

In the evening I went to the theatre, and found my Corticelli clad in
a pretty cloak, while the other girls looked at me contemptuously, for
they were enraged at the place being taken; while the proud favourite
caressed me with an air of triumph which became her to admiration.

In the evening I found a good supper awaiting me, a large brazier on
the hearth, and a warm coverlet on the bed. The mother shewed me all the
things her daughter had bought, and complained that she had not got any
clothes for her brother. I made her happy by giving her a few louis.

When I went to bed I did not find my mistress in any amorous transports,
but in a wanton and merry mood. She made me laugh, and as she let me
do as I liked I was satisfied. I gave her a watch when I left her, and
promised to sup with her on the following night. She was to have danced
the pas de deux, and I went to see her do it, but to my astonishment she
only danced with the other girls.

When I went to supper I found her in despair. She wept and said that I
must avenge her on the Jew, who had excused himself by putting the fault
on somebody else, but that he was a liar. I promised everything to quiet
her, and after spending several hours in her company I returned home,
determined to give the Jew a bad quarter of an hour. Next morning I sent
Costa to ask him to call on me, but the rascal sent back word that he
was not coming, and if the Corticelli did not like his theatre she might
try another.

I was indignant, but I knew that I must dissemble, so I only laughed.
Nevertheless, I had pronounced his doom, for an Italian never forgets to
avenge himself on his enemy; he knows it is the pleasure of the gods.

As soon as Costa had left the room, I called Le Duc and told him the
story, saying that if I did not take vengeance I should be dishonoured,
and that it was only he who could procure the scoundrel a good thrashing
for daring to insult me.

"But you know, Le Duc, the affair must be kept secret."

"I only want twenty-four hours to give you an answer."

I knew what he meant, and I was satisfied.

Next morning Le Duc told me he had spent the previous day in learning
the Jew's abode and habits, without asking anybody any questions.

"To-day I will not let him go out of my sight. I shall find out at what
hour he returns home, and to-morrow you shall know the results."

"Be discreet," said I, "and don't let anybody into your plans."

"Not I!"

Next day, he told me that if the Jew came home at the same time and by
the same way as before, he would have a thrashing before he got to bed.

"Whom have you chosen for this expedition?"

"Myself. These affairs ought to be kept secret, and a secret oughtn't
to be known to more than two people. I am sure that everything will turn
out well, but when you are satisfied that the ass's hide has been well
tanned, will there be anything to be picked up?"

"Twenty-five sequins."

"That will do nicely. When I have done the trick I shall put on my great
coat again and return by the back door. If necessary Costa himself will
be able to swear that I did not leave the house, and that therefore I
cannot have committed the assault. However, I shall put my pistols in my
pocket in case of accidents, and if anybody tries to arrest me I shall
know how to defend myself."

Next morning he came coolly into my room while Costa was putting on my
dressing-gown, and when we were alone he said,--

"The thing's done. Instead of the Jew's running away when he received
the first blow he threw himself on to the ground. Then I tanned his skin
for him nicely, but on hearing some people coming up I ran off. I don't
know whether I did for him, but I gave him two sturdy blows on the head.
I should be sorry if he were killed, as then he could not see about the
dance."

This jest did not arouse my mirth; the matter promised to be too
serious.

Therese had asked me to dine with the Abbe Gama and M. Sassi, a worthy
man, if one may prostitute the name of man to describe a being whom
cruelty has separated from the rest of humanity; he was the first
castrato of the opera. Of course the Jew's mishap was discussed.

"I am sorry for him," said I, "though he is a rascally fellow."

"I am not at all sorry for him myself," said Sassi, "he's a knave."

"I daresay that everybody will be putting down his wooden baptism to my
account."

"No," said the abbe, "people say that M. Casanova did the deed for good
reasons of his own."

"It will be difficult to pitch on the right man," I answered, "the
rascal has pushed so many worthy people to extremities that he must have
a great many thrashings owing him."

The conversation then passed to other topics, and we had a very pleasant
dinner.

In a few days the Jew left his bed with a large plaster on his nose, and
although I was generally regarded as the author of his misfortune
the matter was gradually allowed to drop, as there were only vague
suspicions to go upon. But the Corticelli, in an ecstasy of joy, was
stupid enough to talk as if she were sure it was I who had avenged her,
and she got into a rage when I would not admit the deed; but, as may be
guessed, I was not foolish enough to do so, as her imprudence might have
been a hanging matter for me.

I was well enough amused at Florence, and had no thoughts of leaving,
when one day Vannini gave me a letter which someone had left for me. I
opened it in his presence, and found it contained a bill of exchange for
two hundred Florentine crowns on Sasso Sassi. Vannini looked at it and
told me it was a good one. I went into my room to read the letter, and
I was astonished to find it signed "Charles Ivanoff." He dated it from
Pistoia, and told me that in his poverty and misfortune he had appealed
to an Englishman who was leaving Florence for Lucca, and had generously
given him a bill of exchange for two hundred crowns, which he had
written in his presence. It was made payable to bearer.

"I daren't cash it in Florence," said he, "as I am afraid of being
arrested for my unfortunate affair at Genoa. I entreat you, then, to
have pity on me, to get the bill cashed, and to bring me the money here,
that I may pay my landlord and go."

It looked like a very simple matter, but I might get into trouble, for
the note might be forged; and even if it were not I should be declaring
myself a friend or a correspondent, at all events, of a man who had been
posted. In this dilemma I took the part of taking the bill of exchange
to him in person. I went to the posting establishment, hired two horses,
and drove to Pistoia. The landlord himself took me to the rascal's room,
and left me alone with him.

I did not stay more than three minutes, and all I said was that as
Sassi knew me I did not wish him to think that there was any kind of
connection between us.

"I advise you," I said, "to give the bill to your landlord, who will
cash it at M. Sassi's and bring you your change."

"I will follow your advice," he said, and I therewith returned to
Florence.

I thought no more of it, but in two days' time I received a visit from
M. Sassi and the landlord of the inn at Pistoia. The banker shewed me
the bill of exchange, and said that the person who had given it me had
deceived me, as it was not in the writing of the Englishman whose name
it bore, and that even if it were, the Englishman not having any money
with Sassi could not draw a bill of exchange.

"The inn-keeper here," said he, "discounted the bill, the Russian has
gone off, and when I told him that it was a forgery he said that he knew
Charles Ivanoff had it of you, and that thus he had made no difficulty
in cashing it; but now he wants you to return him two hundred crowns."

"Then he will be disappointed!"

I told all the circumstances of the affair to Sassi; I shewed him the
rascal's letter; I made Dr. Vannini, who had given it me, come up,
and he said he was ready to swear that he had seen me take the bill of
exchange out of the letter, that he had examined it, and had thought it
good.

On this the banker told the inn-keeper that he had no business to ask me
to pay him the money; but he persisted in his demand, and dared to say
that I was an accomplice of the Russian's.

In my indignation I ran for my cane, but the banker held me by the arm,
and the impertinent fellow made his escape without a thrashing.

"You had a right to be angry," said M. Sassi, "but you must not take any
notice of what the poor fellow says in his blind rage."

He shook me by the hand and went out.

Next day the chief of police, called the auditor at Florence, sent me a
note begging me to call on him. There was no room for hesitation, for as
a stranger I felt that I might look on this invitation as an intimation.
He received me very politely, but he said I should have to repay the
landlord his two hundred crowns, as he would not have discounted the
bill if he had not seen me bring it. I replied that as a judge he
could not condemn me unless he thought me the Russian's accomplice, but
instead of answering he repeated that I would have to pay.

"Sir," I replied, "I will not pay."

He rang the bell and bowed, and I left him, walking towards the
banker's, to whom I imparted the conversation I had had from the
auditor. He was extremely astonished, and at my request called on him
to try and make him listen to reason. As we parted I told him that I was
dining with the Abbe Gama.

When I saw the abbe I told him what had happened, and he uttered a loud
exclamation of astonishment.

"I foresee," he said, "that the auditor will not let go his hold, and
if M. Sassi does not succeed with him I advise you to speak to Marshal
Botta."

"I don't think that will be necessary; the auditor can't force me to
pay."

"He can do worse."

"What can he do?".

"He can make you leave Florence."

"Well, I shall be astonished if he uses his power in this case, but
rather than pay I will leave the town. Let us go to the marshal."

We called on him at four o'clock, and we found the banker there, who had
told him the whole story.

"I am sorry to tell you," said M. Sassi, "that I could do nothing with
the auditor, and if you want to remain in Florence you will have to
pay."

"I will leave as soon as I receive the order," said I; "and as soon as I
reach another state I will print the history of this shameful perversion
of justice."

"It's an incredible, a monstrous sentence," said the marshal, "and I am
sorry I cannot interfere. You are quite right," he added, "to leave the
place rather than pay."

Early the next morning a police official brought me a letter from the
auditor, informing me that as he could not, from the nature of the case,
oblige me to pay, he was forced to warn me to leave Florence in three
days, and Tuscany in seven. This, he added, he did in virtue of his
office; but whenever the Grand Duke, to whom I might appeal, had quashed
his judgment I might return.

I took a piece of paper and wrote upon it, "Your judgment is an
iniquitous one, but it shall be obeyed to the letter."

At that moment I gave orders to pack up and have all in readiness for my
departure. I spent three days of respite in amusing myself with Therese.
I also saw the worthy Sir Mann, and I promised the Corticelli to fetch
her in Lent, and spend some time with her in Bologna. The Abbe Gama did
not leave my side for three days, and shewed himself my true friend.
It was a kind of triumph for me; on every side I heard regrets at
my departure, and curses of the auditor. The Marquis Botta seemed to
approve my conduct by giving me a dinner, the table being laid for
thirty, and the company being composed of the most distinguished people
in Florence. This was a delicate attention on his part, of which I was
very sensible.

I consecrated the last day to Therese, but I could not find any
opportunity to ask her for a last consoling embrace, which she would not
have refused me under the circumstances, and which I should still fondly
remember. We promised to write often to one another, and we embraced
each other in a way to make her husband's heart ache. Next day I started
on my journey, and got to Rome in thirty-six hours.

It was midnight when I passed under the Porta del Popolo, for one
may enter the Eternal City at any time. I was then taken to the
custom-house, which is always open, and my mails were examined. The
only thing they are strict about at Rome is books, as if they feared the
light. I had about thirty volumes, all more or less against the Papacy,
religion, or the virtues inculcated thereby. I had resolved to surrender
them without any dispute, as I felt tired and wanted to go to bed, but
the clerk told me politely to count them and leave them in his charge
for the night, and he would bring them to my hotel in the morning. I did
so, and he kept his word. He was well enough pleased when he touched the
two sequins with which I rewarded him.

I put up at the Ville de Paris, in the Piazza di Spagna. It is the best
inn in the town. All the world, I found, was drowned in sleep, but when
they let me in they asked me to wait on the ground floor while a
fire was lighted in my room. All the seats were covered with dresses,
petticoats, and chemises, and I heard a small feminine voice begging me
to sit on her bed. I approached and saw a laughing mouth, and two black
eyes shining like carbuncles.

"What splendid eyes!" said I, "let me kiss them."

By way of reply she hid her head under the coverlet, and I slid a hasty
hand under the sheets; but finding her quite naked, I drew it back
and begged pardon. She put out her head again, and I thought I read
gratitude for my moderation in her eyes.

"Who are you, my angel?"

"I am Therese, the inn-keeper's daughter, and this is my sister." There
was another girl beside her, whom I had not seen, as her head was under
the bolster.

"How old are you?"

"Nearly seventeen."

"I hope I shall see you in my room to-morrow morning."

"Have you any ladies with you?"

"No."

"That's a pity, as we never go to the gentlemen's rooms."

"Lower the coverlet a little; I can't hear what you say."

"It's too cold."

"Dear Therese, your eyes make me feel as if I were in flames."

She put back her head at this, and I grew daring, and after sundry
experiments I was more than ever charmed with her. I caressed her in a
somewhat lively manner, and drew back my hand, again apologizing for my
daring, and when she let me see her face I thought I saw delight rather
than anger in her eyes and on her cheeks, and I felt hopeful with regard
to her. I was just going to begin again, for I felt on fire; when a
handsome chambermaid came to tell me that my room was ready and my fire
lighted.

"Farewell till to-morrow," said I to Therese, but she only answered by
turning on her side to go to sleep.

I went to bed after ordering dinner for one o'clock, and I slept till
noon, dreaming of Therese. When I woke up, Costa told me that he had
found out where my brother lived, and had left a note at the house.
This was my brother Jean, then about thirty, and a pupil of the famous
Raphael Mengs. This painter was then deprived of his pension on account
of a war which obliged the King of Poland to live at Warsaw, as the
Prussians occupied the whole electorate of Saxe. I had not seen my
brother for ten years, and I kept our meeting as a holiday. I was
sitting down to table when he came, and we embraced each other with
transport. We spent an hour in telling, he his small adventures, and I
my grand ones, and he told me that I should not stay at the hotel, which
was too dear, but come and live at the Chevalier Mengs's house, which
contained an empty room, where I could stay at a much cheaper rate.

"As to your table, there is a restaurant in the house where one can get
a capital meal."

"Your advice is excellent," said I, "but I have not the courage to
follow it, as I am in love with my landlord's daughter;" and I told him
what had happened the night before.

"That's a mere nothing," said he, laughing; "you can cultivate her
acquaintance without staying in the house."

I let myself be persuaded, and I promised to come to him the following
day; and then we proceeded to take a walk about Rome.

I had many interesting memories of my last visit, and I wanted to renew
my acquaintance with those who had interested me at that happy age when
such impressions are so durable because they touch the heart rather than
the mind; but I had to make up my mind to a good many disappointments,
considering the space of time that had elapsed since I had been in Rome.

I went to the Minerva to find Donna Cecilia; she was no more in this
world. I found out where her daughter Angelica lived, and I went to see
her, but she gave me a poor reception, and said that she really scarcely
remembered me.

"I can say the same," I replied, "for you are not the Angelica I used to
know. Good-bye, madam!"

The lapse of time had not improved her personal appearance. I found out
also where the printer's son, who had married Barbaruccia, lived, but--I
put off the pleasure of seeing him till another time, and also my visit
to the Reverend Father Georgi, who was a man of great repute in Rome.
Gaspar Vivaldi had gone into the country.

My brother took me to Madame Cherubini. I found her mansion to be a
splendid one, and the lady welcomed me in the Roman manner. I thought
her pleasant and her daughters still more so, but I thought the crowd
of lovers too large and too miscellaneous. There was too much luxury and
ceremony, and the girls, one of whom was as fair as Love himself, were
too polite to everybody. An interesting question was put to me, to which
I answered in such a manner as to elicit another question, but to no
purpose. I saw that the rank of my brother, who had introduced me,
prevented my being thought a person of any consequence, and on hearing
an abbe say, "He's Casanova's brother," I turned to him and said,--

"That's not correct; you should say Casanova's my brother."

"That comes to the same thing."

"Not at all, my dear abbe."

I said these words in a tone which commanded attention, and another abbe
said,--

"The gentleman is quite right; it does not come to the same thing."

The first abbe made no reply to this. The one who had taken my part,
and was my friend from that moment, was the famous Winckelmann, who was
unhappily assassinated at Trieste twelve years afterwards.

While I was talking to him, Cardinal Alexander Albani arrived.
Winckelmann presented me to his eminence, who was nearly blind. He
talked to me a great deal, without saying anything worth listening to.
As soon as he heard that I was the Casanova who had escaped from The
Leads, he said in a somewhat rude tone that he wondered I had the
hardihood to come to Rome, where on the slightest hint from the State
Inquisitors at Venice an 'ordine sanctissimo' would re-consign me to
my prison. I was annoyed by this unseemly remark, and replied in a
dignified voice,--

"It is not my hardihood in coming to Rome that your eminence should
wonder at, but a man of any sense would wonder at the Inquisitors if
they had the hardihood to issue an 'ordine sanctissimo' against me; for
they would be perplexed to allege any crime in me as a pretext for thus
infamously depriving me of my liberty."

This reply silenced his eminence. He was ashamed at having taken me
for a fool, and to see that I thought him one. Shortly after I left and
never set foot in that house again.

The Abbe Winckelmann went out with my brother and myself, and as he
came with me to my hotel he did me the honour of staying to supper.
Winckelmann was the second volume of the celebrated Abbe de Voisenon. He
called for me next day, and we went to Villa Albani to see the Chevalier
Mengs, who was then living there and painting a ceiling.

My landlord Roland (who knew my brother) paid me a visit at supper.
Roland came from Avignon and was fond of good living. I told him I was
sorry to be leaving him to stay with my brother, because I had fallen in
love with his daughter Therese, although I had only spoken to her for a
few minutes, and had only seen her head.

"You saw her in bed, I will bet!"

"Exactly, and I should very much like to see the rest of her. Would you
be so kind as to ask her to step up for a few minutes?"

"With all my heart."

She came upstairs, seeming only too glad to obey her father's
summons. She had a lithe, graceful figure, her eyes were of surpassing
brilliancy, her features exquisite, her mouth charming; but taken
altogether I did not like her so well as before. In return, my poor
brother became enamoured of her to such an extent that he ended by
becoming her slave. He married her next year, and two years afterwards
he took her to Dresden. I saw her five years later with a pretty baby;
but after ten years of married life she died of consumption.

I found Mengs at the Villa Albani; he was an indefatigable worker, and
extremely original in his conceptions. He welcomed me, and said he was
glad to be able to lodge me at his house in Rome, and that he hoped to
return home himself in a few days, with his whole family.

I was astonished with the Villa Albani. It had been built by Cardinal
Alexander, and had been wholly constructed from antique materials to
satisfy the cardinal's love for classic art; not only the statues and
the vases, but the columns, the pedestals--in fact, everything was
Greek. He was a Greek himself, and had a perfect knowledge of antique
work, and had contrived to spend comparatively little money compared
with the masterpiece he had produced. If a sovereign monarch had had a
villa like the cardinal's built, it would have cost him fifty million
francs, but the cardinal made a much cheaper bargain.

As he could not get any ancient ceilings, he was obliged to have them
painted, and Mengs was undoubtedly the greatest and the most laborious
painter of his age. It is a great pity that death carried him off in the
midst of his career, as otherwise he would have enriched the stores of
art with numerous masterpieces. My brother never did anything to justify
his title of pupil of this great artist. When I come to my visit to
Spain in 1767, I shall have some more to say about Mengs.

As soon as I was settled with my brother I hired a carriage, a coachman,
and a footman, whom I put into fancy livery, and I called on Monsignor
Cornaro, auditor of the 'rota', with the intention of making my way into
good society, but fearing lest he as a Venetian might get compromised,
he introduced me to Cardinal Passionei, who spoke of me to the sovereign
pontiff.

Before I pass on to anything else, I will inform my readers of what took
place on the occasion of my second visit to this old cardinal, a great
enemy of the Jesuits, a wit, and man of letters.



EPISODE 18--RETURN TO NAPLES

ROME--NAPLES--BOLOGNA



CHAPTER VIII


     Cardinal Passianei--The Pope--Masiuccia--I Arrive At Naples

Cardinal Passionei received me in a large hall where he was writing. He
begged me to wait till he had finished, but he could not ask me to take
a seat as he occupied the only chair that his vast room contained.

When he had put down his pen, he rose, came to me, and after informing
me that he would tell the Holy Father of my visit, he added,--

"My brother Cornaro might have made a better choice, as he knows the
Pope does not like me."

"He thought it better to choose the man who is esteemed than the man who
is merely liked."

"I don't know whether the Pope esteems me, but I am sure he knows I
don't esteem him. I both liked and esteemed him before he was pope,
and I concurred in his election, but since he has worn the tiara it's a
different matter; he has shewn himself too much of a 'coglione'."

"The conclave ought to have chosen your eminence."

"No, no; I'm a root-and-branch reformer, and my hand would not have been
stayed for fear of the vengeance of the guilty, and God alone knows what
would have come of that. The only cardinal fit to be pope was Tamburini;
but it can't be helped now. I hear people coming; good-bye, come again
to-morrow."

What a delightful thing to have heard a cardinal call the Pope a fool,
and name Tamburini as a fit person. I did not lose a moment in noting
this pleasant circumstance down: it was too precious a morsel to
let slip. But who was Tamburini? I had never heard of him. I asked
Winckelmann, who dined with me.

"He's a man deserving of respect for his virtues, his character, his
firmness, and his farseeing intelligence. He has never disguised
his opinion of the Jesuits, whom he styles the fathers of deceits,
intrigues, and lies; and that's what made Passionei mention him. I
think, with him, that Tamburini would be a great and good pope."

I will here note down what I heard at Rome nine years later from the
mouth of a tool of the Jesuits. The Cardinal Tamburini was at the last
gasp, and the conversation turned upon him, when somebody else said,--

"This Benedictine cardinal is an impious fellow after all; he is on his
death-bed, and he has asked for the viaticum, without wishing to purify
his soul by confession."

I did not make any remark, but feeling as if I should like to know the
truth of the matter I asked somebody about it next day, my informant
being a person who must have known the truth, and could not have had any
motive for disguising the real facts of the case. He told me that the
cardinal had said mass three days before, and that if he had not asked
for a confessor it was doubtless because he had nothing to confess.

Unfortunate are they that love the truth, and do not seek it out at
its source. I hope the reader will pardon this digression, which is not
without interest.

Next day I went to see Cardinal Passionei, who told me I was quite right
to come early, as he wanted to learn all about my escape from The Leads,
of which he had heard some wonderful tales told.

"I shall be delighted to satisfy your eminence, but the story is a long
one."

"All the better; they say you tell it well."

"But, my lord, am I to sit down on the floor?"

"No, no; your dress is too good for that."

He rang his bell, and having told one of his gentlemen to send up a
seat, a servant brought in a stool. A seat without a back and without
arms! It made me quite angry. I cut my story short, told it badly, and
had finished in a quarter of an hour.

"I write better than you speak," said he.

"My lord, I never speak well except when I am at my ease."

"But you are not afraid of me?"

"No, my lord, a true man and a philosopher can never make me afraid; but
this stool of yours . . . ."

"You like to be at your ease, above all things."

"Take this, it is the funeral oration of Prince Eugene; I make you a
present of it. I hope you will approve of my Latinity. You can kiss the
Pope's feet tomorrow at ten o'clock."

When I got home, as I reflected on the character of this strange
cardinal--a wit, haughty, vain, and boastful, I resolved to make him a
fine present. It was the 'Pandectarum liber unicus' which M. de F. had
given me at Berne, and which I did not know what to do with. It was
a folio well printed on fine paper, choicely bound, and in perfect
preservation. As chief librarian the present should be a valuable one to
him, all the more as he had a large private library, of which my friend
the Abbe Winckelmann was librarian. I therefore wrote a short Latin
letter, which I enclosed in another to Winckelmann, whom I begged to
present my offering to his eminence.

I thought it was as valuable as his funeral oration at any rate, and I
hoped that he would give me a more comfortable chair for the future.

Next morning, at the time appointed, I went to Monte Cavallo, which
ought to be called Monte Cavalli, as it gets its name from two fine
statues of horses standing on a pedestal in the midst of the square,
where the Holy Father's palace is situated.

I had no real need of being presented to the Pope by anyone, as any
Christian is at liberty to go in when he sees the door open. Besides I
had known His Holiness when he was Bishop of Padua; but I had preferred
to claim the honor of being introduced by a cardinal.

After saluting the Head of the Faithful, and kissing the holy cross
embroidered on his holy slipper, the Pope put his right hand on my left
shoulder, and said he remembered that I always forsook the assembly at
Padua, when he intoned the Rosary.

"Holy Father, I have much worse sins than that on my conscience, so I
come prostrate at your foot to receive your absolution."

He then gave me his benediction, and asked me very graciously what he
could do for me.

"I beg Your Holiness to plead for me, that I may be able to return to
Venice."

"We will speak of it to the ambassador, and then we will speak again to
you on the matter."

"Do you often go and see Cardinal Passionei?"

"I have been three times. He gave me his funeral oration on Prince
Eugene, and in return I sent him the 'Pandects'."

"Has he accepted them?"

"I think so, Holy Father."

"If he has, he will send Winckelmann to pay you for them."

"That would be treating me like a bookseller; I will not receive any
payment."

"Then he will return the volume of the 'Pandects'; we are sure of it, he
always does so."

"If his eminence returns me the 'Pandects', I will return him his
funeral oration."

At this the Pope laughed till his sides shook.

"We shall be pleased to hear the end of the story without anyone being
informed of our innocent curiosity."

With these words, a long benediction delivered with much unction
informed me that my audience was at an end.

As I was leaving His Holiness's palace, I was accosted by an old abbe,
who asked me respectfully if I were not the M. Casanova who had escaped
from The Leads.

"Yes," said I, "I am the man."

"Heaven be praised, worthy sir, that I see you again in such good
estate!"

"But whom have I the honour of addressing?"

"Don't you recollect me? I am Momolo, formerly gondolier at Venice."

"Have you entered holy orders, then?"

"Not at all, but here everyone wears the cassock. I am the first
scopatore (sweeper) of His Holiness the Pope."

"I congratulate you on your appointment, but you mustn't mind me
laughing."

"Laugh as much as you like. My wife and daughters laugh when I put on
the cassock and bands, and I laugh myself, but here the dress gains one
respect. Come and see us."

"Where do you live?"

"Behind the Trinity of Monti; here's my address."

"I will come to-night."

I went home delighted with this meeting, and determined to enjoy the
evening with my Venetian boatman. I got my brother to come with me, and
I told him how the Pope had received me.

The Abbe Winckelmann came in the afternoon and informed me that I was
fortunate enough to be high in favour with his cardinal, and that the
book I had sent him was very valuable; it was a rare work, and in much
better condition than the Vatican copy.

"I am commissioned to pay you for it."

"I have told his eminence that it was a present."

"He never accepts books as presents, and he wants yours for his own
library; and as he is librarian of the Vatican Library he is afraid lest
people might say unpleasant things."

"That's very well, but I am not a bookseller; and as this book only cost
me the trouble of accepting it, I am determined only to sell it at the
same price. Pray ask the cardinal to honour me by accepting it."

"He is sure to send it back to you."

"He can if he likes, but I will send back his funeral oration, as I
am not going to be under an obligation to anyone who refuses to take a
present from me."

Next morning the eccentric cardinal returned me my Pandects, and I
immediately returned his funeral oration, with a letter in which I
pronounced it a masterpiece of composition, though I laid barely glanced
over it in reality. My brother told me I was wrong, but I did not
trouble what he said, not caring to guide myself by his rulings.

In the evening my brother and I went to the 'scopatore santissimo', who
was expecting me, and had announced me to his family as a prodigy of a
man. I introduced my brother, and proceeded to a close scrutiny of
the family. I saw an elderly woman, four girls, of whom the eldest was
twenty-four, two small boys, and above all universal ugliness. It was
not inviting for a man of voluptuous tastes, but I was there, and the
best thing was to put a good face on it; so I stayed and enjoyed myself.
Besides the general ugliness, the household presented the picture of
misery, for the 'scopatore santissimo' and his numerous family were
obliged to live on two hundred Roman crowns a year, and as there are
no perquisites attached to the office of apostolic sweeper, he was
compelled to furnish all needs out of this slender sum. In spite of that
Momolo was a most generous man. As soon as he saw me seated he told me
he should have liked to give me a good supper, but there was only pork
chops and a polenta.

"They are very nice," said I; "but will you allow me to send for half a
dozen flasks of Orvieto from my lodging?"

"You are master here."

I wrote a note to Costa, telling him to bring the six flasks directly,
with a cooked ham. He came in half an hour, and the four girls cried
when they saw him, "What a fine fellow!" I saw Costa was delighted with
this reception, and said to Momolo,

"If you like him as well as your girls I will let him stay."

Costa was charmed with such honour being shewn him, and after thanking
me went into the kitchen to help the mother with the polenta.

The large table was covered with a clean cloth, and soon after they
brought in two huge dishes of polenta and an enormous pan full of chops.
We were just going to begin when a knocking on the street door was
heard.

"'Tis Signora Maria and her mother," said one of the boys.

At this announcement I saw the four girls pulling a wry face. "Who asked
them?" said one. "What do they want?" said another. "What troublesome
people they are!" said a third. "They might have stayed at home," said
the fourth. But the good, kindly father said, "My children, they are
hungry, and they shall share what Providence has given us."

I was deeply touched with the worthy man's kindness. I saw that true
Christian charity is more often to be found in the breasts of the poor
than the rich, who are so well provided for that they cannot feel for
the wants of others.

While I was making these wholesome reflections the two hungry ones came
in. One was a young woman of a modest and pleasant aspect, and the other
her mother, who seemed very humble and as if ashamed of their poverty.
The daughter saluted the company with that natural grace which is a gift
of nature, apologizing in some confusion for her presence, and saying
that she would not have taken the liberty to come if she had known there
was company. The worthy Momolo was the only one who answered her, and he
said, kindly, that she had done quite right to come, and put her a chair
between my brother and myself. I looked at her and thought her a perfect
beauty.

Then the eating began and there was no more talking. The polenta was
excellent, the chops delicious, and the ham perfect, and in less than an
hour the board was as bare as if there had been nothing on it; but
the Orvieto kept the company in good spirts. They began to talk of the
lottery which was to be drawn the day after next, and all the girls
mentioned the numbers on which they had risked a few bajocchi.

"If I could be sure of one number," said I, "I would stake something on
it."

Mariuccia told me that if I wanted a number she could give me one. I
laughed at this offer, but in the gravest way she named me the number
27.

"Is the lottery still open?" I asked the Abbe Momolo.

"Till midnight," he replied, "and if you like I will go and get the
number for you."

"Here are fifty crowns," said I, "put twenty-five crowns on 27-this for
these five young ladies; and the other twenty-five on 27 coming out the
fifth number, and this I will keep for myself."

He went out directly and returned with the two tickets.

My pretty neighbour thanked me and said she was sure of winning, but
that she did not think I should succeed as it was not probable that 27
would come out fifth.

"I am sure of it," I answered, "for you are the fifth young lady I saw
in this house." This made everybody laugh. Momolo's wife told me I would
have done much better if I had given the money to the poor, but her
husband told her to be quiet, as she did not know my intent. My brother
laughed, and told me I had done a foolish thing. "I do, sometimes," said
I, "but we shall see how it turns out, and when one plays one is obliged
either to win or lose."

I managed to squeeze my fair neighbour's hand, and she returned the
pressure with all her strength. From that time I knew that my fate with
Mariuccia was sealed. I left them at midnight, begging the worthy Momolo
to ask me again in two days' time, that we might rejoice together over
our gains. On our way home my brother said I had either become as rich
as Croesus or had gone mad. I told him that both suppositions were
incorrect, but that Mariuccia was as handsome as an angel, and he
agreed.

Next day Mengs returned to Rome, and I supped with him and his family.
He had an exceedingly ugly sister, who for all that, was a good and
talented woman. She had fallen deeply in love with my brother, and it
was easy to see that the flame was not yet extinguished, but whenever
she spoke to him, which she did whenever she could get an opportunity,
he looked another way.

She was an exquisite painter of miniatures, and a capital hand at
catching a likeness. To the best of my belief she is still living at
Rome with Maroni her husband. She often used to speak of my brother to
me, and one day she said that he must be the most thankless of men or he
would not despise her so. I was not curious enough to enquire what claim
she had to his gratitude.

Mengs's wife was a good and pretty woman, attentive to her household
duties and very submissive to her husband, though she could not have
loved him, for he was anything but amiable. He was obstinate and fierce
in his manner, and when he dined at home he made a point of not leaving
the table before he was drunk; out of his own house he was temperate
to the extent of not drinking anything but water. His wife carried her
obedience so far as to serve as his model for all the nude figures he
painted. I spoke to her one day about this unpleasant obligation, and
she said that her confessor had charged her to fulfil it, "for," said
he, "if your husband has another woman for a model he will be sure
to enjoy her before painting her, and that sin would be laid to your
charge."

After supper, Winckelmann, who was as far gone as all the other male
guests, played with Mengs's children. There was nothing of the pedant
about this philosopher; he loved children and young people, and his
cheerful disposition made him delight in all kinds of enjoyment.

Next day, as I was going to pay my court to the Pope, I saw Momolo in
the first ante-chamber, and I took care to remind him of the polenta for
the evening.

As soon as the Pope saw me, he said,--

"The Venetian ambassador has informed us that if you wish to return to
your native land, you must go and present yourself before the secretary
of the Tribunal."

"Most Holy Father, I am quite ready to take this step, if Your Holiness
will grant me a letter of commendation written with your own hand.
Without this powerful protection I should never dream of exposing myself
to the risk of being again shut up in a place from which I escaped by a
miracle and the help of the Almighty."

"You are gaily dressed; you do not look as if you were going to church."

"True, most Holy Father, but neither am I going to a ball."

"We have heard all about the presents being sent back. Confess that you
did so to gratify your pride."

"Yes, but also to lower a pride greater than mine."

The Pope smiled at this reply, and I knelt down and begged him to permit
me to present the volume of Pandects to the Vatican Library. By way
of reply he gave me his blessing, which signifies, in papal language,
"Rise; your request is granted."

"We will send you," said he, "a mark of our singular affection for you
without your having to pay any fees."

A second blessing bid me begone. I have often felt what a good thing it
would be if this kind of dismissal could be employed in general society
to send away importunate petitioners, to whom one does not dare say,
"Begone."

I was extremely curious to know what the Pope had meant by "a mark of
our singular affection." I was afraid that it would be a blessed rosary,
with which I should not have known what to do.

When I got home I sent the book by Costa to the Vatican, and then I went
to dine with Mengs. While we were eating the soup the winning numbers
from the lottery were brought in. My brother glanced at them and looked
at me with astonishment. I was not thinking of the subject at that
moment, and his gaze surprised me.

"Twenty-seven," he cried, "came out fifth."

"All the better," said I, "we shall have some amusement out of it."

I told the story to Mengs, who said,--

"It's a lucky folly for you this time; but it always is a folly."

He was quite right, and I told him that I agreed with him; but I added
that to make a worthy use of the fifteen hundred roman crowns which
fortune had given me, I should go and spend fifteen days at Naples.

"I will come too," said the Abbe Alfani. "I will pass for your
secretary."

"With all my heart," I answered, "I shall keep you to your word."

I asked Winckelmann to come and eat polenta with the scopatore
santissimo, and told my brother to shew him the way; and I then called
on the Marquis Belloni, my banker, to look into my accounts, and to get
a letter of credit on the firm at Naples, who were his agents. I still
had two hundred thousand francs: I had jewellery worth thirty thousand
francs, and fifty thousand florins at Amsterdam.

I got to Momolo's in the dusk of the evening, and I found Winckelmann
and my brother already there; but instead of mirth reigning round the
board I saw sad faces on all sides.

"What's the matter with the girls?" I asked Momolo.

"They are vexed that you did not stake for them in the same way as you
did for yourself."

"People are never satisfied. If I had staked for them as I did for
myself, and the number had come out first instead of fifth, they would
have got nothing, and they would have been vexed then. Two days ago
they had nothing, and now that they have twenty-seven pounds apiece they
ought to be contented."

"That's just what I tell them, but all women are the same."

"And men too, dear countryman, unless they are philosophers. Gold does
not spell happiness, and mirth can only be found in hearts devoid of
care. Let us say no more about it, but be happy."

Costa placed a basket containing ten packets of sweets, upon the table.

"I will distribute them," said I, "when everybody is here."

On this, Momolo's second daughter told me that Mariuccia and her mother
were not coming, but that they would send them the sweets.

"Why are they not coming?"

"They had a quarrel yesterday," said the father, "and Mariuccia, who was
in the right, went away saying that she would never come here again."

"You ungrateful girls!" said I, to my host's daughters, "don't you know
that it is to her that you owe your winnings, for she gave me the number
twenty-seven, which I should never have thought of. Quick! think of some
way to make her come, or I will go away and take all the sweets with
me."

"You are quite right," said Momolo.

The mortified girls looked at one another and begged their father to
fetch her.

"Ira," said he, "that won't do; you made her say that she would never
come here again, and you must make up the quarrel."

They held a short consultation, and then, asking Costa to go with them,
they went to fetch her.

In half an hour they returned in triumph, and Costa was quite proud
of the part he had taken in the reconciliation. I then distributed the
sweets, taking care to give the two best packets to the fair Mary.

A noble polenta was placed upon the board, flanked by two large dishes
of pork chops. But Momolo, who knew my tastes, and whom I had made rich
in the person of his daughters, added to the feast some delicate dishes
and some excellent wine. Mariuccia was simply dressed, but her elegance
and beauty and the modesty of her demeanour completely seduced me.

We could only express our mutual flames by squeezing each other's hands;
and she did this so feelingly that I could not doubt her love. As we
were going out I took care to go downstairs beside her and asked if
I could not meet her by herself, to which she replied by making an
appointment with me far the next day at eight o'clock at the Trinity of
Monti.

Mariuccia was tall and shapely, a perfect picture, as fair as a white
rose, and calculated to inspire voluptuous desires. She had beautiful
light brown hair, dark blue eyes, and exquisitely arched eyelids. Her
mouth, the vermilion of her lips, and her ivory teeth were all perfect.
Her well-shaped forehead gave her an air approaching the majestic.
Kindness and gaiety sparkled in her eyes; while her plump white hands,
her rounded finger-tips, her pink nails, her breast, which the corset
seemed scarcely able to restrain, her dainty feet, and her prominent
hips, made her worthy of the chisel of Praxiteles. She was just on her
eighteenth year, and so far had escaped the connoisseurs. By a lucky
chance I came across her in a poor and wretched street, and I was
fortunate enough to insure her happiness.

It may easily be believed that I did not fail to keep the appointment,
and when she was sure I had seen her she went out of the church. I
followed her at a considerable distance: she entered a ruined building,
and I after her. She climbed a flight of steps which seemed to be built
in air, and when she had reached the top she turned.

"No one will come and look for me here," said she, "so we can talk
freely together."

I sat beside her on a stone, and I then declared my passionate love for
her.

"Tell me," I added, "what I can do to make you happy; for I wish to
possess you, but first to shew my deserts."

"Make me happy, and I will yield to your desires, for I love you."

"Tell me what I can do."

"You can draw me out of the poverty and misery which overwhelm me. I
live with my mother, who is a good woman, but devout to the point of
superstition; she will damn my soul in her efforts to save it. She finds
fault with my keeping myself clean, because I have to touch myself when
I wash, and that might give rise to evil desires.

"If you had given me the money you made me win in the lottery as a
simple alms she would have made me refuse it, because you might have had
intentions. She allows me to go by myself to mass because our confessor
told her she might do so; but I dare not stay away a minute beyond the
time, except on feast days, when I am allowed to pray in the church for
two or three hours. We can only meet here, but if you wish to soften my
lot in life you can do so as follows:

"A fine young man, who is a hairdresser, and bears an excellent
character, saw me at Momolo's a fortnight ago, and met me at the church
door next day and gave me a letter. He declared himself my lover, and
said that if I could bring him a dowry of four hundred crowns, he could
open a shop, furnish it, and marry me.

"'I am poor,' I answered, 'and I have only a hundred crowns in charity
tickets, which my confessor keeps for me.' Now I have two hundred
crowns, for if I marry, my mother will willingly give me her share of
the money you made us gain. You can therefore make me happy by getting
me tickets to the amount of two hundred crowns more. Take the tickets
to my confessor, who is a very good man and fond of me; he will not say
anything to my mother about it."

"I needn't go about seeking for charity tickets, my angel. I will take
two hundred piastres to your confessor to-morrow, and you must manage
the rest yourself. Tell me his name, and to-morrow I will tell you what
I have done, but not here, as the wind and the cold would be the death
of me. You can leave me to find out a room where we shall be at our
ease, and without any danger of people suspecting that we have spent an
hour together. I will meet you at the church to-morrow at the same hour
and when you see me follow me."

Mariuccia told me her confessor's name, and allowed me all the caresses
possible in our uncomfortable position. The kisses she gave me in
return for mine left no doubt in my mind, as to her love for me. As nine
o'clock struck I left her, perishing with cold, but burning with desire;
my only thought being where to find a room in which I might possess
myself of the treasure the next day.

On leaving the ruined palace, instead of returning to the Piazza di
Spagna I turned to the left and passed along a narrow and dirty street
only inhabited by people of the lowest sort. As I slowly walked along, a
woman came out of her house and asked me politely if I were looking for
anybody.

"I am looking for a room to let."

"There are none here, sir, but, you will find a hundred in the square."

"I know it, but I want the room to be here, not for the sake of the
expense, but that I may be sure of being able to spend an hour or so
of a morning with a person in whom I am interested. I am ready to pay
anything."

"I understand what you mean, and you should have a room in my house if
I had one to spare, but a neighbour of mine has one on the ground floor,
and if you will wait a moment I will go and speak to her."

"You will oblige me very much."

"Kindly step in here."

I entered a poor room, where all seemed wretchedness, and I saw two
children doing their lessons. Soon after, the good woman came back and
asked me to follow her. I took several pieces of money from my pocket,
and put them down on the only table which this poor place contained. I
must have seemed very generous, for the poor mother came and kissed my
hand with the utmost gratitude. So pleasant is it to do good, that now
when I have nothing left the remembrance of the happiness I have given
to others at small cost is almost the only pleasure I enjoy.

I went to a neighbouring house where a woman received me in an empty
room, which she told me she would let cheaply if I would pay three
months in advance, and bring in my own furniture.

"What do you ask for the three months' rent?"

"Three Roman crowns."

"If you will see to the furnishing of the room this very day I will give
you twelve crowns."

"Twelve crowns! What furniture do you want?"

"A good clean bed, a small table covered with a clean cloth, four good
chairs, and a large brazier with plenty of fire in it, for I am nearly
perishing of cold here. I shall only come occasionally in the morning,
and I shall leave by noon at the latest."

"Come at three o'clock, then, to-day, and you will find everything to
your satisfaction."

From there I went to the confessor. He was a French monk, about sixty, a
fine and benevolent-looking man, who won one's respect and confidence.

"Reverend father," I began, "I saw at the house of Abbe Momolo,
'scoptore santissimo', a young girl named Mary, whose confessor you are.
I fell in love with her, and offered her money to try and seduce her.
She replied that instead of trying to lead her into sin I would do
better to get her some charity tickets that she might be able to marry a
young man who loved her, and would make her happy. I was touched by what
she said, but my passion still remained. I spoke to her again, and
said that I would give her two hundred crowns for nothing, and that her
mother should keep them.

"'That would be my ruin,' said she; 'my mother would think the money was
the price of sin, and would not accept it. If you are really going to be
so generous, take the money to my confessor, and ask him to do what he
can for my marriage.'"

"Here, then, reverend father, is the sum of money for the good girl; be
kind enough to take charge of it, and I will trouble her no more. I am
going to Naples the day after to-morrow, and I hope when I come back she
will be married."

The good confessor took the hundred sequins and gave me a receipt,
telling me that in interesting myself on behalf of Mariuccia I was
making happy a most pure and innocent dove, whom he had confessed since
she was five years old, and that he had often told her that she might
communicate without making her confession because he knew she was
incapable of mortal sin.

"Her mother," he added, "is a sainted woman, and as soon as I have
enquired into the character of the future husband I will soon bring
the marriage about. No one shall ever know from whom this generous gift
comes."

After putting this matter in order I dined with the Chevalier Mengs,
and I willingly consented to go with the whole family to the Aliberti
Theatre that evening. I did not forget, however, to go and inspect the
room I had taken. I found all my orders executed, and I gave twelve
crowns to the landlady and took the key, telling her to light the fire
at seven every morning.

So impatient did I feel for the next day to come that I thought the
opera detestable, and the night for me was a sleepless one.

Next morning I went to the church before the time, and when Mariuccia
came, feeling sure that she had seen me, I went out. She followed me at
a distance, and when I got to the door of the lodging I turned for
her to be sure that it was I, and then went in and found the room well
warmed. Soon after Mariuccia came in, looking timid, confused, and as
if she were doubtful of the path she was treading. I clasped her to my
arms, and reassured her by my tender embraces; and her courage rose when
I shewed her the confessor's receipt, and told her that the worthy man
had promised to care for her marriage. She kissed my hand in a transport
of delight, assuring me that she would never forget my kindness. Then,
as I urged her to make me a happy man, she said,--

"We have three hours before us, as I told my mother I was going to give
thanks to God for having made me a winner in the lottery."

This reassured me, and I took my time, undressing her by degrees, and
unveiling her charms one by one, to my delight, without the slightest
attempt at resistance on her part. All the time she kept her eyes fixed
on mine, as if to soothe her modesty; but when I beheld and felt all
her charms I was in an ecstasy. What a body; what beauties! Nowhere was
there the slightest imperfection. She was like Venus rising from the
foam of the sea. I carried her gently to the bed, and while she strove
to hide her alabaster breasts and the soft hair which marked the
entrance to the sanctuary, I undressed in haste, and consummated the
sweetest of sacrifices, without there being the slightest doubt in my
mind of the purity of the victim. In the first sacrifice no doubt the
young priestess felt some pain, but she assured me out of delicacy that
she had not been hurt, and at the second assault she shewed that she
shared my flames. I was going to immolate the victim for the third time
when the clock struck ten. She began to be restless, and hurriedly put
on our clothes. I had to go to Naples, but I assured her that the desire
of embracing her once more before her marriage would hasten my return
to Rome. I promised to take another hundred crowns to her confessor,
advising her to spend the money she had won in the lottery on her
trousseau.

"I shall be at Monolo's to-night, dearest, and you must come, too; but
we must appear indifferent to each other, though our hearts be full of
joy, lest those malicious girls suspect our mutual understanding."

"It is all the more necessary to be cautious," she replied, "as I have
noticed that they suspect that we love each other."

Before we parted she thanked me for what I had done for her, and begged
me to believe that, her poverty notwithstanding, she had given herself
for love alone.

I was the last to leave the house, and I told my landlady that I should
be away for ten or twelve days. I then went to the confessor to give
him the hundred crowns I had promised my mistress. When the good old
Frenchman heard that I had made this fresh sacrifice that Mariuccia
might be able to spend her lottery winnings on her clothes, he told me
that he would call on the mother that very day and urge her to consent
to her daughter's marriage, and also learn where the young man lived.
On my return from Naples I heard that he had faithfully carried out his
promise.

I was sitting at table with Mengs when a chamberlain of the Holy Father
called. When he came in he asked M. Mengs if I lived there, and on that
gentleman pointing me out, he gave me, from his holy master, the Cross
of the Order of the Golden Spur with the diploma, and a patent under
the pontifical seal, which, in my quality as doctor of laws, made me a
prothonotary-apostolic 'extra urbem'.

I felt that I had been highly honoured, and told the bearer that I would
go and thank my new sovereign and ask his blessing the next day. The
Chevalier Mengs embraced me as a brother, but I had the advantage over
him in not being obliged to pay anything, whereas the great artist had
to disburse twenty-five Roman crowns to have his diploma made out. There
is a saying at Rome, 'Sine efusione sanguinis non fit remissio', which
may be interpreted, Nothing without money; and as a matter of fact, one
can do anything with money in the Holy City.

Feeling highly flattered at the favour the Holy Father had shewn me, I
put on the cross which depended from a broad red ribbon-red being the
colour worn by the Knights of St. John of the Lateran, the companions of
the palace, 'comites palatini', or count-palatins. About the same time
poor Cahusac, author of the opera of Zoroaster, went mad for joy on the
receipt of the same order. I was not so bad as that, but I confess, to
my shame, that I was so proud of my decoration that I asked Winckelmann
whether I should be allowed to have the cross set with diamonds and
rubies. He said I could if I liked, and if I wanted such a cross he
could get me one cheap. I was delighted, and bought it to make a show at
Naples, but I had not the face to wear it in Rome. When I went to thank
the Pope I wore the cross in my button-hole out of modesty. Five years
afterwards when I was at Warsaw, Czartoryski, a Russian prince-palatine,
made me leave it off by saying,--

"What are you doing with that wretched bauble? It's a drug in the
market, and no one but an impostor would wear it now."

The Popes knew this quite well, but they continued to give the cross to
ambassadors while they also gave it to their 'valets de chambre'. One
has to wink at a good many things in Rome.

In the evening Momolo gave me a supper by way of celebrating my new
dignity. I recouped him for the expense by holding a bank at faro, at
which I was dexterous enough to lose forty crowns to the family, without
having the slightest partiality to Mariuccia who won like the rest. She
found the opportunity to tell me that her confessor had called on her,
that she had told him where her future husband lived, and that the
worthy monk had obtained her mother's consent to the hundred crowns
being spent on her trousseau.

I noticed that Momolo's second daughter had taken a fancy to Costa, and
I told Momolo that I was going to Naples, but that I would leave my man
in Rome, and that if I found a marriage had been arranged on my return I
would gladly pay the expenses of the wedding.

Costa liked the girl, but he did not marry her then for fear of my
claiming the first-fruits. He was a fool of a peculiar kind, though
fools of all sorts are common enough. He married her a year later after
robbing me, but I shall speak of that again.

Next day, after I had breakfasted and duly embraced my brother, I set
out in a nice carriage with the Abbe Alfani, Le Duc preceding me on
horseback, and I reached Naples at a time when everybody was in a state
of excitement because an eruption of Vesuvius seemed imminent. At the
last stage the inn-keeper made me read the will of his father who had
died during the eruption of 1754. He said that in the year 1761
God would overwhelm the sinful town of Naples, and the worthy host
consequently advised me to return to Rome. Alfani took the thing
seriously, and said that we should do well to be warned by so evident an
indication of the will of God. The event was predicted, therefore it
had to happen. Thus a good many people reason, but as I was not of the
number I proceeded on my way.



CHAPTER IX


     My Short But Happy Stay at Naples--The Duke de Matalone My
     Daughter--Donna Lucrezia--My Departure

I shall not, dear reader, attempt the impossible, however much I should
like to describe the joy, the happiness, I may say the ecstasy, which
I experienced in returning to Naples, of which I had such pleasant
memories, and where, eighteen years ago, I had made my first fortune in
returning from Mataro. As I had come there for the second time to keep
a promise I had made to the Duke de Matalone to come and see him at
Naples, I ought to have visited this nobleman at once; but foreseeing
that from the time I did so I should have little liberty left me, I
began by enquiring after all my old friends.

I walked out early in the morning and called on Belloni's agent. He
cashed my letter of credit and gave me as many bank-notes as I liked,
promising that nobody should know that we did business together. From
the bankers I went to see Antonio Casanova, but they told me he lived
near Salerno, on an estate he had bought which gave him the title of
marquis. I was vexed, but I had no right to expect to find Naples in the
statu quo I left it. Polo was dead, and his son lived at St. Lucia with
his wife and children; he was a boy when I saw him last, and though I
should have much liked to see him again I had no time to do so.

It may be imagined that I did not forget the advocate, Castelli, husband
of my dear Lucrezia, whom I had loved so well at Rome and Tivoli. I
longed to see her face once more, and I thought of the joy with which we
should recall old times that I could never forget. But Castelli had been
dead for some years, and his widow lived at a distance of twenty miles
from Naples. I resolved not to return to Rome without embracing her.
As to Lelio Caraffa, he was still alive and residing at the Matalone
Palace.

I returned, feeling tired with my researches, dressed with care, and
drove to the Matalone Palace, where they told me that the duke was at
table. I did not care for that but had my name sent in, and the duke
came out and did me the honour of embracing me and thouing me, and then
presented me to his wife, a daughter of the Duke de Bovino, and to
the numerous company at table. I told him I had only come to Naples in
fulfillment of the promise I had made him at Paris.

"Then," said he, "you must stay with me;" and, without waiting for my
answer, ordered my luggage to be brought from the inn, and my carriage
to be placed in his coach-house. I accepted his invitation.

One of the guests, a fine-looking man, on hearing my name announced,
said gaily,--

"If you bear my name, you must be one of my father's bastards."

"No," said I, directly, "one of your mother's."

This repartee made everybody laugh, and the gentleman who had addressed
me came and embraced me, not in the least offended. The joke was
explained to me. His name was Casalnovo, not Casanova, and he was duke
and lord of the fief of that name.

"Did you know," said the Duke de Matalone, "that I had a son?"

"I was told so, but did not believe it, but now I must do penance for
my incredulity, for I see before me an angel capable of working this
miracle."

The duchess blushed, but did not reward my compliment with so much as
a glance; but all the company applauded what I had said, as it was
notorious that the duke had been impotent before his marriage. The duke
sent for his son, I admired him, and told the father that the likeness
was perfect. A merry monk, who sat at the right hand of the duchess,
said, more truthfully, that there was no likeness at all. He had
scarcely uttered the words when the duchess coolly gave him a box on the
ear, which the monk received with the best grace imaginable.

I talked away to the best of my ability, and in half an hour's time I
had won everybody's good graces, with the exception of the duchess,
who remained inflexible. I tried to make her talk for two days without
success; so as I did not care much about her I left her to her pride.

As the duke was taking me to my room he noticed my Spaniard, and asked
where my secretary was, and when he saw that it was the Abbe Alfani, who
had taken the title so as to escape the notice of the Neapolitans, he
said,--

"The abbe is very wise, for he has deceived so many people with his
false antiques that he might have got into trouble."

He took me to his stables where he had some superb horses, Arabs,
English, and Andalusians; and then to his gallery, a very fine one; to
his large and choice library; and at last to his study, where he had a
fine collection of prohibited books.

I was reading titles and turning over leaves, when the duke said,--

"Promise to keep the most absolute secrecy on what I am going to shew
you."

I promised, without making any difficulty, but I expected a surprise of
some sort. He then shewed me a satire which I could not understand, but
which was meant to turn the whole Court into ridicule. Never was there a
secret so easily kept.

"You must come to the St. Charles Theatre," said he, "and I will present
you to the handsomest ladies in Naples, and afterwards you can go when
you like, as my box is always open to my friends. I will also introduce
you to my mistress, and she, I am sure, will always be glad to see you."

"What! you have a mistress, have you?"

"Yes, but only for form's sake, as I am very fond of my wife. All the
same, I am supposed to be deeply in love with her, and even jealous,
as I never introduce anyone to her, and do not allow her to receive any
visitors."

"But does not your young and handsome duchess object to your keeping a
mistress?"

"My wife could not possibly be jealous, as she knows that I am
impotent--except, of course, with her."

"I see, but it seems strange; can one be said to have a mistress whom
one does not love?"

"I did not say I loved her not; on the contrary, I am very fond of her;
she has a keen and pleasant wit, but she interests my head rather than
my heart."

"I see; but I suppose she is ugly?"

"Ugly? You shall see her to-night, and you can tell me what you think of
her afterwards. She is a handsome and well-educated girl of seventeen."

"Can she speak French?"

"As well as a Frenchwoman."

"I am longing to see her."

When we got to the theatre I was introduced to several ladies, but none
of them pleased me. The king, a mere boy, sat in his box in the middle
of the theatre, surrounded by his courtiers, richly but tastefully
dressed. The pit was full and the boxes also. The latter were ornamented
with mirrors, and on that occasion were all illuminated for some reason
or other. It was a magnificent scene, but all this glitter and light put
the stage into the background.

After we had gazed for some time at the scene, which is almost peculiar
to Naples, the duke took me to his private box and introduced me to his
friends, who consisted of all the wits in the town.

I have often laughed on hearing philosophers declare that the
intelligence of a nation is not so much the result of the climate as
of education. Such sages should be sent to Naples and then to St.
Petersburg, and be told to reflect, or simply to look before them. If
the great Boerhaave had lived at Naples he would have learnt more about
the nature of sulphur by observing its effects on vegetables, and still
more on animals. In Naples, and Naples alone, water, and nothing
but water, will cure diseases which are fatal elsewhere, despite the
doctors' efforts.

The duke, who had left me to the wits for a short time, returned and
took me to the box of his mistress, who was accompanied by an old lady
of respectable appearance. As he went in he said, "'Leonilda mia, ti
presento il cavalier Don Giacomo Casanova, Veneziano, amico mio'."

She received me kindly and modestly, and stopped listening to the music
to talk to me.

When a woman is pretty, one recognizes her charms instantaneously; if
one has to examine her closely, her beauty is doubtful. Leonilda was
strikingly beautiful. I smiled and looked at the duke, who had told me
that he loved her like a daughter, and that he only kept her for form's
sake. He understood the glance, and said,--

"You may believe me."

"It's credible," I replied.

Leonilda no doubt understood what we meant, and said, with a shy
smile,--

"Whatever is possible is credible."

"Quite so," said I, "but one may believe, or not believe, according to
the various degrees of possibility."

"I think it's easier to believe than to disbelieve. You came to Naples
yesterday; that's true and yet incredible."

"Why incredible?"

"Would any man suppose that a stranger would come to Naples at a time
when the inhabitants are wishing themselves away?"

"Indeed, I have felt afraid till this moment, but now I feel quite at my
ease, since, you being here, St. Januarius will surely protect Naples."

"Why?"

"Because I am sure he loves you; but you are laughing at me."

"It is such a funny idea. I am afraid that if I had a lover like St.
Januarius I should not grant him many favours."

"Is he very ugly, then?"

"If his portrait is a good likeness, you can see for yourself by
examining his statue."

Gaiety leads to freedom, and freedom to friendship. Mental graces are
superior to bodily charms.

Leonilda's frankness inspired my confidence, and I led the conversation
to love, on which she talked like a past mistress.

"Love," said she, "unless it leads to the possession of the beloved
object, is a mere torment; if bounds are placed to passion, love must
die."

"You are right; and the enjoyment of a beautiful object is not a true
pleasure unless it be preceded by love."

"No doubt if love precedes it accompanies, but I do not think it
necessarily follows, enjoyment."

"True, it often makes love to cease."

"She is a selfish daughter, then, to kill her father; and if after
enjoyment love still continue in the heart of one, it is worse than
murder, for the party in which love still survives must needs be
wretched."

"You are right; and from your strictly logical arguments I conjecture
that you would have the senses kept in subjection: that is too hard!"

"I would have nothing to do with that Platonic affection devoid of love,
but I leave you to guess what my maxim would be."

"To love and enjoy; to enjoy and love. Turn and turn about."

"You have hit the mark."

With this Leonilda burst out laughing, and the duke kissed her hand. Her
governess, not understanding French, was attending to the opera, but I
was in flames.

Leonilda was only seventeen, and was as pretty a girl as the heart could
desire.

The duke repeated a lively epigram of Lafontaine's on "Enjoyment," which
is only found in the first edition of his works. It begins as follows:--


       "La jouissance et les desirs
        Sont ce que l'homme a de plus rare;
        Mais ce ne sons pas vrais plaisirs
        Des le moment qu'on les separe."

I have translated this epigram into Italian and Latin; in the latter
language I was almost able to render Lafontaine line for line; but I had
to use twenty lines of Italian to translate the first ten lines of the
French. Of course this argues nothing as to the superiority of the one
language over the other.

In the best society at Naples one addresses a newcomer in the second
person singular as a peculiar mark of distinction. This puts both
parties at their ease without diminishing their mutual respect for one
another.

Leonilda had already turned my first feeling of admiration into
something much warmer, and the opera, which lasted for five hours,
seemed over in a moment.

After the two ladies had gone the duke said, "Now we must part, unless
you are fond of games of chance."

"I don't object to them when I am to play with good hands."

"Then follow me; ten or twelve of my friends will play faro, and then
sit down to a cold collation, but I warn you it is a secret, as gaming
is forbidden. I will answer for you keeping your own counsel, however."

"You may do so."

He took me to the Duke de Monte Leone's. We went up to the third
floor, passed through a dozen rooms, and at last reached the gamester's
chamber. A polite-looking banker, with a bank of about four hundred
sequins, had the cards in his hands. The duke introduced me as his
friend, and made me sit beside him. I was going to draw out my purse,
but I was told that debts were not paid for twenty-four hours after
they were due. The banker gave me a pack of cards, with a little
basket containing a thousand counters. I told the company that I should
consider each counter as a Naples ducat. In less than two hours my
basket was empty. I stopped playing and proceeded to enjoy my supper. It
was arranged in the Neapolitan style, and consisted of an enormous dish
of macaroni and ten or twelve different kinds of shellfish which are
plentiful on the Neapolitan coasts. When we left I took care not to give
the duke time to condole with me on my loss, but began to talk to him
about his delicious Leonilda.

Early next day he sent a page to my room to tell me that if I wanted to
come with him and kiss the king's hand I must put on my gala dress. I
put on a suit of rose-coloured velvet, with gold spangles, and I had the
great honour of kissing a small hand, covered with chilblains, belonging
to a boy of nine. The Prince de St. Nicander brought up the young king
to the best of his ability, but he was naturally a kindly, just, and
generous monarch; if he had had more dignity he would have been an ideal
king; but he was too unceremonious, and that, I think, is a defect in
one destined to rule others.

I had the honour of sitting next the duchess at dinner, and she deigned
to say that she had never seen a finer dress. "That's my way," I said,
"of distracting attention from my face and figure." She smiled, and her
politeness to me during my stay were almost limited to these few words.

When we left the table the duke took me to the apartment occupied by his
uncle, Don Lelio, who recognized me directly. I kissed the venerable
old man's hand, and begged him to pardon me for the freaks of my youth.
"It's eighteen years ago," said he, "since I chose M. Casanova as
the companion of your studies." I delighted him by giving him a brief
account of my adventures in Rome with Cardinal Acquaviva. As we went
out, he begged me to come and see him often.

Towards the evening the duke said,--

"If you go to the Opera Buffa you will please Leonilda."

He gave me the number of her box, and added,--

"I will come for you towards the close, and we will sup together as
before."

I had no need to order my horses to be put in, as there was always a
carriage ready for me in the courtyard.

When I got to the theatre the opera had begun. I presented myself to
Leonilda, who received me with the pleasant words, "Caro Don Giacomo, I
am so pleased to see you again."

No doubt she did not like to thou me, but the expression of her eyes and
the tone of her voice were much better than the to which is often used
lavishly at Naples.

The seductive features of this charming girl were not altogether unknown
to me, but I could not recollect of what woman she reminded me. Leonilda
was certainly a beauty, and something superior to a beauty, if possible.
She had splendid light chestnut hair, and her black and brilliant eyes,
shaded by thick lashes, seemed to hear and speak at the same time.
But what ravished me still more was her expression, and the exquisite
appropriateness of the gestures with which she accompanied what she was
saying. It seemed as if her tongue could not give speech to the thoughts
which crowded her brain. She was naturally quick-witted, and her
intellect had been developed by an excellent education.

The conversation turned upon Lafontaine's epigram, of which I had only
recited the first ten verses, as the rest is too licentious; and she
said,--

"But I suppose it is only a poet's fancy, at which one could but smile."

"Possibly, but I did not care to wound your ears."

"You are very good," said she, using the pleasant tu, "but all the same,
I am not so thin-skinned, as I have a closet which the duke has had
painted over with couples in various amorous attitudes. We go there
sometimes, and I assure you that I do not experience the slightest
sensation."

"That may be through a defect of temperament, for whenever I see
well-painted voluptuous pictures I feel myself on fire. I wonder that
while you and the duke look at them, you do not try to put some of them
into practice."

"We have only friendship for one another."

"Let him believe it who will."

"I am sure he is a man, but I am unable to say whether he is able to
give a woman any real proofs of his love."

"Yet he has a son."

"Yes, he has a child who calls him father; but he himself confesses that
he is only able to shew his manly powers with his wife."

"That's all nonsense, for you are made to give birth to amorous desires,
and a man who could live with you without being able to possess you
ought to cease to live."

"Do you really think so?"

"Dear Leonilda, if I were in the duke's place I would shew you what a
man who really loves can do."

"Caro Don Giacomo, I am delighted to hear you love me, but you will soon
forget me, as you are leaving Naples."

"Cursed be the gaming-table, for without it we might spend some
delightful hour together."

"The duke told me that you lost a thousand ducats yesterday evening like
a perfect gentleman. You must be very unlucky."

"Not always, but when I play on a day in which I have fallen in love I
am sure to lose."

"You will win back your money this evening."

"This is the declaration day; I shall lose again."

"Then don't play."

"People would say I was afraid, or that all my money was gone."

"I hope at all events that you will win sometimes, and that you will
tell me of your good luck. Come and see me to-morrow with the duke."

The duke came in at that moment, and asked me if I had liked the opera.
Leonilda answered for me,

"We have been talking about love all the time, so we don't know what has
been going on the stage."

"You have done well."

"I trust you will bring M. Casanova to see me tomorrow morning, as I
hope he will bring me news that he has won."

"It's my turn to deal this evening, dearest, but whether he wins or
loses you shall see him to-morrow. You must give us some breakfast."

"I shall be delighted."

We kissed her hand, and went to the same place as the night before. The
company was waiting for the duke. There were twelve members of the club,
and they all held the bank in turn. They said that this made the chances
more equal; but I laughed at this opinion, as there is nothing more
difficult to establish than equality between players.

The Duke de Matalone sat down, drew out his purse and his pocket-book,
and put two thousand ducats in the bank, begging pardon of the others
for doubling the usual sum in favour of the stranger. The bank never
exceeded a thousand ducats.

"Then," said I, "I will hazard two thousand ducats also and not more,
for they say at Venice that a prudent player never risks more than
he can win. Each of my counters will be equivalent to two ducats." So
saying, I took ten notes of a hundred ducats each from my pocket, and
gave them to the last evening's banker who had won them from me.

Play began; and though I was prudent, and only risked my money on a
single card, in less than three hours my counters were all gone. I
stopped playing, though I had still twenty-five thousand ducats; but I
had said that I would not risk more than two thousand, and I was ashamed
to go back from my word.

Though I have always felt losing my money, no one has ever seen me put
out, my natural gaiety was heightened by art on such occasions, and
seemed to be more brilliant than ever. I have always found it a great
advantage to be able to lose pleasantly.

I made an excellent supper, and my high spirits furnished me with such
a fund of amusing conversation that all the table was in a roar. I even
succeeded in dissipating the melancholy of the Duke de Matalone, who was
in despair at having won such a sum from his friend and guest. He was
afraid he had half ruined me, and also that people might say he had only
welcomed me for the sake of my money.

As we returned to the palace the conversation was affectionate on his
side and jovial on mine, but I could see he was in some trouble, and
guessed what was the matter. He wanted to say that I could pay the money
I owed him whenever I liked, but was afraid of wounding my feelings; but
as soon as he got in he wrote me a friendly note to the effect that if
I wanted money his banker would let me have as much as I required. I
replied directly that I felt the generosity of his offer, and if I was
in need of funds I would avail myself of it.

Early next morning I went to his room, and after an affectionate embrace
I told him not to forget that we were going to breakfast with his fair
mistress. We both put on great coats and went to Leonilda's pretty
house.

We found her sitting up in bed, negligently but decently dressed, with
a dimity corset tied with red ribbons. She looked beautiful, and her
graceful posture added to her charms. She was reading Crebillon's Sopha.
The duke sat down at the bottom of the bed, and I stood staring at her
in speechless admiration, endeavouring to recall to my memory where I
had seen such another face as hers. It seemed to me that I had loved
a woman like her. This was the first time I had seen her without the
deceitful glitter of candles. She laughed at my absent-mindedness, and
told me to sit down on a chair by her bedside.

The duke told her that I was quite pleased at having lost two thousand
ducats to his bank, as the loss made me sure she loved me.

"Caro mio Don Giacomo, I am sorry to hear that! You would have done
better not to play, for I should have loved you all the same, and you
would have been two thousand ducats better off."

"And I two thousand ducats worse off," said the duke, laughing.

"Never mind, dear Leonilda, I shall win this evening if you grant me
some favour to-day. If you do not do so, I shall lose heart, and you
will mourn at my grave before long."

"Think, Leonilda, what you can do for my friend."

"I don't see that I can do anything."

The duke told her to dress, that we might go and breakfast in the
painted closet. She began at once, and preserved a just mean in what she
let us see and what she concealed, and thus set me in flames, though I
was already captivated by her face, her wit, and her charming manners.
I cast an indiscreet glance towards her beautiful breast, and thus added
fuel to the fire. I confess that I only obtained this satisfaction by a
species of larceny, but I could not have succeeded if she had not been
well disposed towards me. I pretended to have seen nothing.

While dressing she maintained with much ingenuity that a wise girl will
be much more chary of her favours towards a man she loves than towards
a man she does not love, because she would be afraid to lose the first,
whereas she does not care about the second.

"It will not be so with me, charming Leonilda," said I.

"You make a mistake, I am sure."

The pictures with which the closet where we breakfasted was adorned were
admirable more from the colouring and the design than from the amorous
combats they represented.

"They don't make any impression on me," said the duke, and he shewed us
that it was so.

Leonilda looked away, and I felt shocked, but concealed my feelings.

"I am in the same state as you," said I, "but I will not take the
trouble of convincing you."

"That can't be," said he; and passing his hand rapidly over me he
assured himself that it was so. "It's astonishing," he cried; "you must
be as impotent as I am."

"If I wanted to controvert that assertion one glance into Leonilda's
eyes would be enough."

"Look at him, dearest Leonilda, that I may be convinced."

Leonilda looked tenderly at me, and her glance produced the result I had
expected.

"Give me your hand," said I, to the poor duke, and he did so.

"I was in the wrong," he exclaimed, but when he endeavoured to bring the
surprising object to light I resisted. He persisted in his endeavours,
and I determined to play on him a trick. I took Leonilda's hand and
pressed my lips to it, and just as the duke thought he had triumphed I
besprinkled him, and went off into a roar of laughter. He laughed too,
and went to get a napkin.

The girl could see nothing of all this, as it went on under the table;
and while my burning lips rested on her hand, my eyes were fixed on hers
and our breath mingled. This close contact had enabled me to baptise the
duke, but when she took in the joke we made a group worthy of the pen of
Aretin.

It was a delightful breakfast, though we passed certain bounds which
decency ought to have proscribed to us, but Leonilda was wonderfully
innocent considering her position. We ended the scene by mutual
embraces, and when I took my burning lips from Leonilda's I felt
consumed with a fire which I could not conceal.

When we left I told the duke that I would see his mistress no more,
unless he would give her up to me, declaring that I would marry her and
give her a dower of five thousand ducats.

"Speak to her, and if she consents I will not oppose it. She herself
will tell you what property she has."

I then went to dress for dinner. I found the duchess in the midst of a
large circle, and she told me kindly that she was very sorry to hear of
my losses.

"Fortune is the most fickle of beings, but I don't complain of my
loss--nay, when you speak thus I love it, and I even think that you will
make me win this evening."

"I hope so, but I am afraid not; you will have to contend against Monte
Leone, who is usually very lucky."

In considering the matter after dinner, I determined for the future to
play with ready money and not on my word of honour, lest I should at any
time be carried away by the excitement of play and induced to stake more
than I possessed. I thought, too, that the banker might have his doubts
after the two heavy losses I had sustained, and I confess that I was
also actuated by the gambler's superstition that by making a change of
any kind one changes the luck.

I spent four hours at the theatre in Leonilda's box, where I found her
more gay and charming than I had seen her before.

"Dear Leonilda," I said, "the love I feel for you will suffer no delay
and no rivals, not even the slightest inconstancy. I have told the duke
that I am ready to marry you, and that I will give you a dower of five
thousand ducats."

"What did he say?"

"That I must ask you, and that he would offer no opposition."

"Then we should leave Naples together."

"Directly, dearest, and thenceforth death alone would part us."

"We will talk of it to-morrow, dear Don Giacomo, and if I can make you
happy I am sure you will do the same by me."

As she spoke these delightful words the duke came in.

"Don Giacomo and I are talking of marrying," said she.

"Marriage, mia carissima," he replied, "ought to be well considered
beforehand."

"Yes, when one has time; but my dear Giacomo cannot wait, and we shall
have plenty of time to think it over afterwards."

"As you are going to marry," said the duke, "you can put off your
departure, or return after the wedding."

"I can neither put it off nor return, my dear duke. We have made up our
minds, and if we repent we have plenty of time before us."

He laughed and said we would talk it over next day. I gave my future
bride a kiss which she returned with ardour, and the duke and I went to
the club, where we found the Duke de Monte Leone dealing.

"My lord," said I, "I am unlucky playing on my word of honour, so I hope
you will allow me to stake money."

"Just as you please; it comes to the same thing, but don't trouble
yourself. I have made a bank of four thousand ducats that you may be
able to recoup yourself for your losses."

"Thanks, I promise to break it or to lose as much."

I drew out six thousand ducats, gave two thousand ducats to the Duke de
Matalone, and began to punt at a hundred ducats. After a short time the
duke left the table, and I finally succeeded in breaking the bank. I
went back to the place by myself, and when I told the duke of my victory
the next day, he embraced me with tears of joy, and advised me to stake
money for the future.

As the Princess de Vale was giving a great supper, there was no play
that evening. This was some respite. We called on Leonilda, and putting
off talking of our marriage till the day after we spent the time in
viewing the wonders of nature around Naples. In the evening I was
introduced by a friend at the princess's supper, and saw all the highest
nobility of the place.

Next morning the duke told me that he had some business to do, and that
I had better go and see Leonilda, and that he would call for me later
on. I went to Leonilda, but as the duke did not put in an appearance we
could not settle anything about our marriage. I spent several hours with
her, but I was obliged to obey her commands, and could only shew myself
amorous in words. Before leaving I repeated that it only rested with
her to unite our lives by indissoluble ties, and to leave Naples almost
immediately.

When I saw the duke he said,--

"Well, Don Giacomo, you have spent all the morning with my mistress; do
you still wish to marry her?"

"More than ever; what do you mean?"

"Nothing; and as you have passed this trial to which I purposely
subjected you, we will discuss your union tomorrow, and I hope you will
make this charming woman happy, for she will be an excellent wife."

"I agree with you."

When we went to Monte Leone's in the evening, we saw a banker with
a good deal of gold before him. The duke told me he was Don Marco
Ottoboni. He was a fine-looking man, but he held the cards so closely
together in his left hand that I could not see them. This did not
inspire me with confidence, so I only punted a ducat at a time. I was
persistently unlucky, but I only lost a score of ducats. After five or
six deals the banker, asked me politely why I staked such small sums
against him.

"Because I can't see half the pack," I replied, "and I am afraid of
losing."

Some of the company laughed at my answer.

Next night I broke the bank held by the Prince the Cassaro, a pleasant
and rich nobleman, who asked me to give him revenge, and invited me to
supper at his pretty house at Posilipo, where he lived with a virtuosa
of whom he had become amorous at Palermo. He also invited the Duke de
Matalone and three or four other gentlemen. This was the only occasion
on which I held the bank while I was at Naples, and I staked six
thousand ducats after warning the prince that as it was the eve of my
departure I should only play for ready money.

He lost ten thousand ducats, and only rose from the table because he had
no more money. Everybody left the room, and I should have done the same
if the prince's mistress had not owed me a hundred ducats. I continued
to deal in the hope that she would get her money back, but seeing that
she still lost I put down the cards, and told her that she must pay me
at Rome. She was a handsome and agreeable woman, but she did not
inspire me with any passions, no doubt because my mind was occupied with
another, otherwise I should have drawn a bill on sight, and paid myself
without meddling with her purse. It was two o'clock in the morning when
I got to bed.

Both Leonilda and myself wished to see Caserta before leaving Naples,
and the duke sent us there in a carriage drawn by six mules, which went
faster than most horses. Leonilda's governess accompanied us.

The day after, we settled the particulars of our marriage in a
conversation which lasted for two hours.

"Leonilda," began the duke, "has a mother, who lives at a short distance
from here, on an income of six hundred ducats, which I have given her
for life, in return for an estate belonging to her husband; but Leonilda
does not depend on her. She gave her up to me seven years ago, and I
have given her an annuity of five hundred ducats, which she will bring
to you, with all her diamonds and an extensive trousseau. Her mother
gave her up to me entirely, and I gave my word of honour to get her a
good husband. I have taken peculiar care of her education, and as her
mind has developed I have put her on her guard against all prejudices,
with the exception of that which bids a woman keep herself intact for
her future husband. You may rest assured that you are the first man whom
Leonilda (who is a daughter to me) has pressed to her heart."

I begged the duke to get the contract ready, and to add to her dower the
sum of five thousand ducats, which I would give him when the deed was
signed.

"I will mortgage them," said he, "on a house which is worth double."

Then turning to Leonilda, who was shedding happy tears, he said,--

"I am going to send for your mother, who will be delighted to sign the
settlement, and to make the acquaintance of your future husband."

The mother lived at the Marquis Galiani's, a day's journey from Naples.
The duke said he would send a carriage for her the next day, and that we
could all sup together the day after.

"The law business will be all done by then, and we shall be able to go
to the little church at Portici, and the priest will marry you. Then we
will take your mother to St. Agatha and dine with her, and you can go
your way with her maternal blessing."

This conclusion gave me an involuntary shudder, and Leonilda fell
fainting in the duke's arms. He called her dear child, cared for her
tenderly, and brought her to herself.

We all had to wipe our eyes, as we were all equally affected.

I considered myself as a married man and under obligation to alter
my way of living, and I stopped playing. I had won more than fifteen
thousand ducats, and this sum added to what I had before and Leonilda's
dowry should have sufficed for an honest livelihood.

Next day, as I was at supper with the duke and Leonilda, she said,--

"What will my mother say to-morrow evening, when she sees you?"

"She will say that you are silly to marry a stranger whom you have only
known for a week. Have you told her my name, my nation, my condition,
and my age?"

"I wrote to her as follows:

"'Dear mamma, come directly and sign my marriage contract with a
gentleman introduced to me by the duke, with whom I shall be leaving for
Rome on Monday next.'"

"My letter ran thus," said the duke,

"'Come without delay, and sign your daughter's marriage contract, and
give her your blessing. She has wisely chosen a husband old enough to be
her father; he is a friend of mine.'"

"That's not true," cried Leonilda, rushing to my arms, "she will think
you are really old, and I am sorry."

"Is your mother an elderly woman?"

"She's a charming Woman," said the duke, "full of wit, and not
thirty-eight yet."

"What has she got to do with Galiani?"

"She is an intimate friend of the marchioness's, and she lives with the
family but pays for her board."

Next morning, having some business with my banker to attend to, I told
the duke that I should not be able to see Leonilda till supper-time. I
went there at eight o'clock and I found the three sitting in front of
the fire.

"Here he is!" cried the duke.

As soon as the mother saw me she screamed and fell nearly fainting on a
chair. I looked at her fixedly for a minute, and exclaimed,--

"Donna Lucrezia! I am fortunate indeed!"

"Let us take breath, my dear friend. Come and sit by me. So you are
going to marry my daughter, are you?"

I took a chair and guessed it all. My hair stood on end, and I relapsed
into a gloomy silence.

The stupefied astonishment of Leonilda and the duke cannot be described.
They could see that Donna Lucrezia and I knew each other, but they could
not get any farther. As for myself, as I pondered gloomily and compared
Leonilda's age with the period at which I had been intimate with
Lucrezia Castelli, I could see that it was quite possible that she might
be my daughter; but I told myself that the mother could not be certain
of the fact, as at the time she lived with her husband, who was very
fond of her and not fifty years of age. I could bear the suspense no
longer, so, taking a light and begging Leonilda and the duke to excuse
me, I asked Lucrezia to come into the next room with me.

As soon as she was seated, she drew me to her and said,--

"Must I grieve my dear one when I have loved so well? Leonilda is your
daughter, I am certain of it. I always looked upon her as your daughter,
and my husband knew it, but far from being angry, he used to adore her.
I will shew you the register of her birth, and you can calculate for
yourself. My husband was at Rome, and did not see me once, and my
daughter did not come before her time. You must remember a letter which
my mother should have given you, in which I told you I was with child.
That was in January, 1744, and in six months my daughter will be
seventeen. My late husband gave her the names of Leonilda Giacomina at
the baptismal font, and when he played with her he always called her
by the latter name. This idea of your marrying her horrifies me, but I
cannot oppose it, as I am ashamed to tell the reason. What do you think?
Have you still the courage to marry her? You seem to hesitate. Have you
taken any earnest of the marriage-bed?"

"No, dear Lucrezia, your daughter is as pure as a lily."

"I breathe again."

"Ah, yes! but my heart is torn asunder."

"I am grieved to see you thus."

"She has no likeness to me."

"That proves nothing; she has taken after me. You are weeping, dearest,
you will break my heart."

"Who would not weep in my place? I will send the duke to you; he must
know all."

I left Lucrezia, and I begged the duke to go and speak to her. The
affectionate Leonilda came and sat on my knee, and asked me what the
dreadful mystery was. I was too much affected to be able to answer her;
she kissed me, and we began to weep. We remained thus sad and silent
till the return of the duke and Donna Lucrezia, who was the only one to
keep her head cool.

"Dear Leonilda," said she, "you must be let into the secret of this
disagreeable mystery, and your mother is the proper person to enlighten
you. Do you remember what name my late husband used to call you when he
petted you?"

"He used to call me his charming Giacomina."

"That is M. Casanova's name; it is the name of your father. Go and
kiss him; his blood flows in your veins; and if he has been your lover,
repent of the crime which was happily quite involuntary."

The scene was a pathetic one, and we were all deeply moved. Leonilda
clung to her mother's knees, and in a voice that struggled with sobs
exclaimed,--

"I have only felt what an affectionate daughter might feel for a
father."

At this point silence fell on us, a silence that was only broken by the
sobs of the two women, who held each other tightly embraced; while the
duke and I sat as motionless as two posts, our heads bent and our hands
crossed, without as much as looking at each other.

Supper was served, and we sat at table for three hours, talking sadly
over this dramatic recognition, which had brought more grief than joy;
and we departed at midnight full of melancholy, and hoping that we
should be calmer on the morrow, and able to take the only step that now
remained to us.

As we were going away the duke made several observations on what moral
philosophers call prejudices. There is no philosopher who would maintain
or even advance the thesis that the union of a father and daughter is
horrible naturally, for it is entirely a social prejudice; but it is so
widespread, and education has graven it so deeply in our hearts, that
only a man whose heart is utterly depraved could despise it. It is the
result of a respect for the laws, it keeps the social scheme together;
in fact, it is no longer a prejudice, it is a principle.

I went to bed, but as usual, after the violent emotion I had undergone,
I could not sleep. The rapid transition from carnal to paternal love
cast my physical and mental faculties into such a state of excitement
that I could scarcely withstand the fierce struggle that was taking
place in my heart.

Towards morning I fell asleep for a short time, and woke up feeling as
exhausted as two lovers who have been spending a long and voluptuous
winter's night.

When I got up I told the duke that I intended to set out from Naples the
next day; and he observed that as everybody knew I was on the eve of my
departure, this haste would make people talk.

"Come and have some broth with me," said he; "and from henceforth look
upon this marriage project as one of the many pranks in which you have
engaged. We will spend the three or four days pleasantly together, and
perhaps when we have thought over all this for some time we shall end by
thinking it matter for mirth and not sadness. Believe me the mother's
as good as the daughter; recollection is often better than hope; console
yourself with Lucrezia. I don't think you can see any difference between
her present appearance and that of eighteen years ago, for I don't see
how she can ever have been handsomer than she is now."

This remonstrance brought me to my senses. I felt that the best thing I
could do would be to forget the illusion which had amused me for four
or five days, and as my self-esteem was not wounded it ought not to be a
difficult task; but yet I was in love and unable to satisfy my love.

Love is not like merchandise, where one can substitute one thing for
another when one cannot have what one wants. Love is a sentiment, only
the object who has kindled the flame can soothe the heat thereof.

We went to call on my daughter, the duke in his usual mood, but I
looking pale, depressed, weary, and like a boy going to receive the rod.
I was extremely surprised when I came into the room to find the mother
and daughter quite gay, but this helped on my cure. Leonilda threw her
arms round my neck, calling me dear papa, and kissing me with all a
daughter's freedom. Donna Lucrezia stretched out her hand, addressing
me as her dear friend. I regarded her attentively, and I was forced to
confess that the eighteen years that had passed away had done little
ill to her charms. There was the same sparkling glance, that fresh
complexion, those perfect shapes, those beautiful lips--in fine, all
that had charmed my youthful eyes.

We mutely caressed each other. Leonilda gave and received the tenderest
kisses without seeming to notice what desires she might cause to arise;
no doubt she knew that as her father I should have strength to resist,
and she was right. One gets used to everything, and I was ashamed to be
sad any longer.

I told Donna Lucrezia of the curious welcome her sister had given me in
Rome, and she went off into peals of laughter. We reminded each other of
the night at Tivoli, and these recollections softened our hearts. From
these softened feelings to love is but a short way; but neither place
nor time were convenient, so we pretended not to be thinking of it.

After a few moments of silence I told her that if she cared to come to
Rome with me to pay a visit to her sister Angelique, I would take her
back to Naples at the beginning of Lent. She promised to let me know
whether she could come on the following day.

I sat between her and Leonilda at dinner; and as I could no longer think
of the daughter, it was natural that my old flame for Lucrezia should
rekindle; and whether from the effect of her gaiety and beauty, or from
my need of someone to love, or from the excellence of the wine, I found
myself in love with her by the dessert, and asked her to take the place
which her daughter was to have filled.

"I will marry you," said I, "and we will all of us go to Rome on Monday,
for since Leonilda is my daughter I do not like to leave her at Naples."

At this the three guests looked at each other and said nothing. I did
not repeat my proposal, but led the conversation to some other topic.

After dinner I felt sleepy and lay down on a bed, and did not wake till
eight o'clock, when to my surprise I found that my only companion was
Lucrezia, who was writing. She heard me stir, and came up to me and said
affectionately,--

"My dear friend, you have slept for five hours; and as I did not like
to leave you alone I would not go with the duke and our daughter to the
opera."

The memory of former loves awakens when one is near the once beloved
object, and desires rapidly become irresistible if the beauty still
remain. The lovers feel as if they were once more in possession of
a blessing which belongs to them, and of which they have been long
deprived by unfortunate incidents. These were our feelings, and without
delay, without idle discussion, and above all, without false modesty, we
abandoned ourselves to love, the only true source of nature.

In the first interval, I was the first to break the silence; and if a
man is anything of a wit, is he the less so at that delicious moment of
repose which follows on an amorous victory?

"Once again, then," said I, "I am in this charming land which I entered
for the first time to the noise of the drum and the rattle of musket
shots."

This remark made her laugh, and recalled past events to her memory. We
recollected with delight all the pleasures we had enjoyed at Testaccio,
Frascati, and Tivoli. We reminded each other of these events, only
to make each other laugh; but with two lovers, what is laughter but a
pretext for renewing the sweet sacrifice of the goddess of Cythera?

At the end of the second act, full of the enthusiasm of the fortunate
lover, I said,--

"Let us be united for life; we are of the same age, we love each other,
our means are sufficient for us, we may hope to live a happy life, and
to die at the same moment."

"Tis the darling wish of my heart," Lucrezia replied, "but let us stay
at Naples and leave Leonilda to the duke. We will see company, find her
a worthy husband, and our happiness will be complete."

"I cannot live at Naples, dearest, and you know that your daughter
intended to leave with me."

"My daughter! Say our daughter. I see that you are still in love with
her, and do not wish to be considered her father."

"Alas, yes! But I am sure that if I live with you my passion for her
will be stilled, but otherwise I cannot answer for myself. I shall fly,
but flight will not bring me happiness. Leonilda charms me still more
by her intelligence than by her beauty. I was sure that she loved me so
well that I did not attempt to seduce her, lest thereby I should weaken
my hold on her affections; and as I wanted to make her happy I wished to
deserve her esteem. I longed to possess her, but in a lawful manner,
so that our rights should have been equal. We have created an angel,
Lucrezia, and I cannot imagine how the duke . . ."

"The duke is completely impotent. Do you see now how I was able to trust
my daughter to his care?"

"Impotent? I always thought so myself, but he has a son."

"His wife might possibly be able to explain that mystery to you, but you
may take it for granted that the poor duke will die a virgin in spite of
himself; and he knows that as well as anybody."

"Do not let us say any more about it, but allow me to treat you as at
Tivoli."

"Not just now, as I hear carriage wheels."

A moment after the door opened, and Leonilda laughed heartily to see her
mother in my arms, and threw herself upon us, covering us with kisses.
The duke came in a little later, and we supped together very merrily. He
thought me the happiest of men when I told him I was going to pass the
night honourably with my wife and daughter; and he was right, for I was
so at that moment.

As soon as the worthy man left us we went to bed, but here I must draw
a veil over the most voluptuous night I have ever spent. If I told all
I should wound chaste ears, and, besides, all the colours of the painter
and all the phrases of the poet could not do justice to the delirium of
pleasure, the ecstasy, and the license which passed during that night,
while two wax lights burnt dimly on the table like candles before the
shrine of a saint.

We did not leave the stage, which I watered with my blood, till long
after the sun had risen. We were scarcely dressed when the duke arrived.

Leonilda gave him a vivid description of our nocturnal labours, but
in his unhappy state of impotence he must have been thankful for his
absence.

I was determined to start the next day so as to be at Rome for the last
week of the carnival and I begged the duke to let me give Leonilda the
five thousand ducats which would have been her dower if she had become
my bride.

"As she is your daughter," said he, "she can and ought to take this
present from her father, if only as a dowry for her future husband."

"Will you accept it, then, my dear Leonilda?"

"Yes, papa dear," she said, embracing me, "on the condition that
you will promise to come and see me again as soon as you hear of my
marriage."

I promised to do so, and I kept my word.

"As you are going to-morrow," said the duke, "I shall ask all the
nobility of Naples to meet you at supper. In the meanwhile I leave you
with your daughter; we shall see each other again at suppertime."

He went out and I dined with my wife and daughter in the best of
spirits. I spent almost the whole afternoon with Leonilda, keeping
within the bounds of decency, less, perhaps, out of respect to morality,
than because of my labours of the night before. We did not kiss each
other till the moment of parting, and I could see that both mother and
daughter were grieved to lose me.

After a careful toilette I went to supper, and found an assembly of
a hundred of the very best people in Naples. The duchess was very
agreeable, and when I kissed her hand to take leave, she said,

"I hope, Don Giacomo, that you have had no unpleasantness during your
short stay at Naples, and that you will sometimes think of your visit
with pleasure."

I answered that I could only recall my visit with delight after the
kindness with which she had deigned to treat me that evening; and,
in fact, my recollections of Naples were always of the happiest
description.

After I had treated the duke's attendants with generosity, the poor
nobleman, whom fortune had favoured, and whom nature had deprived of the
sweetest of all enjoyments, came with me to the door of my carriage and
I went on my way.



CHAPTER X


     My Carriage Broken--Mariuccia's Wedding-Flight of Lord
     Lismore--My Return to Florence, and My Departure with the
     Corticelli

My Spaniard was going on before us on horseback, and I was sleeping
profoundly beside Don Ciccio Alfani in my comfortable carriage, drawn
by four horses, when a violent shock aroused me. The carriage had been
overturned on the highway, at midnight, beyond Francolisa and four miles
from St. Agatha.

Alfani was beneath me and uttered piercing shrieks, for he thought
he had broken his left arm. Le Duc rode back and told me that the
postillions had taken flight, possibly to give notice of our mishap to
highwaymen, who are very common in the States of the Church and Naples.

I got out of the carriage easily enough, but poor old Alfani, who was
unwieldly with fat, badly hurt, and half dead with fright, could not
extricate himself without assistance. It took us a quarter of an hour
to get him free. The poor wretch amused me by the blasphemies which he
mingled with prayers to his patron saint, St. Francis of Assisi.

I was not without experience of such accidents and was not at all hurt,
for one's safety depends a good deal on the position one is in. Don
Ciccio had probably hurt his arm by stretching it out just as the
accident took place.

I took my sword, my musket, and my horse-pistols out of the carriage,
and I made them and my pockets pistols ready so as to offer a stiff
resistance to the brigands if they came; and I then told Le Duc to take
some money and ride off and see if he could bring some peasants to our
assistance.

Don Ciccio groaned over the accident, but I, resolving to sell my money
and my life dearly, made a rampart of the carriage and four horses, and
stood sentry, with my arms ready.

I then felt prepared for all hazards, and was quite calm, but my
unfortunate companion continued to pour forth his groans, and prayers,
and blasphemies, for all that goes together at Naples as at Rome. I
could do nothing but compassionate him; but in spite of myself I could
not help laughing, which seemed to vex the poor abbe, who looked for all
the world like a dying dolphin as he rested motionless against the bank.
His distress may be imagined, when the nearest horse yielded to the
call of nature, and voided over the unfortunate man the contents of its
bladder. There was nothing to be done, and I could not help roaring with
laughter.

Nevertheless, a strong northerly wind rendered our situation an
extremely unpleasant one. At the slightest noise I cried, "Who goes
there?" threatening to fire on anyone who dared approach. I spent two
hours in this tragic-comic position, until at last Le Duc rode up and
told me that a band of peasants, all armed and provided with lanterns,
were approaching to our assistance.

In less than an hour, the carriage, the horses, and Alfani were seen to.
I kept two of the country-folk to serve as postillions, and I sent the
others away well paid for the interruption of their sleep. I reached St.
Agatha at day-break, and I made the devil's own noise at the door of
the postmaster, calling for an attorney to take down my statement, and
threatening to have the postillions who had overturned and deserted me,
hanged.

A wheelwright inspected my coach and pronounced the axle-tree broken,
and told me I should have to remain for a day at least.

Don Ciccio, who stood in need of a surgeon's aid, called on the Marquis
Galliani without telling me anything about it. However, the marquis
hastened to beg me to stay at his home till I could continue my journey.
I accepted the invitation with great pleasure, and with this my ill
humour, which was really only the result of my desire to make a great
fuss like a great man, evaporated.

The marquis ordered my carriage to be taken to his coach-house, took me
by the arm, and led me to his house. He was as learned as he was polite,
and a perfect Neapolitan--i.e., devoid of all ceremony. He had not the
brilliant wit of his brother, whom I had known at Paris as secretary
of embassy under the Count Cantillana Montdragon, but he possessed a
well-ordered judgment, founded on study and the perusal of ancient and
modern classics. Above all, he was a great mathematician, and was
then preparing an annotated edition of Vitruvius, which was afterwards
published.

The marquis introduced me to his wife, whom I knew as the intimate
friend of my dear Lucrezia. There was something saint-like in her
expression, and to see her surrounded by her little children was like
looking at a picture of the Holy Family.

Don Ciccio was put to bed directly, and a surgeon sent for, who consoled
him by saying that it was only a simple luxation, and that he would be
well again in a few days.

At noon a carriage stopped at the door, and Lucrezia got down. She
embraced the marchioness, and said to me in the most natural manner, as
we shook hands,--

"What happy chance brings you hear, dear Don Giacomo?"

She told her friend that I was a friend of her late husband's, and
that she had recently seen me again with great pleasure at the Duke de
Matalone's.

After dinner, on finding myself alone with this charming woman, I asked
her if it were not possible for us to pass a happy night together, but
she shewed me that it was out of the question, and I had to yield. I
renewed my offer to marry her.

"Buy a property," said she, "in the kingdom of Naples, and I will spend
the remainder of my days with you, without asking a priest to give us
his blessing, unless we happen to have children."

I could not deny that Lucrezia spoke very sensibly, and I could easily
have bought land in Naples, and lived comfortably on it, but the idea of
binding myself down to one place was so contrary to my feelings that
I had the good sense to prefer my vagabond life to all the advantages
which our union would have given me, and I do not think that Lucrezia
altogether disapproved of my resolution.

After supper I took leave of everybody, and I set out at day-break in
order to get to Rome by the next day. I had only fifteen stages to do,
and the road was excellent.

As we were getting into Carillano, I saw one of the two-wheeled
carriages, locally called mantice, two horses were being put into it,
while my carriage required four. I got out, and on hearing myself called
I turned round. I was not a little surprised to find that the occupants
of the mantice were a young and pretty girl and Signora Diana, the
Prince de Sassaro's mistress, who owed me three hundred ounces. She told
me that she was going to Rome, and that she would be glad if we could
make the journey together.

"I suppose you don't mind stopping for the night at Piperno?"

"No," said I, "I am afraid that can't be managed; I don't intend to
break my journey."

"But you would get to Rome by to-morrow."

"I know that, but I sleep better in my carriage than in the bad beds
they give you in the inns."

"I dare not travel by night."

"Well, well, madam, I have no doubt we shall see each other at Rome."

"You are a cruel man. You see I have only a stupid servant, and a maid
who is as timid as I am, besides it is cold and my carriage is open. I
will keep you company in yours."

"I really can't take you in, as all the available space is taken up by
my old secretary, who broke his arm yesterday."

"Shall we dine together at Terracino? We could have a little talk."

"Certainly."

We made good cheer at this small town, which is the frontier of the
States of the Church. We should not reach Piperno till far on in the
night, and the lady renewed and redoubled her efforts to keep me till
daybreak; but though young and pretty she did not take my fancy; she was
too fair and too fat. But her maid, who was a pretty brunette, with a
delicious rounded form and a sparkling eye, excited all my feelings of
desire. A vague hope of possessing the maid won me over, and I ended by
promising the signora to sup with her, and not to continue my journey
without giving notice to the landlord.

When we got to Piperno, I succeeded in telling the pretty maid that
if she would let me have her quietly I would not go any further. She
promised to wait for me, and allowed me to take such liberties as are
usually the signs of perfect complaisance.

We had our supper, and I wished the ladies good night and escorted them
to their room, where I took note of the relative positions of their
beds so that there should be no mistake. I left them and came back in a
quarter of an hour. Finding the door open I felt sure of success, and
I got into bed; but as I found out, it was the signora and not the maid
who received me. Evidently the little hussy had told her mistress the
story, and the mistress had thought fit to take the maid's place. There
was no possibility of my being mistaken, for though I could not see I
could feel.

For a moment I was undecided, should I remain in bed and make the best
of what I had got, or go on my way to Rome immediately? The latter
counsel prevailed. I called Le Duc, gave my orders, and started,
enjoying the thought of the confusion of the two women, who must have
been in a great rage at the failure of their plans. I saw Signora Diana
three or four times at Rome, and we bowed without speaking; if I had
thought it likely that she would pay me the four hundred louis she owed
me I might have taken the trouble to call on her, but I know that your
stage queens are the worst debtors in the world.

My brother, the Chevalier Mengs, and the Abbe Winckelmann were all in
good health and spirits. Costa was delighted to see me again. I sent him
off directly to His Holiness's 'scopatore maggiore' to warn him that
I was coming to take polenta with him, and all he need do was to get
a good supper for twelve. I was sure of finding Mariuccia there, for I
knew that Momolo had noticed her presence pleased me.

The carnival began the day after my arrival, and I hired a superb landau
for the whole week. The Roman landaus seat four people and have a hood
which may be lowered at pleasure. In these landaus one drives along
the Corso with or without masks from nine to twelve o'clock during the
carnival time.

From time immemorial the Corso at Rome has presented a strange and
diverting spectacle during the carnival. The horses start from the
Piazza del Popolo, and gallop along to the Column of Trajan, between
two lines of carriages drawn up beside two narrow pavements which are
crowded with maskers and people of all classes. All the windows are
decorated. As soon as the horses have passed the carriages begin to
move, and the maskers on foot and horseback occupy the middle of
the street. The air is full of real and false sweetmeats, pamphlets,
pasquinades, and puns. Throughout the mob, composed of the best and
worst classes of Rome, liberty reigns supreme, and when twelve o'clock
is announced by the third report of the cannon of St. Angelo the Corso
begins to clear, and in five minutes you would look in vain for a
carriage or a masker. The crowd disperses amongst the neighbouring
streets, and fills the opera houses, the theatres, the rope-dancers'
exhibitions, and even the puppet-shows. The restaurants and taverns are
not left desolate; everywhere you will find crowds of people, for during
the carnival the Romans only think of eating, drinking, and enjoying
themselves.

I banked my money with M. Belloni and got a letter of credit on Turin,
where I expected to find the Abbe Gama and to receive a commission to
represent the Portuguese Court at the Congress of Augsburg, to which all
Europe was looking forward, and then I went to inspect my little room,
where I hoped to meet Mariuccia the next day. I found everything in good
order.

In the evening Momolo and his family received me with joyful
exclamations. The eldest daughter said with a smile that she was sure
she would please me by sending for Mariuccia.

"You are right," said I, "I shall be delighted to see the fair
Mariuccia."

A few minutes after she entered with her puritanical mother, who told me
I must not be surprised to see her daughter better dressed, as she was
going to be married in a few days. I congratulated her, and Momolo's
daughters asked who was the happy man. Mariuccia blushed and said
modestly, to one of them,--

"It is somebody whom you know, So and so, he saw me here, and we are
going to open a hair-dresser's shop."

"The marriage was arranged by good Father St. Barnabe," added the
mother. "He has in his keeping my daughter's dower of four hundred Roman
crowns."

"He's a good lad," said Momolo. "I have a high opinion of him; he
would have married one of my daughters if I could have given him such a
dowry."

At these words the girl in question blushed and lowered her eyes.

"Never mind, my dear," said I, "your turn will come in time."

She took my words as seriously meant, and her face lit up with joy. She
thought I had guessed her love for Costa, and her idea was confirmed
when I told him to get my landau the next day and take out all Momolo's
daughters, well masked, as it would not do for them to be recognized
in a carriage I meant to make use of myself. I also bade him hire some
handsome costumes from a Jew, and paid the hire-money myself. This put
them all in a good humour.

"How about Signora Maria?" said the jealous sister.

"As Signora Maria is going to be married," I replied, "she must not be
present at any festivity without her future husband."

The mother applauded this decision of mine, and sly Mariuccia pretended
to feel mortified. I turned to Momolo and begged him to ask Mariuccia's
future husband to meet me at supper, by which I pleased her mother
greatly.

I felt very tired, and having nothing to keep me after seeing Mariuccia,
I begged the company to excuse me, and after wishing them a good
appetite I left them.

I walked out next morning at an early hour. I had no need of going into
the church, which I reached at seven o'clock, for Mariuccia saw me at
some distance off and followed me, and we were soon alone together in
the little room, which love and voluptuous pleasure had transmuted into
a sumptuous place. We would gladly have talked to each other, but as
we had only an hour before us, we set to without even taking off our
clothes. After the last kiss which ended the third assault, she told me
that she was to be married on the eve of Shrove Tuesday, and that all
had been arranged by her confessor. She also thanked me for having asked
Momolo to invite her intended.

"When shall we see each other again, my angel?"

"On Sunday, the eve of my wedding, we shall be able to spend four hours
together."

"Delightful! I promise you that when you leave me you will be in such a
state that the caresses of your husband won't hurt you."

She smiled and departed, and I threw myself on the bed where I rested
for a good hour.

As I was going home I met a carriage and four going at a great speed.
A footman rode in front of the carriage, and within it I saw a young
nobleman. My attention was arrested by the blue ribbon on his breast. I
gazed at him, and he called out my name and had the carriage stopped. I
was extremely surprised when I found it was Lord O'Callaghan, whom I
had known at Paris at his mother's, the Countess of Lismore, who was
separated from her husband, and was the kept mistress of M. de St.
Aubin, the unworthy successor of the good and virtuous Fenelon in the
archbishopric of Cambrai. However, the archbishop owed his promotion to
the fact that he was a bastard of the Duc d'Orleans, the French Regent.

Lord O'Callaghan was a fine-looking young man, with wit and talent, but
the slave of his unbridled passions and of every species of vice. I
knew that if he were lord in name he was not so in fortune, and I was
astonished to see him driving such a handsome carriage, and still more
so at his blue ribbon. In a few words he told me that he was going to
dine with the Pretender, but that he would sup at home. He invited me to
come to supper, and I accepted.

After dinner I took a short walk, and then went to enliven myself at
the theatre, where I saw Momolo's girls strutting about with Costa;
afterwards I went to Lord O'Callaghan, and was pleasantly surprised to
meet the poet Poinsinet. He was young, short, ugly, full of poetic fire,
a wit, and dramatist. Five or six years later the poor fellow fell into
the Guadalquivir and was drowned. He had gone to Madrid in the hope of
making his fortune. As I had known him at Paris I addressed him as an
old acquaintance.

"What are you doing at Rome? Where's my Lord O'Callaghan?"

"He's in the next room, but as his father is dead his title is now Earl
of Lismore. You know he was an adherent of the Pretender's. I left Paris
with him, well enough pleased at being able to come to Rome without its
costing me anything."

"Then the earl is a rich man now?"

"Not exactly; but he will be, as he is his father's heir, and the old
earl left an immense fortune. It is true that it is all confiscated, but
that is nothing, as his claims are irresistible."

"In short, he is rich in claims and rich in the future; but how did he
get himself made a knight of one of the French king's orders?"

"You're joking. That is the blue ribbon of the Order of St. Michael, of
which the late Elector of Cologne was grand master. As you know, my lord
plays exquisitely on the violin, and when he was at Bonn he played the
Elector a concerto by Tartini. The prince could not find words in which
to express the pleasure of my lord's performance, and gave him the
ribbon you have seen."

"A fine present, doubtless."

"You don't know what pleasure it gave my lord, for when we go back to
Paris everybody will take it for the Order of the Holy Ghost."

We passed into a large room, where we found the earl with the party he
had asked to supper. As soon as he saw me he embraced me, called me his
dear friend, and named his guests. There were seven or eight girls, all
of them pretty, three or four castrati who played women's parts in the
Roman theatre, and five or six abbes, the husband of every wife and the
wives of every husband, who boasted of their wickedness, and challenged
the girls to be more shameless than they. The girls were not common
courtezans, but past mistresses of music, painting, and vice considered
as a fine art. The kind of society may be imagined when I say that I
found myself a perfect novice amongst them.

"Where are you going, prince?" said the earl to a respectable-looking
man who was making for the door.

"I don't feel well, my lord. I think I must go out."

"What prince is that?" said I.

"The Prince de Chimai. He is a sub-deacon, and is endeavouring to gain
permission to marry, lest his family should become extinct."

"I admire his prudence or his delicacy, but I am afraid I should not
imitate him."

There were twenty-four of us at table, and it is no exaggeration to say
that we emptied a hundred bottles of the choicest wines. Everybody was
drunk, with the exception of myself and the poet Poinsinet, who had
taken nothing but water. The company rose from table, and then began a
foul orgy which I should never have conceived possible, and which no
pen could describe, though possibly a seasoned profligate might get some
idea of it.

A castrato and a girl of almost equal height proposed to strip in an
adjoining room, and to lie on their backs, in the same bed with their
faces covered. They challenged us all to guess which was which.

We all went in and nobody could pronounce from sight which was male and
which was female, so I bet the earl fifty crowns that I would point out
the woman.

He accepted the wager, and I guessed correctly, but payment was out of
the question.

This first act of the orgy ended with the prostitution of the two
individuals, who defied everybody to accomplish the great act. All,
with the exception of Poinsinet and myself, made the attempt, but their
efforts were in vain.

The second act displayed four or five couples reversed, and here the
abbes shone, both in the active and passive parts of this lascivious
spectacle. I was the only person respected.

All at once, the earl, who had hitherto remained perfectly motionless,
attacked the wretched Poinsinet, who in vain attempted to defend
himself. He had to strip like my lord, who was as naked as the others.
We stood round in a circle. Suddenly the earl, taking his watch,
promised it to the first who succeeded in giving them a sure mark of
sensibility. The desire of gaining the prize excited the impure crowd
immensely, and the castrati, the girls, and the abbes all did their
utmost, each one striving to be the first. They had to draw lots. This
part interested me most, for throughout this almost incredible scene of
debauchery I did not experience the slightest sensation, although under
other circumstances any of the girls would have claimed my homage, but
all I did was to laugh, especially to see the poor poet in terror of
experiencing the lust of the flesh, for the profligate nobleman swore
that if he made him lose he would deliver him up to the brutal lust of
all the abbes. He escaped, probably through fear of the consequences.

The orgy came to an end when nobody had any further hopes of getting
the watch. The secret of the Lesbians was only employed, however, by the
abbes and the castrata. The girls, wishing to be able to despise
those who made use of it, refrained from doing so. I suspect they
were actuated by pride rather than shame, as they might possibly have
employed it without success.

This vile debauch disgusted me, and yet gave me a better knowledge of
myself. I could not help confessing that my life had been endangered,
for the only arm I had was my sword, but I should certainly have used it
if the earl had tried to treat me like the others, and as he had treated
poor Poinsinet. I never understood how it was that he respected me, for
he was quite drunk, and in a kind of Bacchic fury.

As I left, I promised to come and see him as often as he pleased, but I
promised myself never to set foot in his house again.

Next day, he came to see me in the afternoon, and asked me to walk with
him to the Villa Medici.

I complimented him on the immense wealth he had inherited to enable
him to live so splendidly, but he laughed and told me that he did not
possess fifty piastres, that his father had left nothing but debts, and
that he himself already owed three or four thousand crowns.

"I wonder people give you credit, then."

"They give me credit because everybody knows that I have drawn a bill
of exchange on Paris to the tune of two hundred thousand francs. But
in four or five days the bill will be returned protested, and I am only
waiting for that to happen to make my escape."

"If you are certain of its being protested, I advise you to make your
escape to-day; for as it is so large a sum it may be taken up before it
is due."

"No, I won't do that; I have one hope left. I have written to tell my
mother that I shall be undone if she does not furnish the banker, on
whom I have drawn the bill, with sufficient funds and if she does that,
the bill will be accepted. You know my mother is very fond of me."

"Yes, but I also know that she is far from rich."

"True, but M. de St. Aubin is rich enough, and between you and me I
think he is my father. Meanwhile, my creditors are almost as quiet as I
am. All those girls you saw yesterday would give me all they have if I
asked them, as they are all expecting me to make them a handsome present
in the course of the week, but I won't abuse their trust in me. But I
am afraid I shall be obliged to cheat the Jew, who wants me to give him
three thousand sequins for this ring, as I know it is only worth one
thousand."

"He will send the police after you."

"I defy him to do whatever he likes."

The ring was set with a straw-coloured diamond of nine or ten carats. He
begged me to keep his secret as we parted. I did not feel any sentiments
of pity for this extravagant madman, as I only saw in him a man
unfortunate by his own fault, whose fate would probably make him end his
days in a prison unless he had the courage to blow his brains out.

I went to Momolo's in the evening, and found the intended husband of
my fair Mariuccia there, but not the lady herself. I heard she had sent
word to the 'scopatore santissimo' that, as her father had come from
Palestrina to be present at her wedding, she could not come to supper.
I admired her subtlety. A young girl has no need of being instructed
in diplomacy, nature and her own heart are her teachers, and she never
blunders. At supper I studied the young man, and found him eminently
suitable for Mariuccia; he was handsome, modest, and intelligent, and
whatever he said was spoken frankly and to the point.

He told me before Momolo's daughter, Tecla, that he would have married
her if she had possessed means to enable him to open his shop, and that
he had reason to thank God for having met Maria, whose confessor had
been such a true spiritual father to her. I asked him where the wedding
festivities were to take place, and he told me they were to be at his
father's house, on the other side of the Tiber. As his father, who kept
a garden, was poor, he had furnished him with ten crowns to defray the
expenses.

I wanted to give him the ten crowns, but how was I to do it? It would
have betrayed me.

"Is your father's garden a pretty one?" I asked.

"Not exactly pretty, but very well kept. As he owns the land, he has
separated a plot which he wants to sell; it would bring in twenty crowns
a year, and I should be as happy as a cardinal if I could buy it."

"How much will it cost?"

"It's a heavy price; two hundred crowns."

"Why, that's cheap! Listen to me. I have met your future bride at this
house, and I have found her all worthy of happiness. She deserves
an honest young fellow like you for a husband. Now what would you do
supposing I were to make you a present of two hundred crowns to buy the
garden?"

"I should put it to my wife's dowry."

"Then here are the two hundred crowns. I shall give them to Momolo, as
I don't know you well enough, though I think you are perfectly to be
trusted. The garden is yours, as part of your wife's dowry."

Momolo took the money, and promised to buy the garden the following day,
and the young man shedding tears of joy and gratitude fell on his knees
and kissed my hand. All the girls wept, as I myself did, for there's a
contagion in such happy tears. Nevertheless, they did not all proceed
from the same source; some were virtuous and some vicious, and the young
man's were the only ones whose source was pure and unalloyed. I lifted
him from the ground, kissed him, and wished him a happy marriage. He
made bold to ask me to his wedding, but I refused, thanking him kindly.
I told him that if he wanted to please me, he must come and sup at
Momolo's on the eve of his wedding, and I begged the good scopatore to
ask Mariuccia, her father and mother as well. I was sure of seeing her
for the last time on the Sunday morning.

At seven o'clock on the Sunday morning we were in each other's arms,
with four hours before us. After the first burst of mutual ardour she
told me that all arrangements had been made in her house the evening
before, in the presence of her confessor and of Momolo; and that on the
receipt for the two hundred crowns being handed in the notary had put
the garden into the settlement, and that the good father had made her a
present of twenty piastres towards defraying the notary's fees and the
wedding expenses.

"Everything is for the best, and I am sure I shall be happy. My intended
adores you, but you did wisely not to accept his invitation, for you
would have found everything so poor, and besides tongues might have been
set wagging to my disadvantage."

"You are quite right, dearest, but what do you intend to do if your
husband finds that the door has been opened by someone else, for
possibly he expects you to be a maid."

"I expect he will know no more about it than I did the first time you
knew me; besides, I do not feel that you have defiled me, and my clean
conscience will not allow me to think of the matter; and I am sure that
he will not think of it any more than I."

"Yes, but if he does?"

"It would not be delicate on his part, but what should prevent me from
replying that I don't know what he means?"

"You are right; that's the best way. But have you told your confessor of
our mutual enjoyment?"

"No, for as I did not give myself up to you with any criminal intention,
I do not think I have offended God."

"You are an angel, and I admire the clearness of your reasoning. But
listen to me; it's possible that you are already with child, or that you
may become so this morning; promise to name the child after me."

"I will do so."

The four hours sped rapidly away. After the sixth assault we were
wearied though not satiated. We parted with tears, and swore to love
each other as brother and sister ever after.

I went home, bathed, slept an hour, rose, dressed, and dined pleasantly
with the family. In the evening I took the Mengs family for a drive
in my landau, and we then went to the theatre, where the castrato who
played the prima donna was a great attraction. He was the favourite
pathic of Cardinal Borghese, and supped every evening with his eminence.

This castrato had a fine voice, but his chief attraction was his beauty.
I had seen him in man's clothes in the street, but though a fine-looking
fellow, he had not made any impression on me, for one could see at
once that he was only half a man, but on the stage in woman's dress the
illusion was complete; he was ravishing.

He was enclosed in a carefully-made corset and looked like a nymph;
and incredible though it may seem, his breast was as beautiful as any
woman's; it was the monster's chiefest charm. However well one knew the
fellow's neutral sex, as soon as one looked at his breast one felt all
aglow and quite madly amorous of him. To feel nothing one would have to
be as cold and impassive as a German. As he walked the boards, waiting
for the refrain of the air he was singing, there was something grandly
voluptuous about him; and as he glanced towards the boxes, his black
eyes, at once tender and modest, ravished the heart. He evidently wished
to fan the flame of those who loved him as a man, and probably would not
have cared for him if he had been a woman.

Rome the holy, which thus strives to make all men pederasts, denies
the fact, and will not believe in the effects of the glamour of her own
devising.

I made these reflections aloud, and an ecclesiastic, wishing to blind me
to the truth, spoke as follows:--

"You are quite right. Why should this castrato be allowed to shew his
breast, of which the fairest Roman lady might be proud, and yet wish
everyone to consider him as a man and not a woman? If the stage is
forbidden to the fair sex lest they excite desires, why do they seek out
men-monsters made in the form of women, who excite much more criminal
desires? They keep on preaching that pederasty is comparatively unknown
and entraps only a few, but many clever men endeavour to be entrapped,
and end by thinking it so pleasant that they prefer these monsters to
the most beautiful women."

"The Pope would be sure of heaven if he put a stop to this scandalous
practice."

"I don't agree with you. One could not have a pretty actress to supper
without causing a scandal, but such an invitation to a castrato makes
nobody talk. It is of course known perfectly well that after supper both
heads rest on one pillow, but what everybody knows is ignored by all.
One may sleep with a man out of mere friendship, it is not so with a
woman."

"True, monsignor, appearances are saved, and a sin concealed is half
pardoned, as they say in Paris."

"At Rome we say it is pardoned altogether. 'Peccato nascosto non
offende'."

His jesuitical arguments interested me, for I knew that he was an avowed
partisan of the forbidden fruit.

In one of the boxes I saw the Marchioness Passarini (whom I had known
at Dresden) with Don Antonio Borghese, and I went to pay my addresses to
them. The prince, whom I had known at Paris ten years before, recognized
me, and asked me to dine with him on the following day. I went, but my
lord was not at home. A page told me that my place was laid at table,
and that I could dine just as if the prince was there, on which I turned
my back on him and went away. On Ash Wednesday he sent his man to ask
me to sup with him and the marchioness, who was his mistress, and I sent
word that I would not fail to come; but he waited for me in vain. Pride
is the daughter of folly, and always keeps its mother's nature.

After the opera I went to Momolo's, where I found Mariuccia, her father,
her mother, and her future husband. They were anxiously expecting me. It
is not difficult to make people happy when one selects for one's bounty
persons who really deserve happiness. I was amidst poor but honest
people, and I can truly say that I had a delightful supper. It may be
that some of my enjoyment proceeded from a feeling of vanity, for I
knew that I was the author of the happiness depicted on the faces of the
bride and bridegroom and of the father and mother of Mariuccia; but
when vanity causes good deeds it is a virtue. Nevertheless, I owe it to
myself to tell my readers that my pleasure was too pure to have in it
any admixture of vice.

After supper I made a small bank at faro, making everybody play with
counters, as nobody had a penny, and I was so fortunate as to make
everyone win a few ducats.

After the game we danced in spite of the prohibition of the Pope,
whom no Roman can believe to be infallible, for he forbids dancing and
permits games of chance. His successor Ganganelli followed the opposite
course, and was no better obeyed. To avoid suspicion I did not give the
pair any present, but I gave up my landau to them that they might enjoy
the carnival on the Corso, and I told Costa to get them a box at the
Capranica Theatre. Momolo asked me to supper on Shrove Tuesday.

I wished to leave Rome on the second day of Lent, and I called on the
Holy Father at a time when all Rome was on the Corso. His Holiness
welcomed me most graciously, and said he was surprised that I had not
gone to see the sights on the Corso like everybody else. I replied that
as a lover of pleasure I had chosen the greatest pleasure of all for a
Christian--namely, to kneel at the feet of the vicar of Christ on earth.
He bowed with a kind of majestic humility, which shewed me how the
compliment had pleased him. He kept me for more than an hour, talking
about Venice, Padua, and Paris, which latter city the worthy man would
not have been sorry to have visited. I again commended myself to his
apostolic intercession to enable me to return to my native country, and
he replied,--

"Have recourse to God, dear son; His grace will be more efficacious than
my prayers;" and then he blessed me and wished me a prosperous journey.

I saw that the Head of the Church had no great opinion of his own power.

On Shrove Tuesday I dressed myself richly in the costume of
Polichinello, and rode along the Corso showering sweetmeats on all the
pretty women I saw. Finally I emptied the basket on the daughters of the
worthy 'scopatore', whom Costa was taking about in my landau with all
the dignity of a pasha.

At night-time I took off my costume and went to Momolo's, where I
expected to see dear Mariuccia for the last time. Supper passed off in
almost a similar manner to the supper of last Sunday; but there was an
interesting novelty for me--namely, the sight of my beloved mistress in
her character of bride. Her husband seemed to be much more reserved with
respect to me than at our first meeting. I was puzzled by his behaviour,
and sat down by Mariuccia and proceeded to question her. She told me
all the circumstances which had passed on the first night, and she
spoke highly of her husband's good qualities. He was kind, amorous,
good-tempered, and delicate. No doubt he must have noticed that the
casket had been opened, but he had said nothing about it. As he had
spoken about me, she had not been able to resist the pleasure of
telling him that I was her sole benefactor, at which, so far from being
offended, he seemed to trust in her more than ever.

"But has he not questioned you indirectly as to the connection between
us?"

"Not at all. I told him that you went to my confessor after having
spoken to me once only in the church, where I told you what a good
chance I had of being married to him."

"Do you think he believed you?"

"I am not sure; however, even if it were otherwise, it is enough that he
pretends to, for I am determined to win his esteem."

"You are right, and I think all the better of him for his suspicions,
for it is better to marry a man with some sense in his head than to
marry a fool."

I was so pleased with what she told me that when I took leave of the
company I embraced the hairdresser, and drawing a handsome gold watch
from my fob I begged him to accept it as a souvenir of me. He received
it with the utmost gratitude. From my pocket I took a ring, worth at
least six hundred francs, and put it on his wife's finger, wishing them
a fair posterity and all manner of happiness, and I then went home to
bed, telling Le Duc and Costa that we must begin to pack up next day.

I was just getting up when they brought me a note from Lord Lismore,
begging me to come and speak to him at noon at the Villa Borghese.

I had some suspicion of what he might want, and kept the appointment.
I felt in a mood to give him some good advice. Indeed, considering the
friendship between his mother and myself, it was my duty to do so.

He came up to me and gave me a letter he had received the evening before
from his mother. She told him that Paris de Monmartel had just informed
her that he was in possession of a bill for two hundred thousand francs
drawn by her son, and that he would honour it if she would furnish him
with the funds. She had replied that she would let him know in two or
three days if she could do so; but she warned her son that she had
only asked for this delay to give him time to escape, as the bill would
certainly be protested and returned, it being absolutely out of the
question for her to get the money.

"You had better make yourself scarce as soon as you can," said I,
returning him the letter.

"Buy this ring, and so furnish me with the means for my escape. You
would not know that it was not my property if I had not told you so in
confidence."

I made an appointment with him, and had the stone taken out and valued
by one of the best jewellers in Rome.

"I know this stone," said he, "it is worth two thousand Roman crowns."

At four o'clock I took the earl five hundred crowns in gold and fifteen
hundred crowns in paper, which he would have to take to a banker, who
would give him a bill of exchange in Amsterdam.

"I will be off at nightfall," said he, "and travel by myself to
Amsterdam, only taking such effects as are absolutely necessary, and my
beloved blue ribbon."

"A pleasant journey to you," said I, and left him. In ten days I had the
stone mounted at Bologna.

I got a letter of introduction from Cardinal Albani for Onorati, the
nuncio at Florence, and another letter from M. Mengs to Sir Mann, whom
he begged to receive me in his house. I was going to Florence for
the sake of the Corticelli and my dear Therese, and I reckoned on the
auditor's feigning to ignore my return, in spite of his unjust order,
especially if I were residing at the English minister's.

On the second day of Lent the disappearance of Lord Lismore was the talk
of the town. The English tailor was ruined, the Jew who owned the ring
was in despair, and all the silly fellow's servants were turned out
of the house in almost a state of nakedness, as the tailor had
unceremoniously taken possession of everything in the way of clothes
that he could lay his hands on.

Poor Poinsinet came to see me in a pitiable condition; he had only his
shirt and overcoat. He had been despoiled of everything, and threatened
with imprisonment. "I haven't a farthing," said the poor child of the
muses, "I have only the shirt on my back. I know nobody here, and I
think I shall go and throw myself into the Tiber."

He was destined, not to be drowned in the Tiber but in the Guadalquivir.
I calmed him by offering to take him to Florence with me, but I
warned him that I must leave him there, as someone was expecting me at
Florence. He immediately took up his abode with me, and wrote verses
incessantly till it was time to go.

My brother Jean made me a present of an onyx of great beauty. It was a
cameo, representing Venus bathing, and a genuine antique, as the name of
the artist, Sostrates, was cut on the stone. Two years later I sold it
to Dr. Masti, at London, for three hundred pounds, and it is possibly
still in the British Museum.

I went my way with Poinsinet who amused me, in spite of his sadness,
with his droll fancies. In two days I got down at Dr. Vannini's, who
tried to conceal his surprise at seeing me. I lost no time, but waited
on Sir---- Mann immediately, and found him sitting at table. He gave me
a very friendly reception, but he seemed alarmed when, in reply to
his question, I told him that my dispute with the auditor had not been
arranged. He told me plainly that he thought I had made a mistake in
returning to Florence, and that he would be compromised by my staying
with him. I pointed out that I was only passing through Florence.

"That's all very well," said he, "but you know you ought to call on the
auditor."

I promised to do so, and returned to my lodging. I had scarcely shut
the door, when an agent of police came and told me that the auditor had
something to say to me, and would be glad to see me at an early hour
next morning.

I was enraged at this order, and determined to start forthwith rather
than obey. Full of this idea I called on Therese and found she was at
Pisa. I then went to see the Corticelli, who threw her arms round
my neck, and made use of the Bolognese grimaces appropriate to the
occasion. To speak the truth, although the girl was pretty, her chief
merit in my eyes was that she made me laugh.

I gave some money to her mother to get us a good supper, and I took the
girl out on pretence of going for a walk. I went with her to my lodging,
and left her with Poinsinet, and going to another room I summoned Costa
and Vannini. I told Costa in Vannini's presence to go on with Le Duc
and my luggage the following day, and to call for me at the "Pilgrim" at
Bologna. I gave Vannini my instructions, and he left the room; and then
I ordered Costa to leave Florence with Signora Laura and her son, and
to tell them that I and the daughter were on in front. Le Duc received
similar orders, and calling Poinsinet I gave him ten Louis, and begged
him to look out for some other lodging that very evening. The worthy but
unfortunate young man wept grateful tears, and told me that he would set
out for Parma on foot next day, and that there M. Tillot would do some,
thing for him.

I went back to the next room, and told the Corticelli to come with me.
She did so under the impression that we were going back to her mother's,
but without taking the trouble to undeceive her I had a carriage and
pair got ready, and told the postillion to drive to Uccellatoio, the
first post on the Bologna road.

"Where in the world are we going?" said she.

"Bologna."

"How about mamma?"

"She will come on to-morrow."

"Does she know about it?"

"No, but she will to-morrow when Costa comes to tell her, and to fetch
her and your brother."

She liked the joke, and got into the carriage laughing, and we drove
away.



CHAPTER XI


     My Arrival at Bologna--I Am Expelled from Modena--I Visit
     Parma and Turin--The Pretty Jewess--The Dressmaker

The Corticelli had a good warm mantle, but the fool who carried her off
had no cloak, even of the most meagre kind, to keep off the piercing
cold, which was increased by a keen wind blowing right in our faces.

In spite of all I would not halt, for I was afraid I might be pursued
and obliged to return, which would have greatly vexed me.

When I saw that the postillion was slackening his speed, I increased the
amount of the present I was going to make him, and once more we rushed
along at a headlong pace. I felt perishing with the cold; while the
postillions seeing me so lightly clad, and so prodigal of my money to
speed them on their way, imagined that I was a prince carrying off the
heiress of some noble family. We heard them talking to this effect while
they changed horses, and the Corticelli was so much amused that she
did nothing but laugh for the rest of the way. In five hours we covered
forty miles; we started from Florence at eight o'clock, and at one in
the morning we stopped at a post in the Pope's territory, where I had
nothing to fear. The stage goes under the name of "The Ass Unburdened."

The odd name of the inn made my mistress laugh afresh. Everybody
was asleep, but the noise I made and the distribution of a few pauls
procured me the privilege of a fire. I was dying of hunger, and they
coolly told me there was nothing to eat. I laughed in the landlord's
face, and told him to bring me his butter, his eggs, his macaroni, a
ham, and some Parmesan cheese, for I knew that so much will be found
in the inns all over Italy. The repast was soon ready, and I shewed
the idiot host that he had materials for an excellent meal. We ate like
four, and afterwards they made up an impromptu bed and we went to sleep,
telling them to call me as soon as a carriage and four drew up.

Full of ham and macaroni, slightly warmed with the Chianti and
Montepulciano, and tired with our journey, we stood more in need of
slumber than of love, and so we gave ourselves up to sleep till morning.
Then we gave a few moments to pleasure, but it was so slight an affair
as not to be worth talking about.

At one o'clock we began to feel hungry again and got up, and the host
provided us with an excellent dinner, after receiving instructions
from me. I was astonished not to see the carriage draw up, but I waited
patiently all day. Night came on and still no coach, and I began to feel
anxious; but the Corticelli persisted in laughing at everything. Next
morning I sent off an express messenger with instructions for Costa. In
the event of any violence having taken place, I was resolved to return
to Florence, of which city I could at any time make myself free by the
expenditure of two hundred crowns.

The messenger started at noon, and returned at two o'clock with the news
that my servants would shortly be with me. My coach was on its way, and
behind it a smaller carriage with two horses, in which sat an old woman
and a young man.

"That's the mother," said Corticelli; "now we shall have some fun. Let's
get something for them to eat, and be ready to hear the history of this
marvellous adventure which she will remember to her dying day."

Costa told me that the auditor had revenged my contempt of his orders by
forbidding the post authorities to furnish any horses for my carriage.
Hence the delay. But here we heard the allocution of the Signora Laura.

"I got an excellent supper ready," she began, "according to your orders;
it cost me more than ten pauls, as I shall shew you, and I hope you will
make it up to me as I'm but a poor woman. All was ready and I joyfully
expected you, but in vain; I was in despair. At last when midnight came
I sent my son to your lodging to enquire after you, but you may imagine
my 'grief when I heard that nobody knew what had become of you. I passed
a sleepless night, weeping all the time, and in the morning I went and
complained to the police that you had taken off my daughter, and asked
them to send after you and make you give her back to me. But only think,
they laughed at me! 'Why did you let her go out without you? laughing
in my face. 'Your daughter's in good hands,' says another, 'you know
perfectly well where she is.' In fact I was grossly slandered."

"Slandered?" said the Corticelli.

"Yes, slandered, for it was as much as to say that I had consented to
your being carried off, and if I had done that the fools might have
known I would not have come to them about it. I went away in a rage to
Dr. Vannini's, where I found your man, who told me that you had gone
to Bologna, and that I could follow you if I liked. I consented to this
plan, and I hope you wilt pay my travelling expenses. But I can't help
telling you that this is rather beyond a joke."

I consoled her by telling her I would pay all she had spent, and we set
off for Bologna the next day, and reached that town at an early hour. I
sent my servants to the inn with my carriage, and I went to lodge with
the Corticelli.

I spent a week with the girl, getting my meals from the inn, and
enjoying a diversity of pleasures which I shall remember all my days;
my young wanton had a large circle of female friends, all pretty and
all kind. I lived with them like a sultan, and still I delight to recall
this happy time, and I say with a sigh, 'Tempi passati'!

There are many towns in Italy where one can enjoy all the pleasures
obtainable at Bologna; but nowhere so cheaply, so easily, or with so
much freedom. The living is excellent, and there are arcades where one
can walk in the shade in learned and witty company. It is a great pity
that either from the air, the water, or the wine--for men of science
have not made up their minds on the subject persons who live at Bologna
are subject to a slight itch. The Bolognese, however, far from finding
this unpleasant, seem to think it an advantage; it gives them the
pleasure of scratching themselves. In springtime the ladies distinguish
themselves by the grace with which they use their fingers.

Towards mid-Lent I left the Corticelli, wishing her a pleasant journey,
for she was going to fulfil a year's engagement at Prague as second
dancer. I promised to fetch her and her mother to Paris, and my readers
will see how I kept my word.

I got to Modena the evening after I left Bologna, and I stopped there,
with one of those sudden whims to which I have always been subject. Next
morning I went out to see the pictures, and as I was returning to my
lodging for dinner a blackguardly-looking fellow came up and ordered
me, on the part of the Government, to continue my journey on the day
following at latest.

"Very good," said I, and the fellow went away.

"Who is that man?" I said to the landlord. "A SPY."

"A spy; and the Government dares to send such a fellow to me?"

"The 'borgello' must have sent him."

"Then the 'borgello' is the Governor of Modena--the infamous wretch!"

"Hush! hush! all the best families speak to him in the street."

"Then the best people are very low here, I suppose?"

"Not more than anywhere else. He is the manager of the opera house, and
the greatest noblemen dine with him and thus secure his favour."

"It's incredible! But why should the high and mighty borgello send me
away from Modena?"

"I don't know, but do you take my advice and go and speak to him; you
will find him a fine fellow."

Instead of going to see this b. . . . I called on the Abbe Testa
Grossa, whom I had known at Venice in 1753. Although he was a man of low
extraction he had a keen wit. At this time he was old and resting on his
laurels; he had fought his way into favour by the sheer force of
merit, and his master, the Duke of Modena, had long chosen him as his
representative with other powers.

Abbe Testa Grossa recognized me and gave me the most gracious reception,
but when he heard of what had befallen me he seemed much annoyed.

"What can I do?" said I.

"You had better go, as the man may put a much more grievous insult on
you."

"I will do so, but could you oblige me by telling me the reason for such
a high-handed action?"

"Come again this evening; I shall probably be able to satisfy you."

I called on the abbe again in the evening, for I felt anxious to learn
in what way I had offended the lord borgello, to whom I thought I was
quite unknown. The abbe satisfied me.

"The borgello," said he, "saw your name on the bill which he receives
daily containing a list of the names of those who enter or leave the
city. He remembered that you were daring enough to escape from The
Leads, and as he does not at all approve of that sort of thing he
resolved not to let the Modenese be contaminated by so egregious an
example of the defiance of justice, however unjust it may be; and in
short he has given you the order to leave the town."

"I am much obliged, but I really wonder how it is that while you
were telling me this you did not blush to be a subject of the Duke of
Modena's. What an unworthy action! How contrary is such a system of
government to all the best interests of the state!"

"You are quite right, my dear sir, but I am afraid that as yet men's
eyes are not open to what best serves their interests."

"That is doubtless due to the fact that so many men are unworthy."

"I will not contradict you."

"Farewell, abbe."

"Farewell, M. Casanova."

Next morning, just as I was going to get into my carriage, a young man
between twenty-five and thirty, tall and strong and broad shouldered,
his eyes black and glittering, his eyebrows strongly arched, and his
general air being that of a cut-throat, accosted me and begged me to
step aside and hear what he had to say.

"If you like to stop at Parma for three days, and if you will promise
to give me fifty sequins when I bring you the news that the borgello is
dead, I promise to shoot him within the next twenty-four hours."

"Thanks. Such an animal as that should be allowed to die a natural
death. Here's a crown to drink my health."

At the present time I feel very thankful that I acted as I did, but I
confess that if I had felt sure that it was not a trap I should have
promised the money. The fear of committing myself spared me this crime.

The next day I got to Parma, and I put up at the posting-house under the
name of the Chevalier de Seingalt, which I still bear. When an honest
man adopts a name which belongs to no one, no one has a right to contest
his use of it; it becomes a man's duty to keep the name. I had now borne
it for two years, but I often subjoined to it my family name.

When I got to Parma I dismissed Costa, but in a week after I had the
misfortune to take him on again. His father, who was a poor violin
player, as I had once been, with a large family to provide for, excited
my pity.

I made enquiries about M. Antonio, but he had left the place; and M.
Dubois Chalelereux, Director of the Mint, had gone to Venice with the
permission of the Duke of Parma, to set up the beam, which was
never brought into use. Republics are famous for their superstitious
attachment to old customs; they are afraid that changes for the
better may destroy the stability of the state, and the government of
aristocratic Venice still preserves its original Greek character.

My Spaniard was delighted when I dismissed Costa and proportionately
sorry when I took him back.

"He's no profligate," said Le Duc; "he is sober, and has no liking for
bad company. But I think he's a robber, and a dangerous robber, too. I
know it, because he seems so scrupulously careful not to cheat you in
small things. Remember what I say, sir; he will do you. He is waiting
to gain your confidence, and then he will strike home. Now, I am quite a
different sort of fellow, a rogue in a small way; but you know me."

His insight was, keener than mine, for five or six months later
the Italian robbed me of fifty thousand crowns. Twenty-three years
afterwards, in 1784, I found him in Venice, valet to Count Hardegg, and
I felt inclined to have him hanged. I shewed him by proof positive
that I could do so if I liked; but he had resource to tears and
supplications, and to the intercession of a worthy man named Bertrand,
who lived with the ambassador of the King of Sardinia. I esteemed this
individual, and he appealed to me successfully to pardon Costa. I asked
the wretch what he had done with the gold and jewels he had stolen from
me, and he told me that he had lost the whole of it in furnishing funds
for a bank at Biribi, that he had been despoiled by his own associates,
and had been poor and miserable ever since.

In the same year in which he robbed me he married Momolo's daughter, and
after making her a mother he abandoned her.

To pursue our story.

At Turin I lodged in a private house with the Abbe Gama, who had been
expecting me. In spite of the good abbe's sermon on economy, I took the
whole of the first floor, and a fine suite it was.

We discussed diplomatic topics, and he assured me that I should be
accredited in May, and that he would give me instructions as to the part
I was to play. I was pleased with his commission, and I told the abbe
that I should be ready to go to Augsburg whenever the ambassadors of the
belligerent powers met there.

After making the necessary arrangements with my landlady with regard
to my meals I went to a coffeehouse to read the papers, and the first
person I saw was the Marquis Desarmoises, whom I had known in Savoy.
The first thing he said was that all games of chance were forbidden, and
that the ladies I had met would no doubt be delighted to see me. As for
himself, he said that he lived by playing backgammon, though he was not
at all lucky at it, as talent went for more than luck at that game. I
can understand how, if fortune is neutral, the best player will win, but
I do not see how the contrary can take place.

We went for a walk in the promenade leading to the citadel, where I
saw numerous extremely pretty women. In Turin the fair sex is most
delightful, but the police regulations are troublesome to a degree.
Owing to the town being a small one and thinly peopled, the police spies
find out everything. Thus one cannot enjoy any little freedoms without
great precautions and the aid of cunning procuresses, who have to be
well paid, as they would be cruelly punished if they were found out. No
prostitutes and no kept women are allowed, much to the delight of the
married women, and with results which the ignorant police might have
anticipated. As well be imagined, pederasty has a fine field in this
town, where the passions are kept under lock and key.

Amongst the beauties I looked at, one only attracted me. I asked
Desarmoises her name, as he knew all of them.

"That's the famous Leah," said he; "she is a Jewess, and impregnable.
She has resisted the attacks of the best strategists in Turin. Her
father's a famous horse-dealer; you can go and see her easily enough,
but there's nothing to be done there."

The greater the difficulty the more I felt spurred on to attempt it.

"Take me there," said I, to Desarmoises.

"As soon as you please."

I asked him to dine with me, and we were on our way when we met M.
Zeroli and two or three other persons whom I had met at Aix. I gave and
received plenty of compliments, but not wishing to pay them any visits I
excused myself on the pretext of business.

When we had finished dinner Desarmoises took me to the horse-dealer's.
I asked if he had a good saddle horse. He called a lad and gave his
orders, and whilst he was speaking the charming daughter appeared on
the scene. She was dazzlingly beautiful, and could not be more than
twenty-two. Her figure was as lissom as a nymph's, her hair a raven
black, her complexion a meeting of the lily and the rose, her eyes full
of fire, her lashes long, and her eye-brows so well arched that they
seemed ready to make war on any who would dare the conquest of her
charms. All about her betokened an educated mind and knowledge of the
world.

I was so absorbed in the contemplation of her charms that I did not
notice the horse when it was brought to me. However, I proceeded to
scrutinise it, pretending to be an expert, and after feeling the knees
and legs, turning back the ears, and looking at the teeth, I tested its
behaviour at a walk, a trot, and a gallop, and then told the Jew that I
would come and try it myself in top-boots the next day. The horse was a
fine dappled bay, and was priced at forty Piedmontese pistoles--about a
hundred sequins.

"He is gentleness itself," said Leah, "and he ambles as fast as any
other horse trots."

"You have ridden it, then?"

"Often, sir, and if I were rich I would never sell him."

"I won't buy the horse till I have seen you ride it."

She blushed at this.

"You must oblige the gentleman," said her father. She consented to do
so, and I promised to come again at nine o'clock the next day.

I was exact to time, as may be imagined, and I found Leah in riding
costume. What proportions! What a Venus Callipyge! I was captivated.

Two horses were ready, and she leapt on hers with the ease and grace of
a practised rider, and I got up on my horse. We rode together for some
distance. The horse went well enough, but what of that; all my eyes were
for her.

As we were turning, I said,--

"Fair Leah, I will buy the horse, but as a present for you; and if you
will not take it I shall leave Turin today. The only condition I attach
to the gift is, that you will ride with me whenever I ask you."

I saw she seemed favourably inclined to my proposal, so I told her that
I should stay six weeks at Turin, that I had fallen in love with her
on the promenade, and that the purchase of the horse had been a mere
pretext for discovering to her my feelings. She replied modestly that
she was vastly flattered by the liking I had taken to her, and that
I need not have made her such a present to assure myself of her
friendship.

"The condition you impose on me is an extremely pleasant one, and I am
sure that my father will like me to accept it."

To this she added,--

"All I ask is for you to make me the present before him, repeating that
you will only buy it on the condition that I will accept it."

I found the way smoother than I had expected, and I did what she
asked me. Her father, whose name was Moses, thought it a good bargain,
congratulated his daughter, took the forty pistoles and gave me a
receipt, and begged me to do them the honour of breakfasting with them
the next day. This was just what I wanted.

The following morning Moses received me with great respect. Leah, who
was in her ordinary clothes, told me that if I liked to ride she would
put on her riding habit.

"Another day," said I; "to-day I should like to converse with you in
your own house."

But the father, who was as greedy as most Jews are, said that if I liked
driving he could sell me a pretty phaeton with two excellent horses.

"You must shew them to the gentleman," said Leah, possibly in concert
with her father.

Moses said nothing, but went out to get the horses harnessed.

"I will look at them," I said to Leah, "but I won't buy, as I should not
know what to do with them."

"You can take your lady-love out for a drive."

"That would be you; but perhaps you would be afraid!"

"Not at all, if you drove in the country or the suburbs."

"Very good, Leah, then I will look at them."

The father came in, and we went downstairs. I liked the carriage and the
horses, and I told Leah so.

"Well," said Moses, "you can have them now for four hundred sequins, but
after Easter the price will be five hundred sequins at least."

Leah got into the carriage, and I sat beside her, and we went for an
hour's drive into the country. I told Moses I would give him an answer
by the next day, and he went about his business, while Leah and I went
upstairs again.

"It's quite worth four hundred sequins," said I, "and to-morrow I will
buy it with pleasure; but on the same condition as that on which I
bought the horse, and something more--namely, that you will grant me all
the favours that a tender lover can desire."

"You speak plainly, and I will answer you in the same way. I'm an honest
girl, sir, and not for sale."

"All women, dear Leah, whether they are honest or not, are for sale.
When a man has plenty of time he buys the woman his heart desires
by unremitting attentions; but when he's in a hurry he buys her with
presents, and even with money."

"Then he's a clumsy fellow; he would do better to let sentiment and
attention plead his cause and gain the victory."

"I wish I could give myself that happiness, fair Leah, but I'm in a
great hurry."

As I finished this sentence her father came in, and I left the house
telling him that if I could not come the next day I would come the day
after, and that we could talk about the phaeton then.

It was plain that Leah thought I was lavish of my money, and would make
a capital dupe. She would relish the phaeton, as she had relished the
horse, but I knew that I was not quite such a fool as that. It had not
cost me much trouble to resolve to chance the loss of a hundred sequins,
but beyond that I wanted some value for my money.

I temporarily suspended my visits to see how Leah and her father would
settle it amongst themselves. I reckoned on the Jew's greediness to work
well for me. He was very fond of money, and must have been angry that
his daughter had not made me buy the phaeton by some means or another,
for so long as the phaeton was bought the rest would be perfectly
indifferent to him. I felt almost certain that they would come and see
me.

The following Saturday I saw the fair Jewess on the promenade. We were
near enough for me to accost her without seeming to be anxious to do so,
and her look seemed to say, "Come."

"We see no more of you now," said she, "but come and breakfast with me
to-morrow, or I will send you back the horse."

I promised to be with her in good time, and, as the reader will imagine,
I kept my word.

The breakfast party was almost confined to ourselves, for though her
aunt was present she was only there for decency's sake. After breakfast
we resolved to have a ride, and she changed her clothes before me, but
also before her aunt. She first put on her leather breeches, then let
her skirts fall, took off her corset, and donned a jacket. With seeming
indifference I succeeded in catching a glimpse of a magnificent breast;
but the sly puss knew how much my indifference was worth.

"Will you arrange my frill?" said she.

This was a warm occupation for me, and I am afraid my hand was
indiscreet. Nevertheless, I thought I detected a fixed design under all
this seeming complaisance, and I was on my guard.

Her father came up just as we were getting on horseback.

"If you will buy the phaeton and horses," said he, "I will abate twenty
sequins."

"All that depends on your daughter," said I.

We set off at a walk, and Leah told me that she had been imprudent
enough to confess to her father that she could make me buy the carriage,
and that if I did not wish to embroil her with him I would be kind
enough to purchase it.

"Strike the bargain," said she, "and you can give it me when you are
sure of my love."

"My dear Leah, I am your humble servant, but you know on what
condition."

"I promise to drive out with you whenever you please, without getting
out of the carriage, but I know you would not care for that. No, your
affection was only a temporary caprice."

"To convince you of the contrary I will buy the phaeton and put it in
a coach-house. I will see that the horses are taken-care of, though I
shall not use them. But if you do not make me happy in the course of a
week I shall re-sell the whole."

"Come to us to-morrow."

"I will do so, but I trust have some pledge of your affection this
morning."

"This morning? It's impossible."

"Excuse me; I will go upstairs with you, and you can shew me more than
one kindness while you are undressing."

We came back, and I was astonished to hear her telling her father that
the phaeton was mine, and all he had to do was to put in the horses. The
Jew grinned, and we all went upstairs, and Leah coolly said,--

"Count out the money."

"I have not any money about me, but I will write you a cheque, if you
like."

"Here is paper."

I wrote a cheque on Zappata for three hundred sequins, payable at sight.
The Jew went off to get the money, and Leah remained alone with me.

"You have trusted me," she said, "and have thus shewn yourself worthy of
my love."

"Then undress, quick!"

"No, my aunt is about the house; and as I cannot shut the door without
exciting suspicion, she might come in; but I promise that you shall be
content with me tomorrow. Nevertheless, I am going to undress, but you
must go in this closet; you may come back when I have got my woman's
clothes on again."

I agreed to this arrangement, and she shut me in. I examined the door,
and discovered a small chink between the boards. I got on a stool, and
saw Leah sitting on a sofa opposite to me engaged in undressing herself.
She took off her shift and wiped her breasts and her feet with a towel,
and just as she had taken off her breeches, and was as naked as my hand,
one of her rings happened to slip off her finger, and rolled under the
sofa. She got up, looked to right and left, and then stooped to search
under the sofa, and to do this she had to kneel with her head down. When
she got back to couch, the towel came again into requisition, and
she wiped herself all over in such a manner that all her charms were
revealed to my eager eyes. I felt sure that she knew I was a witness
of all these operations, and she probably guessed what a fire the sight
would kindle in my inflammable breast.

At last her toilette was finished, and she let me out. I clasped her in
my arms, with the words, "I have seen everything." She pretended not to
believe me, so I chewed her the chink, and was going to obtain my just
dues, when the accursed Moses came in. He must have been blind or
he would have seen the state his daughter had put me in; however, he
thanked me, and gave me a receipt for the money, saying, "Everything in
my poor house is at your service."

I bade them adieu, and I went away in an ill temper. I got into my
phaeton, and drove home and told the coachman to find me a stable for
the horses and a coach-house for the carriage.

I did not expect to see Leah again, and I felt enraged with her. She had
pleased me only too much by her voluptuous attitudes, but she had set
up an irritation wholly hostile to Love. She had made Love a robber,
and the hungry boy had consented, but afterwards, when he craved more
substantial fare, she refused him, and ardour was succeeded by contempt.
Leah did not want to confess herself to be what she really was, and my
love would not declare itself knavish.

I made the acquaintance of an amiable chevalier, a soldier, a man of
letters, and a great lover of horses, who introduced me to several
pleasant families. However, I did not cultivate them, as they only
offered me the pleasures of sentiment, while I longed for lustier fare
for which I was willing to pay heavily. The Chevalier de Breze was not
the man for me; he was too respectable for a profligate like myself.
He bought the phaeton and horses, and I only lost thirty sequins by the
transaction.

A certain M. Baretti, who had known me at Aix, and had been the Marquis
de Pries croupier, took me to see the Mazzoli, formerly a dancer, and
then mistress to the Chevalier Raiberti, a hardheaded but honest man,
who was then secretary for foreign affairs. Although the Mazzoli was by
no means pretty, she was extremely complaisant, and had several girls
at her house for me to see; but I did not think any of them worthy of
occupying Leah's place. I fancied I no longer loved Leah, but I was
wrong.

The Chevalier Cocona, who had the misfortune to be suffering from a
venereal disease, gave me up his mistress, a pretty little 'soubrette';
but in spite of the evidence of my own eyes, and in spite of the
assurances she gave me, I could not make up my mind to have her, and
my fear made me leave her untouched. Count Trana, a brother of the
chevalier's whom I had known at Aix, introduced me to Madame de Sc----,
a lady of high rank and very good-looking, but she tried to involve me
in a criminal transaction, and I ceased to call on her. Shortly after,
Count Trana's uncle died and he became rich and got married, but he
lived an unhappy life.

I was getting bored, and Desarmoises, who had all his meals with me, did
not know what to do. At last he advised me to make the acquaintance of
a certain Madame R----, a Frenchwoman, and well known in Turin as a
milliner and dressmaker. She had six or eight girls working for her in
a room adjoining her shop. Desarmoises thought that if I got in there
I might possibly be able to find one to my taste. As my purse was well
furnished I thought I should not have much difficulty, so I called on
Madame R----. I was agreeably surprised to find Leah there, bargaining
for a quantity of articles, all of which she pronounced to be too dear.
She told me kindly but reproachfully that she had thought I must be ill.

"I have been very busy," I said; and felt all my old ardour revive. She
asked me to come to a Jewish wedding, where there would be a good many
people and several pretty girls. I knew that ceremonies of this kind
are very amusing, and I promised to be present. She proceeded with her
bargaining, but the price was still too high and she left the shop.
Madame R---- was going to put back all the trifles in their places, but
I said,--

"I will take the lot myself."

She smiled, and I drew out my purse and paid the money.

"Where do you live, sir?" said she; "and when shall I send you your
purchases?"

"You may bring them to-morrow yourself, and do me the honour of
breakfasting with me."

"I can never leave the shop, sir." In spite of her thirty-five years,
Madame R---- was still what would be called a tasty morsel, and she had
taken my fancy.

"I want some dark lace," said I.

"Then kindly follow me, sir."

I was delighted when I entered the room to see a lot of young
work-girls, all charming, hard at work, and scarcely daring to look
at me. Madame R---- opened several cupboards, and showed me some
magnificent lace. I was distracted by the sight of so many delicious
nymphs, and I told her that I wanted the lace for two 'baoutes' in the
Venetian style. She knew what I meant. The lace cost me upwards of a
hundred sequins. Madame R---- told two of her girls to bring me the lace
the next day, together with the goods which Leah had thought too dear.
They meekly replied,--

"Yes, mother."

They rose and kissed the mother's hand, which I thought a ridiculous
ceremony; however, it gave me an opportunity of examining them, and I
thought them delicious. We went back to the shop, and sitting down by
the counter I enlarged on the beauty of the girls, adding, though not
with strict truth, that I vastly preferred their mistress. She thanked
me for the compliment and told me plainly that she had a lover, and soon
after named him. He was the Comte de St. Giles, an infirm and elderly
man, and by no means a model lover. I thought Madame R---- was jesting,
but next day I ascertained that she was speaking the truth. Well,
everyone to his taste, and I suspect that she was more in love with
the count's purse than his person. I had met him at the "Exchange"
coffeehouse.

The next day the two pretty milliners brought me my goods. I offered
them chocolate, but they firmly and persistently declined. The fancy
took me to send them to Leah with all the things she had chosen, and I
bade them return and tell me what sort of a reception they had had. They
said they would do so, and waited for me to write her a note.

I could not give them the slightest mark of affection. I dared not shut
the door, and the mistress and the ugly young woman of the house kept
going and coming all the time; but when they came back I waited for them
on the stairs, and giving them a sequin each told each of them that
she might command my heart if she would. Leah had accepted my handsome
present and sent to say that she was waiting for me.

As I was walking aimlessly about in the afternoon I happened to pass
the milliner's shop, and Madame R---- saw me and made me come in and sit
down beside her.

"I am really much obliged to you," said she, "for your kindness to my
girls. They came home enchanted. Tell me frankly whether you are really
in love with the pretty Jewess."

"I am really in love with her, but as she will not make me happy I have
signed my own dismissal."

"You were quite right. All Leah thinks of is duping those who are
captivated by her charms."

"Do not your charming apprentices follow your maxims?"

"No; but they are only complaisant when I give them leave."

"Then I commend myself to your intercession, for they would not even
take a cup of chocolate from me."

"They were perfectly right not to accept your chocolate: but I see you
do not know the ways of Turin. Do you find yourself comfortable in your
present lodging?"

"Quite so."

"Are you perfectly free to do what you like?"

"I think so."

"Can you give supper to anyone you like in your own rooms? I am certain
you can't."

"I have not had the opportunity of trying the experiment so far, but I
believe . . . ."

"Don't flatter yourself by believing anything; that house is full of the
spies of the police."

"Then you think that I could not give you and two or three of your girls
a little supper?"

"I should take very good care not to go to it, that's all I know. By
next morning it would be known to all the town, and especially to the
police."

"Well, supposing I look out for another lodging?"

"It's the same everywhere. Turin is a perfect nest of spies; but I do
know a house where you could live at ease, and where my girls might
perhaps be able to bring you your purchases. But we should have to be
very careful."

"Where is the house I will be guided by you in everything."

"Don't trust a Piedmontese; that's the first commandment here."

She then gave me the address of a small furnished house, which was only
inhabited by an old door-keeper and his wife.

"They will let it you by the month," said she, "and if you pay a month
in advance you need not even tell them your name."

I found the house to be a very pretty one, standing in a lonely street
at about two hundred paces from the citadel. One gate, large enough
to admit a carriage, led into the country. I found everything to be as
Madame R---- had described it. I paid a month in advance without any
bargaining, and in a day I had settled in my new lodging. Madame R----
admired my celerity.

I went to the Jewish wedding and enjoyed myself, for there is something
at once solemn and ridiculous about the ceremony; but I resisted all
Leah's endeavours to get me once more into her meshes.. I hired a
close carriage from her father, which with the horses I placed in the
coach-house and stables of my new house. Thus I was absolutely free to
go whenever I would by night or by day, for I was at once in the town
and in the country. I was obliged to tell the inquisitive Gama where
I was living, and I hid nothing from Desarmoises, whose needs made him
altogether dependent on me. Nevertheless I gave orders that my door
was shut to them as to everyone else, unless I had given special
instructions that they were to be admitted. I had no reason to doubt the
fidelity of my two servants.

In this blissful abode I enjoyed all Mdlle. R----'s girls, one after the
other. The one I wanted always brought a companion, whom I usually sent
back after giving her a slice of the cake. The last of them, whose name
was Victorine, as fair as day and as soft as a dove, had the misfortune
to be tied, though she knew nothing about it. Mdlle. R----, who was
equally ignorant on the subject, had represented her to me as a virgin,
and so I thought her for two long hours in which I strove with might and
main to break the charm, or rather open the shell. All my efforts
were in vain. I was exhausted at last, and I wanted to see in what the
obstacle consisted. I put her in the proper position, and armed with
a candle I began my scrutiny. I found a fleshy membrane pierced by so
small a hole that large pin's head could scarcely have gone through.
Victorine encouraged me to force a passage with my little finger, but
in vain I tried to pierce this wall, which nature had made impassable
by all ordinary means. I was tempted to see what I could do with
a bistoury, and the girl wanted me to try, but I was afraid of the
haemorrhage which might have been dangerous, and I wisely refrained.

Poor Victorine, condemned to die a maid, unless some clever surgeon
performed the same operation that was undergone by Mdlle. Cheruffini
shortly after M. Lepri married her, wept when I said,--

"My dear child, your little Hymen defies the most vigorous lover to
enter his temple."

But I consoled her by saying that a good surgeon could easily make a
perfect woman of her.

In the morning I told Madame R---- of the case.

She laughed and said,--

"It may prove a happy accident for Victorine; it may make her fortune."

A few years after the Count of Padua had her operated on, and made her
fortune. When I came back from Spain I found that she was with child,
so that I could not exact the due reward for all the trouble I had taken
with her.

Early in the morning on Maunday Thursday they told me that Moses and
Leah wanted to see me. I had not expected to see them, but I welcomed
them warmly. Throughout Holy Week the Jews dared not shew themselves
in the streets of Turin, and I advised them to stay with me till the
Saturday. Moses began to try and get me to purchase a ring from him, and
I judged from that that I should not have to press them very much.

"I can only buy this ring from Leah's hands," said I.

He grinned, thinking doubtless that I intended to make her a present
of it, but I was resolved to disappoint him. I gave them a magnificent
dinner and supper, and in the evening they were shewn a double-bedded
room not far from mine. I might have put them in different rooms,
and Leah in a room adjoining mine, which would have facilitated any
nocturnal excursions; but after all I had done for her I was resolved to
owe nothing to a surprise; she should come of herself.

The next day Moses (who noticed that I had not yet bought the ring) was
obliged to go out on business, and asked for the loan of my carriage
for the whole day, telling me that he would come for his daughter in the
evening. I had the horses harnessed, and when he was gone I bought
the ring for six hundred sequins, but on my own terms. I was in my own
house, and Leah could not deceive me. As soon as the father was safely
out of the way I possessed myself of the daughter. She proved a docile
and amorous subject the whole day. I had reduced her to a state of
nature, and though her body was as perfect as can well be imagined I
used it and abused it in every way imaginable. In the evening her father
found her looking rather tired, but he seemed as pleased as I was. Leah
was not quite so well satisfied, for till the moment of their departure
she was expecting me to give her the ring, but I contented myself with
saying that I should like to reserve myself the pleasure of taking it to
her.

On Easter Monday a man brought me a note summoning me to appear at the
police office.



CHAPTER XII


     My Victory Over the Deputy Chief of Police--My Departure--
     Chamberi--Desarmoises's Daughter--M. Morin--M * * * M * * *--
     At Aix--The Young Boarder--Lyons--Paris

This citation, which did not promise to lead to anything agreeable,
surprised and displeased me exceedingly. However, I could not avoid it,
so I drove to the office of the deputy-superintendent of police. I found
him sitting at a long table, surrounded by about a score of people in
a standing posture. He was a man of sixty, hideously ugly, his enormous
nose half destroyed by an ulcer hidden by a large black silk plaster,
his mouth of huge dimensions, his lips thick, with small green eyes
and eyebrows which had partly turned white. As soon as this disgusting
fellow saw me, he began,--

"You are the Chevalier de Seingalt?"

"That is my name, and I have come here to ask how I can oblige you?"

"I have summoned you here to order you to leave the place in three days
at latest."

"And as you have no right to give such an order, I have come here to
tell you that I shall go when I please, and not before."

"I will expel you by force."

"You may do that whenever you please. I cannot resist force, but I trust
you will give the matter a second thought; for in a well-ordered city
they do not expel a man who has committed no crimes, and has a balance
of a hundred thousand francs at the bank."

"Very good, but in three days you have plenty of time to pack up and
arrange matters with your banker. I advise you to obey, as the command
comes from the king."

"If I were to leave the town I should become accessory to your
injustice! I will not obey, but since you mention the king's name, I
will go to his majesty at once, and he will deny your words or revoke
the unjust order you have given me with such publicity."

"Pray, does not the king possess the power to make you go?"

"Yes, by force, but not by justice. He has also the power to kill me,
but he would have to provide the executioner, as he could not make me
commit suicide."

"You argue well, but nevertheless you will obey."

"I argue well, but I did not learn the art from you, and I will not
obey."

With these words I turned my back on him, and left without another word.

I was in a furious rage. I felt inclined to offer overt resistance to
all the myrmidons of the infamous superintendent. Nevertheless I
soon calmed myself, and summoning prudence to my aid I remembered the
Chevalier Raiberti, whom I had seen at his mistress's house, and I
decided on asking his advice. He was the chief permanent official in
the department of foreign affairs. I told the coachman to drive to his
house, and I recounted to him the whole tale, saying, finally, that I
should like to speak to the king, as I was resolved that I would not
go unless I was forced to do so. The worthy man advised me to go to the
Chevalier Osorio, the principal secretary for foreign affairs, who could
always get an audience of the king. I was pleased with his advice, and I
went immediately to the minister, who was a Sicilian and a man of parts.
He gave me a very good reception, and after I had informed him of the
circumstances of the case I begged him to communicate the matter to his
majesty, adding that as the superintendent's order appeared horribly
unjust to me I was resolved not to obey it unless compelled to do so by
main force. He promised to oblige me in the way I wished, and told me to
call again the next day.

After leaving him I took a short walk to cool myself, and then went to
the Abbe Gama, hoping to be the first to impart my ridiculous adventure
to him. I was disappointed; he already knew that I had been ordered
to go, and how I had answered the superintendent. When he saw that I
persisted in my determination to resist, he did not condemn my firmness,
though he must have thought it very extraordinary, for the good abbe
could not understand anybody's disobeying the order of the authorities.
He assured me that if I had to go he would send me the necessary
instructions to any address I liked to name.

The next day the Chevalier Osorio received me with the utmost
politeness, which I thought a good omen. The Chevalier Raiberti had
spoken to him in my behalf, and he had laid the matter before the king
and also before the Count d'Aglie, and the result was that I could stay
as long as I liked. The Count d'Aglie was none other than the horrible
superintendent. I was told that I must wait on him, and he would give me
leave to remain at Turin till my affairs were settled.

"My only business here," said I, "is to spend my money till I have
instructions from the Court of Portugal to attend the Congress of
Augsburg on behalf of his most faithful majesty."

"Then you think that this Congress will take place?"

"Nobody doubts it."

"Somebody believes it will all end in smoke. However, I am delighted to
have been of service to you, and I shall be curious to hear what sort of
reception you get from the superintendent."

I felt ill at ease. I went to the police office immediately, glad to
shew myself victorious, and anxious to see how the superintendent would
look when I came in. However, I could not flatter myself that he looked
ashamed of himself; these people have a brazen forehead, and do not know
what it is to blush.

As soon as he saw me, he began,--

"The Chevalier Osorio tells me that you have business in Turin which
will keep you for some days. You may therefore stay, but you must tell
me as nearly as possible how long a time you require."

"I cannot possibly tell you that."

"Why? if you don't mind telling me."

"I am awaiting instructions from the Court of Portugal to attend the
Congress to be held at Augsburg, and before I could tell you how long
I shall have to stay I should be compelled to ask his most faithful
majesty. If this time is not sufficient for me to do my business, I will
intimate the fact to you."

"I shall be much obliged by your doing so."

This time I made him a bow, which was returned, and on leaving the
office I returned to the Chevalier Osorio, who said, with a smile, that
I had caught the superintendent, as I had taken an indefinite period,
which left me quite at my ease.

The diplomatic Gama, who firmly believed that the Congress would meet,
was delighted when I told him that the Chevalier Osorio was incredulous
on the subject. He was charmed to think his wit keener than the
minister's; it exalted him in his own eyes. I told him that whatever the
chevalier might say I would go to Augsburg, and that I would set out in
three or four weeks.

Madame R. congratulated me over and over again, for she was enchanted
that I had humiliated the superintendent; but all the same we thought we
had better give up our little suppers. As I had had a taste of all her
girls, this was not such a great sacrifice for me to make.

I continued thus till the middle of May, when I left Turin, after
receiving letters from the Abbe Gama to Lord Stormont, who was to
represent England at the approaching Congress. It was with this nobleman
that I was to work in concert at the Congress.

Before going to Germany I wanted to see Madame d'Urfe, and I wrote to
her, asking her to send me a letter of introduction to M. de Rochebaron,
who might be useful to me. I also asked M. Raiberti to give me a letter
for Chamberi, where I wanted to visit the divine M---- M---- (of whom
I still thought with affection) at her convent grating. I wrote to
my friend Valenglard, asking him to remind Madame Morin that she had
promised to shew me a likeness to somebody at Chamberi.

But here I must note down an event worthy of being recorded, which was
extremely prejudicial to me.

Five or six days before my departure Desarmoises came to me looking
very downcast, and told me that he had been ordered to leave Turin in
twenty-four hours.

"Do you know why?" I asked him.

"Last night when I was at the coffee-house, Count Scarnafis dared to
say that France subsidised the Berne newspapers. I told him he lied,
at which he rose and left the place in a rage, giving me a glance the
meaning of which is not doubtful. I followed him to bring him to reason
or to give him satisfaction; but he would do nothing and I suspect
he went to the police to complain. I shall have to leave Turin early
to-morrow morning."

"You're a Frenchman, and as you can claim the protection of your
ambassador you will be wrong to leave so suddenly."

"In the first place the ambassador is away, and in the second my cruel
father disavows me. No, I would rather go, and wait for you at Lyons.
All I want is for you to lend me a hundred crowns, for which I will give
you an account."

"It will be an easy account to keep," said I, "but a long time before it
is settled."

"Possibly; but if it is in my power I will shew my gratitude for the
kindnesses you have done me."

I gave him a hundred crowns and wished him a pleasant journey, telling
him that I should stop some time at Lyons.

I got a letter of credit on an Augsburg house, and three days after
I left Turin I was at Chamberi. There was only one inn there in those
days, so I was not much puzzled to choose where I would go, but for all
that I found myself very comfortable.

As I entered my room, I was struck by seeing an extremely pretty girl
coming out of an adjacent room.

"Who is that young lady?" said I to the chambermaid who was escorting
me.

"That's the wife of a young gentleman who has to keep his bed to get
cured of a sword-thrust which he received four days ago on his way from
France."

I could not look at her without feeling the sting of concupiscence. As
I was leaving my room I saw the door half open, and I stopped short and
offered my services as a neighbour. She thanked me politely, and asked
me in. I saw a handsome young man sitting up in bed, so I went up to
enquire how he felt.

"The doctor will not let him talk," said the young lady, "on account of
a sword-thrust in the chest he received at half a league from here. We
hope he will be all right in a few days, and then we can continue our
journey."

"Where are you going, madam?"

"To Geneva."

Just as I was leaving, a maid came to ask me if I would take supper in
my own room or with the lady. I laughed at her stupidity, and said I
would sup in my own apartment, adding that I had not the honour of the
lady's acquaintance.

At this the young lady said it would give her great pleasure if I would
sup with her, and the husband repeated this assurance in a whisper. I
accepted the invitation gratefully, and I thought that they were really
pleased. The lady escorted me out as far as the stairs, and I took the
liberty of kissing her hand, which in France is a declaration of tender
though respectful affection.

At the post-office I found a letter from Valenglard, telling me
that Madame Morin would wait on me at Chamberi if I would send her a
carriage, and another from Desarmoises dated from Lyons. He told me that
as he was on his way from Chamberi he had encountered his daughter in
company with a rascal who had carried her off. He had buried his sword
in his body, and would have killed them if he had been able to stop
their carriage. He suspected that they had been staying in Chamberi, and
he begged me to try and persuade his daughter to return to Lyons; and he
added that if she would not do so I ought to oblige him by sending her
back by force. He assured me that they were not married, and he begged
me to answer his letter by express, for which purpose he sent me his
address.

I guessed at once that this daughter of his was my fair neighbour, but I
did not feel at all inclined to come to the aid of the father in the way
he wished.

As soon as I got back to the inn I sent off Le Duc in a travelling
carriage to Madame Morin, whom I informed by letter that as I was only
at Chamberi for her sake I would await her convenience. This done, I
abandoned myself to the delight I felt at the romantic adventure which
fortune had put in my way.

I repeated Mdlle. Desarmoises and her ravisher, and I did not care to
enquire whether I was impelled in what I did by virtue or vice; but I
could not help perceiving that my motives were of a mixed nature; for
if I were amorous, I was also very glad to be of assistance to two young
lovers, and all the more from my knowledge of the father's criminal
passion.

On entering their room I found the invalid in the surgeon's hands.
He pronounced the wound not to be dangerous, in spite of its depth;
suppuration had taken place without setting up inflammation--in short,
the young man only wanted time and rest. When the doctor had gone I
congratulated the patient on his condition, advising him to be careful
what he ate, and to keep silent. I then gave Mdlle. Desarmoises her
father's letter, and I said farewell for the present, telling them that
I would go to my own room till supper-time. I felt sure that she would
come and speak to me after reading her father's letter.

In a quarter of an hour she knocked timidly at my door, and when I let
her in she gave me back the letter and asked me what I thought of doing.

"Nothing. I shall be only too happy, however, if I can be of any service
to you."

"Ah! I breathe again!"

"Could you imagine me pursuing any other line of conduct? I am much
interested in you, and will do all in my power to help you. Are you
married?"

"Not yet, but we are going to be married when we get to Geneva."

"Sit down and tell me all about yourself. I know that your father is
unhappily in love with you, and that you avoid his attentions."

"He has told you that much? I am glad of it. A year ago he came to
Lyons, and as soon as I knew he was in the town I took refuge with a
friend of my mother's, for I was aware that I could not stay in the same
house with my father for an hour without exposing myself to the most
horrible outrage. The young man in bed is the son of a rich Geneva
merchant. My father introduced him to me two years ago, and we soon fell
in love with each other. My father went away to Marseilles, and my lover
asked my mother to give me in marriage to him; but she did not feel
authorized to do so without my father's consent. She wrote and asked
him, but he replied that he would announce his decision when he returned
to Lyons. My lover went to Geneva, and as his father approved of the
match he returned with all the necessary documents and a strong letter
of commendation from M. Tolosan. When my father came to Lyons I escaped,
as I told you, and my lover got M. Tolosan to ask my hand for him of
my father. His reply was, 'I can give no answer till she returns to my
house!'

"M. Tolosan brought this reply to me, and I told him that I was ready to
obey if my mother would guarantee my safety. She replied, however, that
she knew her husband too well to dare to have us both under the same
roof. Again did M. Tolosan endeavour to obtain my father's consent, but
to no purpose. A few days after he left Lyons, telling us that he was
first going to Aix and then to Turin, and as it was evident that he
would never give his consent my lover proposed that I should go off with
him, promising to marry me as soon as we reached Geneva. By ill luck we
travelled through Savoy, and thus met my father. As soon as he saw us he
stopped the carriage and called to me to get out. I began to shriek, and
my lover taking me in his arms to protect me my father stabbed him in
the chest. No doubt he would have killed him, but seeing that my shrieks
were bringing people to our rescue, and probably believing that my lover
was as good as dead, he got on horseback again and rode off at full
speed. I can chew you the sword still covered with blood."

"I am obliged to answer this letter of his, and I am thinking how I can
obtain his consent."

"That's of no consequence; we can marry and be happy without it."

"True, but you ought not to despise your dower."

"Good heavens! what dower? He has no money!"

"But on the death of his father, the Marquis Desarmoises . . . . "

"That's all a lie. My father has only a small yearly pension for having
served thirty years as a Government messenger. His father has been dead
these thirty years, and my mother and my sister only live by the work
they do."

I was thunderstruck at the impudence of the fellow, who, after imposing
on me so long, had himself put me in a position to discover his deceit.
I said nothing. Just then we were told that supper was ready, and we sat
at table for three hours talking the matter over. The poor wounded man
had only to listen to me to know my feelings on the subject. His young
mistress, as witty as she was pretty, jested on the foolish passion of
her father, who had loved her madly ever since she was eleven.

"And you were always able to resist his attempts?" said I.

"Yes, whenever he pushed things too far."

"And how long did this state of things continue?"

"For two years. When I was thirteen he thought I was ripe, and tried to
gather the fruit; but I began to shriek, and escaped from his bed stark
naked, and I went to take refuge with my mother, who from that day forth
would not let me sleep with him again."

"You used to sleep with him? How could your mother allow it?"

"She never thought that there was anything criminal in his affection for
me, and I knew nothing about it. I thought that what he did to me, and
what he made me do to him, were mere trifles."

"But you have saved the little treasure?"

"I have kept it for my lover."

The poor lover, who was suffering more from the effects of hunger than
from his wounds, laughed at this speech of hers, and she ran to him and
covered his face with kisses. All this excited me intensely. Her story
had been told with too much simplicity not to move me, especially when
I had her before my eyes, for she possessed all the attractions which a
woman can have, and I almost forgave her father for forgetting she was
his daughter and falling in love with her.

When she escorted me back to my room I made her feel my emotion, and she
began to laugh; but as my servants were close by I was obliged to let
her go.

Early next morning I wrote to her father that his daughter had resolved
not to leave her lover, who was only slightly wounded, that they were
in perfect safety and under the protection of the law at Chamberi,
and finally that having heard their story, and judging them to be well
matched, I could only approve of the course they had taken. When I had
finished I went into their room and gave them the letter to read, and
seeing the fair runaway at a loss how to express her 'gratitude, I
begged the invalid to let me kiss her.

"Begin with me," said he, opening his arms.

My hypocritical love masked itself under the guise of paternal
affection. I embraced the lover, and then more amorously I performed
the same office for the mistress, and skewed them my purse full of
gold, telling them it was at their service. While this was going on the
surgeon came in, and I retired to my room.

At eleven o'clock Madame Morin and her daughter arrived, preceded by Le
Duc on horseback, who announced their approach by numerous smacks of his
whip. I welcomed her with open arms, thanking her for obliging me.

The first piece of news she gave me was that Mdlle. Roman had become
mistress to Louis XV., that she lived in a beautiful house at Passi, and
that she was five months gone with child. Thus she was in a fair way to
become queen of France, as my divine oracle had predicted.

"At Grenoble," she added, "you are the sole topic of conversation; and I
advise you not to go there unless you wish to settle in the country,
for they would never let you go. You would have all the nobility at
your feet, and above all, the ladies anxious to know the lot of their
daughters. Everybody believes in judicial astrology now, and Valenglard
triumphs. He has bet a hundred Louis to fifty that my niece will be
delivered of a young prince, and he is certain of winning; though to be
sure, if he loses, everybody will laugh at him."

"Don't be afraid of his losing."

"Is it quite certain?"

"Has not the horoscope proved truthful in the principal particular? If
the other circumstances do not follow, I must have made a great mistake
in my calculations."

"I am delighted to hear you say so."

"I am going to Paris and I hope you will give me a letter of
introduction to Madame Varnier, so that I may have the pleasure of
seeing your niece."

"You shall have the letter to-morrow without fail."

I introduced Mdlle. Desarmoises to her under the family name of her
lover, and invited her to dine with Madame Morin and myself. After
dinner we went to the convent, and M---- M---- came down very surprised
at this unexpected visit from her aunt; but when she saw me she had need
of all her presence of mind. When her aunt introduced me to her by name,
she observed with true feminine tact that during her stay at Aix she had
seen me five or six times at the fountain, but that I could not remember
her features as she had always worn her veil. I admired her wit as much
as her exquisite features. I thought she had grown prettier than ever,
and no doubt my looks told her as much. We spent an hour in talking
about Grenoble and her old friends, whom she gladly recalled to her
memory, and then she went to fetch a young girl who was boarding at the
convent, whom she liked and wanted to present to her aunt.

I seized the opportunity of telling Madame Morin that I was astonished
at the likeness, that her very voice was like that of my Venetian M----
M----, and I begged her to obtain me the privilege of breakfasting with
her niece the next day, and of presenting her with a dozen pounds of
capital chocolate. I had brought it with me from Genoa.

"You must make her the present yourself," said Madame Morin, "for though
she's a nun she's a woman, and we women much prefer a present from a
man's than from a woman's hand."

M---- M---- returned with the superior of the convent, two other
nuns, and the young boarder, who came from Lyons, and was exquisitely
beautiful. I was obliged to talk to all the nuns, and Madame Morin
told her niece that I wanted her to try some excellent chocolate I had
brought from Genoa, but that I hoped her lay-sister would make it.

"Sir," said M---- M----, "kindly send me the chocolate, and to-morrow we
will breakfast together with these dear sisters."

As soon as I got back to my inn I sent the chocolate with a respectful
note, and I took supper in Madame Morin's room with her daughter and
Mdlle. Desarmoises, of whom I was feeling more and more amorous, but
I talked of M---- M---- all the time, and I could see that the aunt
suspected that the pretty nun was not altogether a stranger to me.

I breakfasted at the convent and I remember that the chocolate, the
biscuits, and the sweetmeats were served with a nicety which savoured
somewhat of the world. When we had finished breakfast I told M---- M----
that she would not find it so easy to give me a dinner, with twelve
persons sitting down to table, but I added that half the company could
be in the convent and half in the parlour, separated from the convent by
a light grating.

"It's a sight I should like to see," said I, "if you will allow me to
pay all expenses."

"Certainly," replied M---- M----, and this dinner was fixed for the next
day.

M---- M---- took charge of the whole thing, and promised to ask six
nuns. Madame Morin, who knew my tastes, told her to spare nothing, and I
warned her that I would send in the necessary wines.

I escorted Madame Morin, her daughter, and Mdlle. Desarmoises back
to the hotel, and I then called on M. Magnan, to whom I had been
recommended by the Chevalier Raiberti. I asked him to get me some of the
best wine, and he took me down to his cellar, and told me to take what I
liked. His wines proved to be admirable.

This M. Magnan was a clever man, of a pleasant appearance, and very
comfortably off. He occupied an extremely large and convenient house
outside the town, and there his agreeable wife dispensed hospitality.
She had ten children, amongst whom there were four pretty daughters; the
eldest, who was nineteen, was especially good-looking.

We went to the convent at eleven o'clock, and after an hour's
conversation we were told that dinner was ready. The table was
beautifully laid, covered with a fair white cloth, and adorned with
vases filled with artificial flowers so strongly scented that the air
of the parlour was quite balmy. The fatal grill was heavier than I had
hoped. I found myself seated to the left of M---- M----, and totally
unable to see her. The fair Desarmoises was at my right, and she
entertained us all the time with her amusing stories.

We in the parlour were waited on by Le Duc and Costa, and the nuns
were served by their lay-sisters. The abundant provision, the excellent
wines, the pleasant though sometimes equivocal conversation, kept us all
merrily employed for three hours. Mirth had the mastery over reason, or,
to speak more plainly, we were all drunk; and if it had not been for
the fatal grill, I could have had the whole eleven ladies without much
trouble. The young Desarmoises was so gay, indeed, that if I had not
restrained her she would probably have scandalised all the nuns, who
would have liked nothing better. I was longing to have her to myself,
that I might quench the flame she had kindled in my breast, and I had no
doubt of my success on the first attempt. After coffee had been served,
we went into another parlour and stayed there till night came on.
Madame Morin took leave of her niece, and the hand-shakings, thanks,
and promises of remembrance between me and the nuns, lasted for a good
quarter of an hour. After I had said aloud to M---- M---- that I hoped
to have the pleasure of seeing her before I left, we went back to the
inn in high good humour with our curious party which I still remember
with pleasure.

Madame Morin gave me a letter for her cousin Madame Varnier, and I
promised to write to her from Paris, and tell her all about the
fair Mdlle. Roman. I presented the daughter with a beautiful pair of
ear-rings, and I gave Madame Morin twelve pounds of good chocolate which
M. Magnan got me, and which the lady thought had come from Genoa. She
went off at eight o'clock preceded by Le Duc, who had orders to greet
the doorkeeper's family on my behalf.

At Magnan's I had a dinner worthy of Lucullus, and I promised to stay
with him whenever I passed Chamberi, which promise I have faithfully
performed.

On leaving the gourmand's I went to the convent, and M---- M---- came
down alone to the grating. She thanked me for coming to see her, and
added that I had come to disturb her peace of mind.

"I am quite ready, dearest, to climb the harden wall, and I shall do it
more dexterously than your wretched humpback."

"Alas! that may not be, for, trust me, you are already spied upon.
Everybody here is sure that we knew each other at Aix. Let us forget
all, and thus spare ourselves the torments of vain desires."

"Give me your hand."

"No. All is over. I love you still, probably I shall always love you;
but I long for you to go, and by doing so, you will give me a proof of
your love."

"This is dreadful; you astonish me. You appear to me in perfect health,
you are prettier than ever, you are made for the worship of the sweetest
of the gods, and I can't understand how, with a temperament like yours,
you can live in continual abstinence."

"Alas! lacking the reality we console ourselves by pretending. I will
not conceal from you that I love my young boarder. It is an innocent
passion, and keeps my mind calm. Her caresses quench the flame which
would otherwise kill me."

"And that is not against your conscience?"

"I do not feel any distress on the subject."

"But you know it is a sin."

"Yes, so I confess it."

"And what does the confessor say?"

"Nothing. He absolves me, and I am quite content:"

"And does the pretty boarder confess, too?"

"Certainly, but she does not tell the father of a matter which she
thinks is no sin."

"I wonder the confessor has not taught her, for that kind of instruction
is a great pleasure."

"Our confessor is a wise old man."

"Am I to leave you, then, without a single kiss?"

"Not one."

"May I come again to-morrow? I must go the day after."

"You may come, but I cannot see you by myself as the nuns might talk. I
will bring my little one with me to save appearances. Come after dinner,
but into the other parlour."

If I had not known M---- M---- at Aix, her religious ideas would have
astonished me; but such was her character. She loved God, and did not
believe that the kind Father who made us with passions would be too
severe because we had not the strength to subdue them. I returned to the
inn, feeling vexed that the pretty nun would have no more to do with me,
but sure of consolation from the fair Desarmoises.

I found her sitting on her lover's bed; his poor diet and the fever had
left him in a state of great weakness. She told me that she would sup in
my room to leave him in quiet, and the worthy young man shook my hand in
token of his gratitude.

As I had a good dinner at Magnan's I ate very little supper, but my
companion who had only had a light meal ate and drank to an amazing
extent. I gazed at her in a kind of wonder, and she enjoyed my
astonishment. When my servants had left the room I challenged her to
drink a bowl of punch with me, and this put her into a mood which asked
for nothing but laughter, and which laughed to find itself deprived
of reasoning power. Nevertheless, I cannot accuse myself of taking an
advantage of her condition, for in her voluptuous excitement she entered
eagerly into the pleasure to which I excited her till two o'clock in the
morning. By the time we separated we were both of us exhausted.

I slept till eleven, and when I went to wish her good day I found her
smiling and as fresh as a rose. I asked her how she had passed the rest
of the night.

"Very pleasantly," said she, "like the beginning of the night."

"What time would you like to have dinner?"

"I won't dine; I prefer to keep my appetite for supper."

Here her lover joined in, saying in a weak voice,--

"It is impossible to keep up with her."

"In eating or drinking?" I asked.

"In eating, drinking, and in other things," he replied, with a smile.
She laughed, and kissed him affectionately.

This short dialogue convinced me that Mdlle. Desarmoises must adore her
lover; for besides his being a handsome young man, his disposition was
exactly suitable to hers. I dined by myself, and Le Duc came in as I was
having dessert. He told me that the door-keeper's daughters and their
pretty cousin had made him wait for them to write to me, and he gave me
three letters and three dozen of gloves which they had presented me.
The letters urged me to come and spend a month with them, and gave me
to understand that I should be well pleased with my treatment. I had not
the courage to return to a town, where with my reputation I should have
been obliged to draw horoscopes for all the young ladies or to make
enemies by refusing.

After I had read the letters from Grenoble I went to the convent and
announced my presence, and then entered the parlour which M---- M----
had indicated. She soon came down with the pretty boarder, who feebly
sustained my part in her amorous ecstacies. She had not yet completed
her twelfth year, but she was extremely tall and well developed for
her age. Gentleness, liveliness, candour, and wit were united in
her features, and gave her expression an exquisite charm. She wore a
well-made corset which disclosed a white throat, to which the fancy
easily added the two spheres which would soon appear there. Her
entrancing face, her raven locks, and her ivory throat indicated what
might be concealed, and my vagrant imagination made her into a budding
Venus. I began by telling her that she was very pretty, and would make
her future husband a happy man. I knew she would blush at that. It may
be cruel, but it is thus that the language of seduction always begins. A
girl of her age who does not blush at the mention of marriage is either
an idiot or already an expert in profligacy. In spite of this, however,
the blush which mounts to a young girl's cheek at the approach of such
ideas is a puzzling problem. Whence does it arise? It may be from pure
simplicity, it may be from shame, and often from a mixture of both
feelings. Then comes the fight between vice and virtue, and it is
usually virtue which has to give in. The desires--the servants of
vice--usually attain their ends. As I knew the young boarder from M----
M----'s description, I could not be ignorant of the source of those
blushes which added a fresh attraction to her youthful charms.

Pretending not to notice anything, I talked to M---- M---- for a few
moments, and then returned to the assault. She had regained her calm.

"What age are you, pretty one?" said I.

"I am thirteen."

"You are wrong," said M---- M----, "you have not yet completed your
twelfth year."

"The time will come," said I, "when you will diminish the tale of your
years instead of increasing it."

"I shall never tell a lie, sir; I am sure of that."

"So you want to be a nun, do you?"

"I have not yet received my vocation; but even if I live in the world I
need not be a liar."

"You are wrong; you will begin to lie as soon as you have a lover."

"Will my lover tell lies, too?"

"Certainly he will."

"If the matter were really so, then, I should have a bad opinion of
love; but I do not believe it, for I love my sweetheart here, and I
never conceal the truth from her."

"Yes, but loving a man is a different thing to loving a woman."

"No, it isn't; it's just the same."

"Not so, for you do not go to bed with a woman and you do with your
husband."

"That's no matter, my love would be the same."

"What? You would not rather sleep with me than with M---- M----?"

"No, indeed I should not, because you are a man and would see me."

"You don't want a man to see you, then?"

"No."

"Do you think you are so ugly, then?"

At this she turned to M---- M---- and said, with evident vexation, "I am
not really ugly, am I?"

"No, darling," said M---- M----, bursting with laughter, "it is quite
the other way; you are very pretty." With these words she took her on
her knee and embraced her tenderly.

"Your corset is too tight; you can't possibly have such a small waist as
that."

"You make a mistake, you can put your hand there and see for yourself."

"I can't believe it."

M---- M---- then held her close to the grill and told me to see for
myself. At the same moment she turned up her dress.

"You were right," said I, "and I owe you an apology;" but in my heart I
cursed the grating and the chemise.

"My opinion is," said I to M---- M----, "that we have here a little
boy."

I did not wait for a reply, but satisfied myself by my sense of touch as
to her sex, and I could see that the little one and her governess were
both pleased that my mind was at rest on the subject.

I drew my hand away, and the little girl looked at M---- M----, and
reassured by her smiling air asked if she might go away for a moment.
I must have reduced her to a state in which a moment's solitude was
necessary, and I myself was in a very excited condition.

As soon as she was gone I said to M---- M----,

"Do you know that what you have shewn me has made me unhappy?"

"Has it? Why?"

"Because your boarder is charming, and I am longing to enjoy her."

"I am sorry for that, for you can't possibly go any further; and
besides, I know you, and even if you could satisfy your passion without
danger to her, I would not give her up to you, you would spoil her."

"How?"

"Do you think that after enjoying you she would care to enjoy me? I
should lose too heavily by the comparison."

"Give me your hand."

"No."

"Stay, one moment."

"I don't want to see anything."

"Not a little bit?"

"Nothing at all."

"Are you angry with me, then?"

"Not at all. If you have been pleased I am glad, and if you have filled
her with desires she will love me all the better."

"How pleasant it would be, sweetheart, if we could all three of us be
together alone and at liberty!"

"Yes; but it is impossible."

"Are you sure that no inquisitive eye is looking upon us?"

"Quite sure."

"The height of that fatal grill has deprived me of the sight of many
charms."

"Why didn't you go to the other parlour it is much lower there."

"Let us go there, then."

"Not to-day; I should not be able to give any reason for the change."

"I will come again to-morrow, and start for Lyons in the evening."

The little boarder came back, and I stood up facing her. I had a number
of beautiful seals and trinkets hanging from my watch-chain, and I had
not had the time to put myself in a state of perfect decency again.

She noticed it, and by way of pretext she asked if she might look at
them.

"As long as you like; you may look at them and touch them as well."

M---- M---- foresaw what would happen and left the room, saying that she
would soon be back. I had intended to deprive the young boarder of all
interest in my seals by shewing her a curiosity of another kind. She did
not conceal her pleasure in satisfying her inquisitiveness on an object
which was quite new to her, and which she was able to examine minutely
for the first time in her life. But soon an effusion changed her
curiosity into surprise, and I did not interrupt her in her delighted
gaze.

I saw M---- M---- coming back slowly, and I lowered my shirt again, and
sat down. My watch and chains were still on the ledge of the grating,
and M---- M---- asked her young friend if the trinkets had pleased her.

"Yes," she replied, but in a dreamy and melancholy voice. She had learnt
so much in the course of less than two hours that she had plenty to
think over. I spent the rest of the day in telling M---- M---- the
adventures I had encountered since I had left her; but as I had not time
to finish my tale I promised to return the next day at the same time.

The little girl, who had been listening to me all the time, though I
appeared to be only addressing her friend, said that she longed to know
the end of my adventure with the Duke of Matelone's mistress.

I supped with the fair Desarmoises, and after giving her sundry proofs
of my affection till midnight, and telling her that I only stopped on
for her sake, I went to bed.

The next day after dinner I returned to the convent, and having sent
up my name to M---- M---- I entered the room where the grating was more
convenient.

Before long M---- M---- arrived alone, but she anticipated my thoughts
by telling me that her pretty friend would soon join her.

"You have fired her imagination. She has told me all about it, playing
a thousand wanton tricks, and calling me her dear husband. You have
seduced the girl, and I am very glad you are going or else you would
drive her mad. You will see how she has dressed herself."

"Are you sure of her discretion?"

"Perfectly, but I hope you won't do anything in my presence. When I see
the time coming I will leave the room."

"You are an angel, dearest, but you might be something better than that
if you would--"

"I want nothing for myself; it is out of the question."

"You could--"

"No, I will have nothing to do with a pastime which would rekindle fires
that are hardly yet quenched. I have spoken; I suffer, but let us say no
more about it."

At this moment the young adept came in smiling, with her eyes full
of fire. She was dressed in a short pelisse, open in front, and an
embroidered muslin skirt which did not go beyond her knees. She looked
like a sylph.

We had scarcely sat down when she reminded me of the place where my tale
had stopped. I continued my recital, and when I was telling them how
Donna Lucrezia shewed me Leonilda naked, M---- M---- went out, and the
sly little puss asked me how I assured myself that my daughter was a
maid.

I took bold of her through the fatal grating, against which she placed
her pretty body, and shewed her how assured myself of the fact, and the
girl liked it so much that she pressed my hand to the spot. She then
gave me her hand that I might share her pleasure, and whilst this
enjoyable occupation was in progress M---- M---- appeared. My sweetheart
said hastily,--

"Never mind, I told her all about it. She is a good creature and will
not be vexed." Accordingly M---- M---- pretended not to see anything,
and the precocious little girl wiped her hand in a kind of voluptuous
ecstacy, which shewed how well she was pleased.

I proceeded with my history, but when I came to the episode of the poor
girl who was 'tied', describing all the trouble I had vainly taken with
her, the little boarder got so curious that she placed herself in the
most seducing attitude so that I might be able to shew her what I did.
Seeing this M---- M---- made her escape.

"Kneel down on the ledge, and leave the rest to me," said the little
wanton.

The reader will guess what she meant, and I have no doubt that she would
have succeeded in her purpose if the fire which consumed me had not
distilled itself away just at the happy moment.

The charming novice felt herself sprinkled, but after ascertaining that
nothing more could be done she withdrew in some vexation. My fingers,
however, consoled her for the disappointment, and I had the pleasure of
seeing her look happy once more.

I left these charming creatures in the evening, promising to visit them
again in a year, but as I walked home I could not help reflecting how
often these asylums, supposed to be devoted to chastity and prayer,
contain in themselves the hidden germs of corruption. How many a
timorous and trustful mother is persuaded that the child of her
affection will escape the dangers of the world by taking refuge in the
cloister. But behind these bolts and bars desires grow to a frenzied
extreme; they crave in vain to be satisfied.

When I returned to the inn I took leave of the wounded man, whom I was
happy to see out of danger. In vain I urged him to make use of my purse;
he told me, with an affectionate embrace, that he had sufficient money,
and if not, he had only to write to his father. I promised to stop at
Lyons, and to oblige Desarmoises to desist from any steps he might be
taking against them, telling them I had a power over him which would
compel him to obey. I kept my word. After we had kissed and said
good-bye, I took his future bride into my room that we might sup
together and enjoy ourselves till midnight; but she could not have been
very pleased with my farewell salute, for I was only able to prove my
love for her once, as M---- M----'s young friend had nearly exhausted
me.

I started at day-break, and the next day I reached the "Hotel du
Parc," at Lyons. I sent for Desarmoises, and told him plainly that his
daughter's charms had seduced me, that I thought her lover worthy of
her, and that I expected him out of friendship for me to consent to the
marriage. I went further, and told him that if he did not consent to
everything that very instant I could no longer be his friend, and at
this he gave in. He executed the requisite document in the presence of
two witnesses, and I sent it to Chamberi by an express messenger.

This false marquis made me dine with him in his poor house. There was
nothing about his younger daughter to remind me of the elder, and his
wife inspired me with pity. Before I left I managed to wrap up six Louis
in a piece of paper, and gave it to her without the knowledge of her
husband. A grateful look shewed me how welcome the present was.

I was obliged to go to Paris, so I gave Desarmoises sufficient money for
him to go to Strasburg, and await me there in company with my Spaniard.

I thought myself wise in only taking Costa, but the inspiration came
from my evil genius.

I took the Bourbonnais way, and on the third day I arrived at Paris, and
lodged at the Hotel du St. Esprit, in the street of the same name.

Before going to bed I sent Costa with a note to Madame d'Urfe, promising
to come and dine with her the next day. Costa was a good-looking young
fellow, and as he spoke French badly and was rather a fool I felt sure
that Madame d'Urfe would take him for some extraordinary being. She
wrote to say that she was impatiently expecting me.

"How did the lady receive you, Costa?"

"She looked into a mirror, sir, and said some words I could make nothing
of; then she went round the room three times burning incense; then she
came up to me with a majestic air and looked me in the face; and at
last she smiled very pleasantly, and told me to wait for a reply in the
ante-chamber."



EPISODE 19 -- BACK AGAIN TO PARIS



CHAPTER XIII


     My Stay at Paris and My Departure for Strasburg, Where I
     Find the Renaud--My Misfortunes at Munich and My Sad Visit
     to Augsburg

At ten o'clock in the morning, cheered by the pleasant feeling of being
once more in that Paris which is so imperfect, but which is the only
true town in the world, I called on my dear Madame d'Urfe, who received
me with open arms. She told me that the young Count d'Aranda was quite
well, and if I liked she would ask him to dinner the next day. I told
her I should be delighted to see him, and then I informed her that the
operation by which she was to become a man could not be performed till
Querilinto, one of the three chiefs of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross,
was liberated from the dungeons of the Inquisition, at Lisbon.

"This is the reason," I added, "that I am going to Augsburg in the
course of next month, where I shall confer with the Earl of Stormont as
to the liberation of the adept, under the pretext of a mission from the
Portuguese Government. For these purposes I shall require a good letter
of credit, and some watches and snuff-boxes to make presents with, as we
shall have to win over certain of the profane."

"I will gladly see to all that, but you need not hurry yourself as the
Congress will not meet till September."

"Believe me, it will never meet at all, but the ambassadors of the
belligerent powers will be there all the same. If, contrary to my
expectation, the Congress is held, I shall be obliged to go to Lisbon.
In any case, I promise to see you again in the ensuing winter. The
fortnight that I have to spend here will enable me to defeat a plot of
St. Germain's."

"St. Germain--he would never dare to return to Paris."

"I am certain that he is here in disguise. The state messenger who
ordered him to leave London has convinced him the English minister was
not duped by the demand for his person to be given up, made by the Comte
d'Afri in the name of the king to the States-General."

All this was mere guess-work, and it will be seen that I guessed
rightly.

Madame d'Urfe then congratulated me on the charming girl whom I had sent
from Grenoble to Paris. Valenglard had told her the whole story.

"The king adores her," said she, "and before long she will make him
a father. I have been to see her at Passi with the Duchesse de
l'Oraguais."

"She will give birth to a son who will make France happy, and in thirty
years time you will see wondrous things, of which, unfortunately, I can
tell you nothing until your transformation. Did you mention my name to
her?"

"No, I did not; but I am sure you will be able to see her, if only at
Madame Varnier's."

She was not mistaken; but shortly afterwards an event happened which
made the madness of this excellent woman much worse.

Towards four o'clock, as we were talking over my travels and our
designs, she took a fancy to walk in the Bois du Boulogne. She begged
me to accompany her, and I acceded to her request. We walked into the
deepest recesses of the wood and sat down under a tree. "It is eighteen
years ago," said she, "since I fell asleep on the same spot that we now
occupy. During my sleep the divine Horosmadis came down from the sun and
stayed with me till I awoke. As I opened my eyes I saw him leave me and
ascend to heaven. He left me with child, and I bore a girl which he
took away from me years ago, no doubt to punish me for, having so far
forgotten myself as to love a mortal after him. My lovely Iriasis was
like him."

"You are quite sure that M. d'Urfe was not the child's father?"

"M. d'Urfe did not know me after he saw me lying beside the divine
Anael."

"That's the genius of Venus. Did he squint?"

"To excess. You are aware, then, that he squints?"

"Yes, and I know that at the amorous crisis he ceases to squint."

"I did not notice that. He too, left me on account of my sinning with an
Arab."

"The Arab was sent to you by an enemy of Anael's, the genius of
Mercury."

"It must have been so; it was a great misfortune."

"On the contrary, it rendered you more fit for transformation."

We were walking towards the carriage when all at once we saw St.
Germain, but as soon as he noticed us he turned back and we lost sight
of him.

"Did you see him?" said I. "He is working against us, but our genie
makes him tremble."

"I am quite thunderstruck. I will go and impart this piece of news to
the Duc de Choiseul to-morrow morning. I am curious to hear what he will
say when I tell him."

As we were going back to Paris I left Madame d'Urfe, and walked to the
Porte St. Denis to see my brother. He and his wife received me with
cries of joy. I thought the wife very pretty but very wretched, for
Providence had not allowed my brother to prove his manhood, and she was
unhappily in love with him. I say unhappily, because her love kept her
faithful to him, and if she had not been in love she might easily have
found a cure for her misfortune as her husband allowed her perfect
liberty. She grieved bitterly, for she did not know that my brother was
impotent, and fancied that the reason of his abstention was that he did
not return her love; and the mistake was an excusable one, for he was
like a Hercules, and indeed he was one, except where it was most to be
desired. Her grief threw her into a consumption of which she died five
or six years later. She did not mean her death to be a punishment to her
husband, but we shall see that it was so.

The next day I called on Madame Varnier to give her Madame Morin's
letter. I was cordially welcomed, and Madame Varnier was kind enough to
say that she had rather see me than anybody else in the world; her
niece had told her such strange things about me that she had got quite
curious. This, as is well known, is a prevailing complaint with women.

"You shall see my niece," she said, "and she will tell you all about
herself."

She wrote her a note, and put Madame Morin's letter under the same
envelope.

"If you want to know what my niece's answer is," said Madame Varnier,
"you must dine with me."

I accepted the invitation, and she immediately told her servant that she
was not at home to anyone.

The small messenger who had taken the note to Passi returned at four
o'clock with the following epistle:

"The moment in which I see the Chevalier de Seingalt once more will
be one of the happiest of my life. Ask him to be at your house at ten
o'clock the day after tomorrow, and if he can't come then please let me
know."

After reading the note and promising to keep the appointment, I left
Madame Varnier and called on Madame de Rumain, who told me I must spend
a whole day with her as she had several questions to put to my oracle.

Next day Madame d'Urfe told me the reply she had from the Duc de
Choiseul, when she told him that she had seen the Comte de St. Germain
in the Bois du Boulogne.

"I should not be surprised," said the minister, "considering that he
spent the night in my closet."

The duke was a man of wit and a man of the world. He only kept secrets
when they were really important ones; very different from those
make-believe diplomatists, who think they give themselves importance by
making a mystery of trifles of no consequence. It is true that the Duc
de Choiseul very seldom thought anything of great importance; and,
in point of fact, if there were less intrigue and more truth about
diplomacy (as there ought to be), concealment would be rather ridiculous
than necessary.

The duke had pretended to disgrace St. Germain in France that he might
use him as a spy in London; but Lord Halifax was by no means taken in by
this stratagem. However, all governments have the politeness to afford
one another these services, so that none of them can reproach the
others.

The small Conte d'Aranda after caressing me affectionately begged me
to come and breakfast with him at his boarding-house, telling me that
Mdlle. Viar would be glad to see me.

The next day I took care not to fail in my appointment with the fair
lady. I was at Madame Varnier's a quarter of an hour before the arrival
of the dazzling brunette, and I waited for her with a beating at the
heart which shewed me that the small favours she had given me had not
quenched the flame of love. When she made her appearance the stoutness
of her figure carried respect with it, so that I did not feel as if I
could come forward and greet her tenderly; but she was far from thinking
that more respect was due to her than when she was at Grenoble, poor but
also pure. She kissed me affectionately and told me as much.

"They think I am happy," said she, "and envy my lot; but can one be
happy after the loss of one's self-respect? For the last six months I
have only smiled, not laughed; while at Grenoble I laughed heartily
from true gladness. I have diamonds, lace, a beautiful house, a superb
carriage, a lovely garden, waiting-maids, and a maid of honour who
perhaps despises me; and although the highest Court ladies treat me
like a princess, I do not pass a single day without experiencing some
mortification."

"Mortification?"

"Yes; people come and bring pleas before me, and I am obliged to send
them away as I dare not ask the king anything."

"Why not?"

"Because I cannot look on him as my lover only; he is always my
sovereign, too. Ah! happiness is to be sought for in simple homes, not
in pompous palaces."

"Happiness is gained by complying with the duties of whatever condition
of life one is in, and you must constrain yourself to rise to that
exalted station in which destiny has placed you."

"I cannot do it; I love the king and I am always afraid of vexing him. I
am always thinking that he does too much for me, and thus I dare not ask
for anything for others."

"But I am sure the king would be only too glad to shew his love for you
by benefiting the persons in whom you take an interest."

"I know he would, and that thought makes me happy, but I cannot overcome
my feeling of repugnance to asking favours. I have a hundred louis a
month for pin-money, and I distribute it in alms and presents, but with
due economy, so that I am not penniless at the end of the month. I have
a foolish notion that the chief reason the king loves me is that I do
not importune him."

"And do you love him?"

"How can I help it? He is good-hearted, kindly, handsome, and polite to
excess; in short, he possesses all the qualities to captivate a woman's
heart.

"He is always asking me if I am pleased with my furniture, my clothes,
my servants, and my garden, and if I desire anything altered. I thank
him with a kiss, and tell him that I am pleased with everything."

"Does he ever speak of the scion you are going to present to him?"

"He often says that I ought to be careful of myself in my situation.
I am hoping that he will recognize my son as a prince of the blood; he
ought in justice to do so, as the queen is dead."

"To be sure he will."

"I should be very happy if I had a son. I wish I felt sure that I would
have one. But I say nothing about this to anyone. If I dared speak to
the king about the horoscope, I am certain he would want to know you;
but I am afraid of evil tongues."

"So am I. Continue in your discreet course and nothing will come to
disturb your happiness, which may become greater, and which I am pleased
to have procured for you."

We did not part without tears. She was the first to go, after kissing
me and calling me her best friend. I stayed a short time with Madame
Varnier to compose my feelings, and I told her that I should have
married her instead of drawing her horoscope.

"She would no doubt have been happier. You did not foresee, perhaps, her
timidity and her lack of ambition."

"I can assure you that I did not reckon upon her courage or ambition.
I laid aside my own happiness to think only of hers. But what is done
cannot be recalled, and I shall be consoled if I see her perfectly happy
at last. I hope, indeed, she will be so, above all if she is delivered
of a son."

I dined with Madame d'Urfe, and we decided to send back Aranda to his
boarding-school that we might be more free to pursue our cabalistic
operations; and afterwards I went to the opera, where my brother had
made an appointment with me. He took me to sup at Madame Vanloo's, and
she received me in the friendliest manner possible.

"You will have the pleasure of meeting Madame Blondel and her husband,"
said she.

The reader will recollect that Madame Blondel was Manon Baletti, whom I
was to have married.

"Does she know I am coming?" I enquired.

"No, I promise myself the pleasure of seeing her surprise."

"I am much obliged to you for not wishing to enjoy my surprise as
well. We shall see each other again, but not to-day, so I must bid you
farewell; for as I am a man of honour I hope never to be under the same
roof as Madame Blondel again."

With this I left the room, leaving everybody in astonishment, and
not knowing where to go I took a coach and went to sup with my
sister-in-law, who was extremely glad to see me. But all through
supper-time this charming woman did nothing but complain of her husband,
saying that he had no business to marry her, knowing that he could not
shew himself a man.

"Why did you not make the trial before you married?"

"Was it for me to propose such a thing? How should I suppose that such
a fine man was impotent? But I will tell you how it all happened. As you
know, I was a dancer at the Comedie Italienne, and I was the mistress of
M. de Sauci, the ecclesiastical commissioner. He brought your brother to
my house, I liked him, and before long I saw that he loved me. My lover
advised me that it was an opportunity for getting married and making
my fortune. With this idea I conceived the plan of not granting him any
favours. He used to come and see me in the morning, and often found me
in bed; we talked together, and his passions seemed to be aroused,
but it all ended in kissing. On my part, I was waiting for a formal
declaration and a proposal of marriage. At that period, M. de Sauci
settled an annuity of a thousand crowns on me on the condition that I
left the stage.

"In the spring M. de Sauci invited your brother to spend a month in
his country house. I was of the party, but for propriety's sake it was
agreed that I should pass as your brother's wife. Casanova enjoyed the
idea, looking upon it as a jest, and not thinking of the consequences.
I was therefore introduced as his wife to my lover's family, as also
to his relations, who were judges, officers, and men about town, and
to their wives, who were all women of fashion. Your brother was in high
glee that to play our parts properly we were obliged to sleep together.
For my part, I was far from disliking the idea, or at all events I
looked upon it as a short cut to the marriage I desired.

"But how can I tell you? Though tender and affectionate in everything,
your brother slept with me for a month without our attaining what seemed
the natural result under the circumstances."

"You might have concluded, then, that he was impotent; for unless he
were made of stone, or had taken a vow of chastity, his conduct was
inexplicable."

"The fact is, that I had no means of knowing whether he was capable or
incapable of giving me substantial proof of his love."

"Why did you not ascertain his condition for yourself?"

"A feeling of foolish pride prevented me from putting him to the test. I
did not suspect the truth, but imagined reasons flattering to myself. I
thought that he loved me so truly that he would not do anything before
I was his wife. That idea prevented me humiliating myself by making him
give me some positive proof of his powers."

"That supposition would have been tenable, though highly improbable,
if you had been an innocent young maid, but he knew perfectly well that
your novitiate was long over."

"Very true; but what can you expect of a woman impelled by love and
vanity?"

"Your reasoning is excellent, but it comes rather late."

"Well, at last we went back to Paris, your brother to his house, and I
to mine, while he continued his courtship, and I could not understand
what he meant by such strange behaviour. M. de Sauci, who knew that
nothing serious had taken place between us, tried in vain to solve the
enigma. 'No doubt he is afraid of getting you with child,' he said, 'and
of thus being obliged to marry you.' I began to be of the same opinion,
but I thought it a strange line for a man in love to take.

"M. de Nesle, an officer in the French Guards, who had a pretty wife
I had met in the country, went to your brother's to call on me. Not
finding me there he asked why we did not live together. Your brother
replied openly that our marriage had been a mere jest. M. de Nesle then
came to me to enquire if this were the truth, and when he heard that
it was he asked me how I would like him to make Casanova marry me. I
answered that I should be delighted, and that was enough for him. He
went again to your brother, and told him that his wife would never have
associated with me on equal terms if I had not been introduced to her as
a married woman; that the deceit was an insult to all the company at
the country-house, which must be wiped out by his marrying me within the
week or by fighting a duel. M. de Nesle added that if he fell he would
be avenged by all the gentlemen who had been offended in the same way.
Casanova replied, laughing, that so far from fighting to escape marrying
me, he was ready to break a lance to get me. 'I love her,' he said, 'and
if she loves me I am quite ready to give her my hand. Be kind enough,'
he added, 'to prepare the way for me, and I will marry her whenever you
like.'

"M. de Nesle embraced him, and promised to see to everything; he brought
me the joyful news, and in a week all was over. M. de Nesle gave us a
splendid supper on our wedding-day, and since then I have had the title
of his wife. It is an empty title, however, for, despite the ceremony
and the fatal yes, I am no wife, for your brother is completely
impotent. I am an unhappy wretch, and it is all his fault, for he ought
to have known his own condition. He has deceived me horribly."

"But he was obliged to act as he did; he is more to be pitied than to be
blamed. I also pity you, but I think you are in the wrong, for after his
sleeping with you for a month without giving any proof of his manhood
you might have guessed the truth. Even if you had been a perfect novice,
M. de Sauci ought to have known what was the matter; he must be aware
that it is beyond the power of man to sleep beside a pretty woman, and
to press her naked body to his breast without becoming, in spite of
himself, in a state which would admit of no concealment; that is, in
case he were not impotent."

"All that seems very reasonable, but nevertheless neither of us thought
of it; your brother looks such a Hercules."

"There are two remedies open to you; you can either have your marriage
annulled, or you can take a lover; and I am sure that my brother is too
reasonable a man to offer any opposition to the latter course."

"I am perfectly free, but I can neither avail myself of a divorce nor
of a lover; for the wretch treats me so kindly that I love him more and
more, which doubtless makes my misfortune harder to bear."

The poor woman was so unhappy that I should have been delighted to
console her, but it was out of the question. However, the mere telling
of her story had afforded her some solace, and after kissing her in such
a way as to convince her that I was not like my brother, I wished her
good night.

The next day I called on Madame Vanloo, who informed me that Madame
Blondel had charged her to thank me for having gone away, while her
husband wished me to know that he was sorry not to have seen me to
express his gratitude.

"He seems to have found his wife a maid, but that's no fault of mine;
and Manon Baletti is the only person he ought to be grateful to. They
tell me that he has a pretty baby, and that he lives at the Louvre,
while she has another house in the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs."

"Yes, but he has supper with her every evening."

"It's an odd way of living."

"I assure you it answers capitally. Blondel regards his wife as his
mistress. He says that that keeps the flame of love alight, and that as
he never had a mistress worthy of being a wife, he is delighted to have
a wife worthy of being a mistress."

The next day I devoted entirely to Madame de Rumain, and we were
occupied with knotty questions till the evening. I left her well
pleased. The marriage of her daughter, Mdlle. Cotenfau, with M. de
Polignac, which took place five or six years later, was the result of
our cabalistic calculations.

The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had loved so
well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M. de Langlade,
and her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill. Coralline had become
the titulary mistress of the Comte de la Marche, son of the Prince of
Conti, and the issue of this union was a son, whom I knew twenty years
later. He called himself the Chevalier de Montreal, and wore the cross
of the Knights of Malta. Several other girls I had known were widowed
and in the country, or had become inaccessible in other ways.

Such was the Paris of my day. The actors on its stage changed as rapidly
as the fashions.

I devoted a whole day to my old friend Baletti, who had left the theatre
and married a pretty ballet-girl on the death of his father; he was
making experiments with a view to finding the philosopher's stone.

I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the Comedic
Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me that M. du Tillot
had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.

"He would not get me anything to do," said Poinsinet, "because a French
poet is rather at a discount in Italy."

"Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?"

"Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was going
to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to give him a
thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome."

"His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on his
lady-mother with you."

"I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she will
invite you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk to you."

"How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve Apollo?"

"He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no room,
and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will read you
my play, the 'Cercle', which has been accepted. I am sure it will be
successful?"

The 'Cercle' was a short prose play, in which the poet satirised the
jargon of Dr. Herrenschwand, brother of the doctor I had consulted at
Soleure. The play proved to be a great success.

I took Poinsinet home to supper, and the poor nursling of the muses ate
for four. In the morning he came to tell me that the Countess of Lismore
expected me to supper.

I found the lady, still pretty, in company with her aged lover, M. de
St. Albin, Archbishop of Cambrai, who spent all the revenues of his see
on her. This worthy prelate was one of the illegitimate children of the
Duc d'Orleans, the famous Regent, by an actress. He supped with us, but
he only opened his mouth to eat, and his mistress only spoke of her son,
whose talents she lauded to the skies, though he was in reality a mere
scamp; but I felt in duty bound to echo what she said. It would have
been cruel to contradict her. I promised to let her know if I saw
anything more of him.

Poinsinet, who was hearthless and homeless, as they say, spent the night
in my room, and in the morning I gave him two cups of chocolate and some
money wherewith to get a lodging. I never saw him again, and a few years
after he was drowned, not in the fountain of Hippocrene, but in the
Guadalquivir. He told me that he had spent a week with M. de Voltaire,
and that he had hastened his return to Paris to obtain the release of
the Abbe Morellet from the Bastile.

I had nothing more to do at Paris, and I was only waiting for some
clothes to be made and for a cross of the order, with which the Holy
Father had decorated me, to be set with diamonds and rubies.

I had waited for five or six days when an unfortunate incident obliged
me to take a hasty departure. I am loth to write what follows, for it
was all my own fault that I was nearly losing my life and my honour.
I pity those simpletons who blame fortune and not themselves for their
misfortunes.

I was walking in the Tuileries at ten o'clock in the morning, when I
was unlucky enough to meet the Dangenancour and another girl. This
Dangenancour was a dancer at the opera-house, whom I had desired to meet
previously to my last departure from Paris. I congratulated myself on
the lucky chance which threw her in my way, and accosted her, and had
not much trouble in inducing her to dine with me at Choisi.

We walked towards the Pont-Royal, where we took a coach. After dinner
had been ordered we were taking a turn in the garden, when I saw a
carriage stop and two adventurers whom I knew getting out of it, with
two girls, friends of the ones I had with me. The wretched landlady, who
was standing at the door, said that if we liked to sit down together
she could give us an excellent dinner, and I said nothing, or rather
I assented to the yes of my two nymphs. The dinner was excellent, and
after the bill was paid, and we were on the point of returning to Paris,
I noticed that a ring, which I had taken off to shew to one of the
adventurers named Santis, was still missing. It was an exceedingly
pretty miniature, and the diamond setting had cost me twenty-five Louis.
I politely begged Santis to return me the ring, and he replied with the
utmost coolness that he had done so already.

"If you had returned it," said I, "it would be on my finger, and you see
that it is not."

He persisted in his assertion; the girls said nothing, but Santis's
friend, a Portuguese, named Xavier, dared to tell me that he had seen
the ring returned.

"You're a liar," I exclaimed; and without more ado I took hold of Santis
by the collar, and swore I would rot let him go till he returned me
my ring. The Portuguese rose to come to his friend's rescue, while I
stepped back and drew my sword, repeating my determination not to let
them go. The landlady came on the scene and began to shriek, and Santis
asked me to give him a few words apart. I thought in all good faith that
he was ashamed to restore the ring before company, but that he would
give it me as soon as we were alone. I sheathed my sword, and told him
to come with me. Xavier got into the carriage with the four girls, and
they all went back to Paris.

Santis followed me to the back of the inn, and then assuming a pleasant
smile he told me that he had put the ring into his friend's pocket for a
joke, but that I should have it back at Paris.

"That's an idle tale," I exclaimed, "your friend said that he saw you
return it, and now he has escaped me. Do you think that I am green
enough to be taken in by this sort of thing? You're a couple of
robbers."

So saying, I stretched out my hand for his watch-chain, but he stepped
back and drew his sword. I drew mine, and we had scarcely crossed
swords when he thrust, and I parrying rushed in and ran him through and
through. He fell to the ground calling, "Help!" I sheathed my sword,
and, without troubling myself about him, got into my coach and drove
back to Paris.

I got down in the Place Maubert, and walked by a circuitous way to my
hotel. I was sure that no one could have come after me there, as my
landlord did not even know my name.

I spent the rest of the day in packing up my trunks, and after telling
Costa to place them on my carriage I went to Madame d'Urfe. After I had
told her of what had happened, I begged her, as soon as that which she
had for me was ready, to send it to me at Augsburg by Costa. I should
have told her to entrust it to one of her own servants, but my good
genius had left me that day. Besides I did not look upon Costa as a
thief.

When I got back to the hotel I gave the rascal his instructions, telling
him to be quick and to keep his own counsel, and then I gave him money
for the journey.

I left Paris in my carriage, drawn by four hired horses, which took me
as far as the second post, and I did not stop till I got to Strasburg,
where I found Desarmoises and my Spaniard.

There was nothing to keep me in Strasburg, so I wanted to cross the
Rhine immediately; but Desarmoises persuaded me to come with him to
see an extremely pretty woman who had only delayed her departure for
Augsburg in the hope that we might journey there together.

"You know the lady," said the false marquis, "but she made me give my
word of honour that I would not tell you. She has only her maid with
her, and I am sure you will be pleased to see her."

My curiosity made me give in. I followed Desarmoises, and came into a
room where I saw a nice-looking woman whom I did not recognize at first.
I collected my thoughts, and the lady turned out to be a dancer whom
I had admired on the Dresden boards eight years before. She was then
mistress to Count Bruhl, but I had not even attempted to win her favour.
She had an excellent carriage, and as she was ready to go to Augsburg
I immediately concluded that we could make the journey together very
pleasantly.

After the usual compliments had passed, we decided on leaving for
Augsburg the following morning. The lady was going to Munich, but as I
had no business there we agreed that she should go by herself.

"I am quite sure," she said, afterwards, "that you will come too, for
the ambassadors do not assemble at Augsburg till next September."

We supped together, and next morning we started on our way; she in her
carriage with her maid, and I in mine with Desarmoises, preceded by Le
Duc on horseback. At Rastadt, however, we made a change, the Renaud
(as she was called) thinking that she would give less opportunity for
curious surmises by riding with me while Desarmoises went with the
servant. We soon became intimate. She told me about herself, or
pretended to, and I told her all that I did not want to conceal.
I informed her that I was an agent of the Court of Lisbon, and she
believed me, while, for my part, I believed that she was only going to
Munich and Augsburg to sell her diamonds.

We began to talk about Desarmoises, and she said that it was well enough
for me to associate with him, but I should not countenance his styling
himself marquis.

"But," said I, "he is the son of the Marquis Desarmoises, of Nancy."

"No, he isn't; he is only a retired messenger, with a small pension from
the department of foreign affairs. I know the Marquis Desarmoises; he
lives at Nancy, and is not so old as our friend."

"Then one can't see how he can be Desarmoises's father."

"The landlord of the inn at Strasburg knew him when he was a messenger."

"How did you make his acquaintance?"

"We met at the table d'hote. After dinner he came up to my room, and
told me he was waiting for a gentleman who was going to Augsburg, and
that we might make the journey together. He told me the name, and after
questioning him I concluded that the gentleman was yourself, so here we
are, and I am very glad of it. But listen to me; I advise you to drop
all false styles and titles. Why do you call yourself Seingalt?"

"Because it's my name, but that doesn't prevent my old friends calling
me Casanova, for I am both. You understand?"

"Oh, yes! I understand. Your mother is at Prague, and as she doesn't
get her pension on account of the war, I am afraid she must be rather in
difficulties."

"I know it, but I do not forget my filial duties. I have sent her some
money."

"That's right. Where are you going to stay at Augsburg?"

"I shall take a house, and if you like you shall be the mistress and do
the honours."

"That would be delightful! We will give little suppers, and play cards
all night."

"Your programme is an excellent one."

"I will see that you get a good cook; all the Bavarian cooks are good.
We shall cut a fine figure, and people will say we love each other
madly."

"You must know, dearest, that I do not understand jokes at the expense
of fidelity."

"You may trust me for that. You know how I lived at Dresden."

"I will trust you, but not blindly, I promise you. And now let us
address each other in the same way; you must call me tu. You must
remember we are lovers."

"Kiss me!"

The fair Renaud did not like traveling by night; she preferred to eat a
good supper, to drink heavily, and to go to bed just as her head began
to whirl. The heat of the wine made her into a Bacchante, hard to
appease; but when I could do no more I told her to leave me alone, and
she had to obey.

When we reached Augsburg we alighted at the "Three Moors," but the
landlord told us that though he could give us a good dinner he could
not put us up, as the whole of the hotel had been engaged by the French
ambassador. I called on M. Corti, the banker to whom I was accredited,
and he soon got me a furnished house with a garden, which I took for six
months. The Renaud liked it immensely.

No one had yet arrived at Augsburg. The Renaud contrived to make me
feel that I should be lonely at Augsburg without her, and succeeded in
persuading me to come with her to Munich. We put up at the "Stag,"
and made ourselves very comfortable, while Desarmoises went to stay
somewhere else. As my business and that of my new mate had nothing in
common, I gave her a servant and a carriage to herself, and made myself
the same allowance.

The Abbe Gama had given me a letter from the Commendatore Almada for
Lord Stormont, the English ambassador at the Court of Bavaria. This
nobleman being then at Munich I hastened to deliver the letter. He
received me very well, and promised to do all he could as soon as he
had time, as Lord Halifax had told him all about it. On leaving his
Britannic Lordship's I called on M. de Folard, the French ambassador,
and gave him a letter from M. de Choiseul. M. de Folard gave me a hearty
welcome, and asked me to dine with him the next day, and the day after
introduced me to the Elector.

During the four fatal weeks I spent at Munich, the ambassador's house
was the only one I frequented. I call these weeks fatal, and with
reason, for in then I lost all my money, I pledged jewels (which I never
recovered) to the amount of forty thousand francs, and finally I lost
my health. My assassins were the Renaud and Desarmoises, who owed me so
much and paid me so badly.

The third day after my arrival I had to call on the Dowager Electress of
Saxony. It was my brother-in-law, who was in her train, that made me
go, by telling me that it must be done, as she knew me and had been
enquiring for me. I had no reason to repent of my politeness in going,
as the Electress gave me a good reception, and made me talk to any
extent. She was extremely curious, like most people who have no
employment, and have not sufficient intelligence to amuse themselves.

I have done a good many foolish things in the course of my existence. I
confess it as frankly as Rousseau, and my Memoirs are not so egotistic
as those of that unfortunate genius; but I never committed such an act
of folly as I did when I went to Munich, where I had nothing to do. But
it was a crisis in my life. My evil genius had made me commit one folly
after another since I left Turin. The evening at Lord Lismore's, my
connection with Desarmoises, my party at Choisi, my trust in Costa, my
union with the Renaud, and worse than all, my folly in letting myself
play at faro at a place where the knavery of the gamesters is renowned
all over Europe, followed one another in fatal succession. Among the
players was the famous, or rather infamous, Affisio, the friend of the
Duc de Deux-Ponts, whom the duke called his aide-decamp, and who was
known for the keenest rogue in the world.

I played every day, and as I often lost money on my word of honour, the
necessity of paying the next day often caused me the utmost anxiety.
When I had exhausted my credit with the bankers, I had recourse to the
Jews who require pledges, and in this Desarmoises and the Renaud were
my agents, the latter of whom ended by making herself mistress of all my
property. This was not the worst thing she did to me; for she, gave me a
disease, which devoured her interior parts and left no marks outwardly,
and was thus all the more dangerous, as the freshness of her complexion
seemed to indicate the most perfect health. In short, this serpent, who
must have come from hell to destroy me, had acquired such a mastery over
me that she persuaded me that she would be dishonoured if I called in a
doctor during our stay at Munich, as everybody knew that we were living
together as man and wife.

I cannot imagine what had become of my wits to let myself be so
beguiled, while every day I renewed the poison that she had poured into
my veins.

My stay at Munich was a kind of curse; throughout that dreadful month I
seemed to have a foretaste of the pains of the damned. The Renaud loved
gaming, and Desarmoises was her partner. I took care not to play with
them, for the false marquis was an unmitigated cheat and often tricked
with less skill than impudence. He asked disreputable people to my house
and treated them at my expense; every evening scenes of a disgraceful
character took place.

The Dowager Electress mortified me extremely by the way she addressed me
on my last two visits to her.

"Everybody knows what kind of a life you lead here, and the way the
Renaud behaves, possibly without your knowing it. I advise you to have
done with her, as your character is suffering."

She did not know what a thraldom I was under. I had left Paris for a
month, and I had neither heard of Madame d'Urfe nor of Costa. I could
not guess the reason, but I began to suspect my Italian's fidelity. I
also feared lest my good Madame d'Urfe might be dead or have come to
her senses, which would have come to the same thing so far as I was
concerned; and I could not possibly return to Paris to obtain the
information which was so necessary both for calming my mind and
refilling my purse.

I was in a terrible state, and my sharpest pang was that I began to
experience a certain abatement of my vigors, the natural result of
advancing years. I had no longer that daring born of youth and the
knowledge of one's strength, and I was not yet old enough to have learnt
how to husband my forces. Nevertheless, I made an effort and took a
sudden leave of my mistress, telling her I would await her at Augsburg.
She did not try to detain me, but promised to rejoin me as soon as
possible; she was engaged in selling her jewellery. I set out preceded
by Le Duc, feeling very glad that Desarmoises had chosen to stay with
the wretched woman to whom he had introduced me. When I reached my
pretty house at Augsburg I took to my bed, determined not to rise till I
was cured or dead. M. Carli, my banker, recommended to me a doctor named
Cephalides, a pupil of the famous Fayet, who had cured me of a similar
complaint several years before. This Cephalides was considered the best
doctor in Augsburg. He examined me and declared he could cure me by
sudorifics without having recourse to the knife. He began his treatment
by putting me on a severe regimen, ordering baths, and applying mercury
locally. I endured this treatment for six weeks, at the end of which
time I found myself worse than at the beginning. I had become terribly
thin, and I had two enormous inguinal tumours. I had to make up my mind
to have them lanced, but though the operation nearly killed me it
did not to make me any better. He was so clumsy as to cut the artery,
causing great loss of blood which was arrested with difficulty, and
would have proved fatal if it had not been for the care of M. Algardi, a
Bolognese doctor in the service of the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg.

I had enough of Cephalides, and Dr. Algardi prepared in my presence
eighty-six pills containing eighteen grains of manna. I took one of
these pills every morning, drinking a large glass of curds after it, and
in the evening I had another pill with barley water, and this was the
only sustenance I had. This heroic treatment gave me back my health in
two months and a half, in which I suffered a great deal of pain; but I
did not begin to put on flesh and get back my strength till the end of
the year.

It was during this time that I heard about Costa's flight with my
diamonds, watches, snuff-box, linen, rich suits, and a hundred louis
which Madame d'Urfe had given him for the journey. The worthy lady sent
me a bill of exchange for fifty thousand francs, which she had happily
not entrusted to the robber, and the money rescued me very opportunely
from the state to which my imprudence had reduced me.

At this period I made another discovery of an extremely vexatious
character; namely, that Le Duc had robbed me. I would have forgiven him
if he had not forced me to a public exposure, which I could only have
avoided with the loss of my honour. However, I kept him in my service
till my return to Paris at the commencement of the following year.

Towards the end of September, when everybody knew that the Congress
would not take place, the Renaud passed through Augsburg with
Desarrnoises on her way to Paris; but she dared not come and see me
for fear I should make her return my goods, of which she had taken
possession without telling me. Four or five years later she married a
man named Bohmer, the same that gave the Cardinal de Rohan the famous
necklace, which he supposed was destined for the unfortunate Marie
Antoinette. The Renaud was at Paris when I returned, but I made no
endeavour to see her, as I wished, if possible, to forget the past. I
had every reason to do so, for amongst all the misfortunes I had gone
through during that wretched year the person I found most at fault was
myself. Nevertheless, I would have given myself the pleasure of cutting
off Desarmoises's ears; but the old rascal, who, no doubt, foresaw what
kind of treatment I was likely to mete to him, made his escape. Shortly
after, he died miserably of consumption in Normandy.

My health had scarcely returned, when I forgot all my woes and began
once more to amuse myself. My excellent cook, Anna Midel, who had been
idle so long, had to work hard to satisfy my ravenous appetite.
My landlord and pretty Gertrude, his daughter, looked at me with
astonishment as I ate, fearing some disastrous results. Dr. Algardi, who
had saved my life, prophesied a dyspepsia which would bring me to the
tomb, but my need of food was stronger than his arguments, to which I
paid no kind of attention; and I was right, for I required an immense
quantity of nourishment to recover my former state, and I soon felt in a
condition to renew my sacrifices to the deity for whom I had suffered so
much.

I fell in love with the cook and Gertrude, who were both young and
pretty. I imparted my love to both of them at once, for I had foreseen
that if I attacked them separately I should conquer neither. Besides,
I felt that I had not much time to lose, as I had promised to sup with
Madame, d'Urfe on the first night of the year 1761 in a suite of rooms
she had furnished for me in the Rue de Bac. She had adorned the rooms
with superb tapestry made for Rene of Savoy, on which were depicted all
the operations of the Great Work. She wrote to me that she had heard
that Santis had recovered from the wound I had given him, and had been
committed to the Bicetre for fraud.

Gertrude and Anna Midel occupied my leisure moments agreeably enough
during the rest of my stay at Augsburg, but they did not make me neglect
society. I spent my evenings in a very agreeable manner with Count
Max de Lamberg, who occupied the position of field-marshal to the
prince-bishop. His wife had all the attractions which collect good
company together. At this house I made the acquaintance of the Baron von
Selentin, a captain in the Prussian service, who was recruiting for
the King of Prussia at Augsburg. I was particularly drawn to the Count
Lamberg by his taste for literature. He was an extremely learned man,
and has published some excellent works. I kept up a correspondence with
him till his death, by his own fault, in 1792, four years from the time
of my writing. I say by his fault, but I should have said by the fault
of his doctors, who treated him mercurially for a disease which was not
venereal; and this treatment not only killed him but took away his good
name.

His widow is still alive, and lives in Bavaria, loved by her friends and
her daughters, who all made excellent marriages.

At this time a miserable company of Italian actors made their appearance
in Augsburg, and I got them permission to play in a small and wretched
theatre. As this was the occasion of an incident which diverted me, the
hero, I shall impart it to my readers in the hope of its amusing them
also.



CHAPTER XIV


     The Actors--Bassi--The Girl From Strasburg The Female Count-
     -My Return to Paris I Go to Metz--Pretty Raton--The
     Pretended Countess Lascaris

A woman, ugly enough, but lively like all Italians, called on me, and
asked me to intercede with the police to obtain permission for her
company to act in Augsburg. In spite of her ugliness she was a poor
fellow-countrywoman, and without asking her name, or ascertaining
whether the company was good or bad, I promised to do my best, and had
no difficulty in obtaining the favour.

I went to the first performance, and saw to my surprise that the chief
actor was a Venetian, and a fellow-student of mine, twenty years before,
at St. Cyprian's College. His name was Bassi, and like myself he had
given up the priesthood. Fortune had made an actor of him, and he looked
wretched enough, while I, the adventurer, had a prosperous air.

I felt curious to hear his adventures, and I was also actuated by that
feeling of kindliness which draws one towards the companions of one's
youthful and especially one's school days, so I went to the back as soon
as the curtain fell. He recognized me directly, gave a joyful cry, and
after he had embraced me he introduced me to his wife, the woman who had
called on me, and to his daughter, a girl of thirteen or fourteen,
whose dancing had delighted me. He did not stop here, but turning to his
mates, of whom he was chief, introduced me to them as his best friend.
These worthy people, seeing me dressed like a lord, with a cross on
my breast, took me for a cosmopolitan charlatan who was expected at
Augsburg, and Bassi, strange to say, did not undeceive them. When the
company had taken off its stage rags and put on its everyday rags,
Bassi's ugly wife took me by the arm and said I must come and sup with
her. I let myself be led, and we soon got to just the kind of room I
had imagined. It was a huge room on the ground floor, which served for
kitchen, dining-room, and bedroom all at once. In the middle stood a
long table, part of which was covered with a cloth which looked as if it
had been in use for a month, and at the other end of the room somebody
was washing certain earthenware dishes in a dirty pan. This den was
lighted by one candle stuck in the neck of a broken bottle, and as there
were no snuffers Bassi's wife snuffed it cleverly with her finger and
thumb, wiping her hand on the table-cloth after throwing the burnt wick
on the floor. An actor with long moustaches, who played the villain in
the various pieces, served an enormous dish of hashed-up meat, swimming
in a sea of dirty water dignified with the name of sauce; and the hungry
family proceeded to tear pieces of bread off the loaf with their fingers
or teeth, and then to dip them in the dish; but as all did the same no
one had a right to be disgusted. A large pot of ale passed from hand
to hand, and with all this misery mirth displayed itself on every
countenance, and I had to ask myself what is happiness. For a second
course there was a dish of fried pork, which was devoured with great
relish. Bassi was kind enough not to press me to take part in this
banquet, and I felt obliged to him.

The meal over, he proceeded to impart to me his adventures, which were
ordinary enough, and like those which many a poor devil has to undergo;
and while he talked his pretty daughter sat on my knee. Bassi brought
his story to an end by saying that he was going to Venice for the
carnival, and was sure of making a lot of money. I wished him all the
luck he could desire, and on his asking me what profession I followed
the fancy took me to reply that I was a doctor.

"That's a better trade than mine," said he, "and I am happy to be able
to give you a valuable present."

"What is that?" I asked.

"The receipt for the Venetian Specific, which you can sell at two
florins a pound, while it will only cost you four gros."

"I shall be delighted; but tell me, how is the treasury?"

"Well, I can't complain for a first night. I have paid all expenses, and
have given my actors a florin apiece. But I am sure I don't know how I
am to play to-morrow, as the company has rebelled; they say they won't
act unless I give each of them a florin in advance."

"They don't ask very much, however."

"I know that, but I have no money, and nothing to pledge; but they will
be sorry for it afterwards, as I am sure I shall make at least fifty
florins to-morrow."

"How many are there in the company?"

"Fourteen, including my family. Could you lend me ten florins? I would
pay you back tomorrow night."

"Certainly, but I should like to have you all to supper at the nearest
inn to the theatre. Here are the ten florins."

The poor devil overflowed with gratitude, and said he would order supper
at a florin a head, according to my instructions. I thought the sight of
fourteen famished actors sitting down to a good supper would be rather
amusing.

The company gave a play the next evening, but as only thirty or at most
forty people were present, poor Bassi did not know where to turn to pay
for the lighting and the orchestra. He was in despair; and instead of
returning my ten florins he begged me to lend him another ten, still in
the hope of a good house next time. I consoled him by saying we would
talk it over after supper, and that I would go to the inn to wait for my
guests.

I made the supper last three hours by dint of passing the bottle freely.
My reason was that I had taken a great interest in a young girl from
Strasburg, who played singing chamber-maids. Her features were exquisite
and her voice charming, while she made me split my sides with laughing
at her Italian pronounced with an Alsatian accent, and at her gestures
which were of the most comic description.

I was determined to possess her in the course of the next twenty-four
hours, and before the party broke up I spoke as follows:--

"Ladies and gentlemen, I will engage you myself for a week at fifty
florins a day on the condition that you acknowledge me as your manager
for the time being, and pay all the expenses of the theatre. You must
charge the prices I name for seats, five members of the company to be
chosen by me must sup with me every evening. If the receipts amount to
more than fifty florins, we will share the overplus between us."

My proposal was welcomed with shouts of joy, and I called for pen, ink,
and paper, and drew up the agreement.

"For to-morrow," I said to Bassi, "the prices for admission shall remain
the same, but the day after we will see what can be done. You and your
family will sup with me to-morrow, as also the young Alsatian whom I
could never separate from her dear Harlequin:"

He issued bills of an enticing description for the following evening;
but, in spite of all, the pit only contained a score of common people,
and nearly all the boxes were empty.

Bassi had done his best, and when we met at supper he came up to me
looking extremely confused, and gave me ten or twelve florins.

"Courage!" said I; and I proceeded to share them among the guests
present.

We had a good supper, and I kept them at table till midnight, giving
them plenty of choice wine and playing a thousand pranks with Bassi's
daughter and the young Alsatian, who sat one on each side of me. I
did not heed the jealous Harlequin, who seemed not to relish my
familiarities with his sweetheart. The latter lent herself to my
endearments with a bad enough grace, as she hoped Harlequin would marry
her, and consequently did not want to vex him. When supper was over, we
rose, and I took her between my arms, laughing, and caressing her in a
manner which seemed too suggestive to the lover, who tried to pull me
away. I thought this rather too much in my turn, and seizing him by his
shoulders I dismissed him with a hearty kick, which he received with
great humility. However, the situation assumed a melancholy aspect, for
the poor girl began to weep bitterly. Bassi and his wife, two hardened
sinners, laughed at her tears, and Bassi's daughter said that her lover
had offered me great provocation; but the young Alsatian continued
weeping, and told me that she would never sup with me again if I did not
make her lover return.

"I will see to all that," said I; and four sequins soon made her all
smiles again. She even tried to shew me that she was not really cruel,
and that she would be still less so if I could manage the jealous
Harlequin. I promised everything, and she did her best to convince me
that she would be quite complaisant on the first opportunity.

I ordered Bassi to give notice that the pit would be two florins and the
boxes a ducat, but that the gallery would be opened freely to the first
comers.

"We shall have nobody there," said he, looking alarmed.

"Maybe, but that remains to be seen. You must request twelve soldiers to
keep order, and I will pay for them."

"We shall want some soldiers to look after the mob which will besiege
the gallery, but as for the rest of the house . . . ."

"Again I tell you, we shall see. Carry out my instructions, and whether
they prove successful or no, we will have a merry supper as usual."

The next day I called upon the Harlequin in his little den of a room,
and with two Louis, and a promise to respect his mistress, I made him as
soft as a glove.

Bassi's bills made everybody laugh. People said he must be mad; but when
it was ascertained that it was the lessee's speculation, and that I was
the lessee, the accusation of madness was turned on me, but what did
I care? At night the gallery was full an hour before the rise of the
curtain; but the pit was empty, and there was nobody in the boxes with
the exception of Count Lamberg, a Genoese abbe named Bolo, and a young
man who appeared to me a woman in disguise.

The actors surpassed themselves, and the thunders of applause from the
gallery enlivened the performance.

When we got to the inn, Bassi gave me the three ducats for the three
boxes, but of course I returned them to him; it was quite a little
fortune for the poor actors. I sat down at table between Bassi's wife
and daughter, leaving the Alsatian to her lover. I told the manager to
persevere in the same course, and to let those laugh who would, and I
made him promise to play all his best pieces.

When the supper and the wine had sufficiently raised my spirits, I
devoted my attention to Bassi's daughter, who let me do what I liked,
while her father and mother only laughed, and the silly Harlequin
fretted and fumed at not being able to take the same liberties with his
Dulcinea. But at the end of supper, when I had made the girl in a state
of nature, I myself being dressed like Adam before he ate the fatal
apple, Harlequin rose, and taking his sweetheart's arm was going to
draw her away. I imperiously told him to sit down, and he obeyed me in
amazement, contenting himself with turning his back. His sweetheart
did not follow his example, and so placed herself on the pretext of
defending my victim that she increased my enjoyment, while my vagrant
hand did not seem to displease her.

The scene excited Bassi's wife, and she begged her husband to give her
a proof of his love for her, to which request he acceded, while modest
Harlequin sat by the fire with his head on his hands. The Alsatian was
in a highly excited state, and took advantage of her lover's position
to grant me all I wished, so I proceeded to execute the great work with
her, and the violent movements of her body proved that she was taking as
active a part in it as myself.

When the orgy was over I emptied my purse on the table, and enjoyed the
eagerness with which they shared a score of sequins.

This indulgence at a time when I had not yet recovered my full strength
made me enjoy a long sleep. Just as I awoke I was handed a summons to
appear before the burgomaster. I made haste with my toilette, for I
felt curious to know the reason of this citation, and I was aware I had
nothing to fear. When I appeared, the magistrate addressed me in German,
to which I turned a deaf ear, for I only knew enough of that language to
ask for necessaries. When he was informed of my ignorance of German he
addressed me in Latin, not of the Ciceronian kind by any means, but in
that peculiar dialect which obtains at most of the German universities.

"Why do you bear a false name?" he asked.

"My name is not false. You can ask Carli, the banker, who has paid me
fifty thousand florins."

"I know that; but your name is Casanova, so why do you call yourself
Seingalt?"

"I take this name, or rather I have taken it, because it belongs to
me, and in such a manner that if anyone else dared to take it I should
contest it as my property by every legitimate resource."

"Ah! and how does this name belong to you?"

"Because I invented it; but that does not prevent my being Casanova as
well."

"Sir, you must choose between Casanova and Seingalt; a man cannot have
two names."

"The Spaniards and Portuguese often have half a dozen names."

"But you are not a Spaniard or a Portuguese; you are an Italian: and,
after all, how can one invent a name?"

"It's the simplest thing in the world."

"Kindly explain."

"The alphabet belongs equally to the whole human race; no one can deny
that. I have taken eight letters and combined them in such a way as to
produce the word Seingalt. It pleased me, and I have adopted it as my
surname, being firmly persuaded that as no one had borne it before no
one could deprive me of it, or carry it without my consent."

"This is a very odd idea. Your arguments are rather specious than well
grounded, for your name ought to be none other than your father's name."

"I suggest that there you are mistaken; the name you yourself bear
because your father bore it before you, has not existed from all
eternity; it must have been invented by an ancestor of yours who did
not get it from his father, or else your name would have been Adam. Does
your worship agree to that?"

"I am obliged to; but all this is strange, very strange."

"You are again mistaken. It's quite an old custom, and I engage to give
you by to-morrow a long list of names invented by worthy people still
living, who are allowed to enjoy their names in peace and quietness
without being cited to the town hall to explain how they got them."

"But you will confess that there are laws against false names?"

"Yes, but I repeat this name is my true name. Your name which I honour,
though I do not know it, cannot be more true than mine, for it is
possible that you are not the son of the gentleman you consider your
father." He smiled and escorted me out, telling me that he would make
enquiries about me of M. Carli.

I took the part of going to M. Carli's myself. The story made him laugh.
He told me that the burgomaster was a Catholic, a worthy man, well to
do, but rather thick-headed; in short, a fine subject for a joke.

The following morning M. Carli asked me to breakfast, and afterwards to
dine with the burgomaster.

"I saw him yesterday," said he, "and we had a long talk, in the course
of which I succeeded in convincing him on the question of names, and he
is now quite of your opinion."

I accepted the invitation with pleasure, as I was sure of seeing some
good company. I was not undeceived; there were some charming women and
several agreeable men. Amongst others, I noticed the woman in man's
dress I had seen at the theatre. I watched her at dinner, and I was the
more convinced that she was a woman. Nevertheless, everybody addressed
her as a man, and she played the part to admiration. I, however, being
in search of amusement, and not caring to seem as if I were taken in,
began to talk to her in a stream of gallantry as one talks to a woman,
and I contrived to let her know that if I were not sure of her sex I had
very strong suspicions. She pretended not to understand me, and everyone
laughed at my feigned expression of offence.

After dinner, while we were taking coffee, the pretended gentleman
shewed a canon who was present a portrait on one of her rings. It
represented a young lady who was in the company, and was an excellent
likeness--an easy enough matter, as she was very ugly. My conviction was
not disturbed, but when I saw the imposter kissing the young lady's hand
with mingled affection and respect, I ceased jesting on the question of
her sex. M. Carli took me aside for a moment, and told me that in spite
of his effeminate appearance this individual was a man, and was shortly
going to marry the young lady whose hand he had just kissed.

"It may be so," said I, "but I can't believe it all the same."

However, the pair were married during the carnival, and the husband
obtained a rich dowry with his wife. The poor girl died of 'grief in the
course of a year, but did not say a word till she was on her death-bed.
Her foolish parents, ashamed of having been deceived so grossly, dared
not say anything, and got the female swindler out of the way; she had
taken good care, however, to lay a firm hold on the dowry. The story
became known, and gave the good folk of Augsburg much amusement, while I
became renowned for my sagacity in piercing the disguise.

I continued to enjoy the society of my two servants and of the fair
Alsation, who cost me a hundred louis. At the end of a week my agreement
with Bassi came to an end, leaving him with some money in his pocket.
He continued to give performances, returning to the usual prices and
suppressing the free gallery. He did very fair business.

I left Augsburg towards the middle of December.

I was vexed on account of Gertrude, who believed herself with child, but
could not make up her mind to accompany me to France. Her father would
have been pleased for me to take her; he had no hopes of getting her a
husband, and would have been glad enough to get rid of her by my making
her my mistress.

We shall hear more of her in the course of five or six years, as also of
my excellent cook, Anna Midel, to whom I gave a present of four hundred
florins. She married shortly afterwards, and when I visited the town
again I found her unhappy.

I could not make up my mind to forgive Le Duc, who rode on the
coachman's box, and when we were in Paris, half-way along the Rue St.
Antoine, I made him take his trunk and get down; and I left him there
without a character, in spite of his entreaties. I never heard of him
again, but I still miss him, for, in spite of his great failings, he was
an excellent servant. Perhaps I should have called to mind the important
services he had rendered me at Stuttgart, Soleure, Naples, Florence, and
Turin; but I could not pass over his impudence in compromising me before
the Augsburg magistrate. If I had not succeeded in bringing a certain
theft home to him, it would have been laid to my door, and I should have
been dishonoured.

I had done a good deal in saving him from justice, and, besides, I had
rewarded him liberally for all the special services he had done me.

From Augsburg I went to Bale by way of Constance, where I stayed at
the dearest inn in Switzerland. The landlord, Imhoff, was the prince of
cheats, but his daughters were amusing, and after a three days' stay I
continued my journey. I got to Paris on the last day of the year 1761,
and I left the coach at the house in the Rue du Bacq, where my good
angel Madame d'Urfe had arranged me a suite of rooms with the utmost
elegance.

I spent three weeks in these rooms without going anywhere, in order to
convince the worthy lady that I had only returned to Paris to keep my
word to her, and make her be born again a man.

We spent the three weeks in making preparations for this divine
operation, and our preparations consisted of devotions to each of the
seven planets on the days consecrated to each of the intelligences.
After this I had to seek, in a place which the spirits would point out
to me, for a maiden, the daughter of an adept, whom I was to impregnate
with a male child in a manner only known to the Fraternity of the Rosy
Cross. Madame d'Urfe was to receive the child into her arms the moment
it was born; and to keep it beside her in bed for seven days. At the end
of the seven days she would die with her lips on the lips of the child,
who would thus receive her reasonable soul, whereas before it had only
possessed a vegetal soul.

This being done, it was to be my part to care for the child with the
magisterium which was known to me, and as soon as it had attained to its
third year Madame d'Urfe would begin to recover her self-consciousness,
and then I was to begin to initiate her in the perfect knowledge of the
Great Work.

The operation must take place under the full moon during the months
of April, May, or June. Above all, Madame d'Urfe was to make a will
in favour of the child, whose guardian I was to be till its thirteenth
year.

This sublime madwoman had no doubts whatever as to the truth of all
this, and burned with impatience to see the virgin who was destined to
be the vessel of election. She begged me to hasten my departure.

I had hoped, in obtaining my answers from the oracle, that she would be
deterred by the prospect of death, and I reckoned on the natural love of
life making her defer the operation for an indefinite period. But
such was not the case, and I found myself obliged to keep my word,
in appearance at all events, and to go on my quest for the mysterious
virgin.

What I wanted was some young hussy whom I could teach the part, and
I thought of the Corticelli. She had been at Prague for the last nine
months, and when we were at Bologna I had promised to come and see her
before the end of the year. But as I was leaving Germany--by no means
a land of pleasant memories to me--I did not think it was worth while
going out of my way for such a trifle in the depth of winter. I resolved
to send her enough money for the journey, and to let her meet me in some
French town.

M. de Fouquet, a friend of Madame d'Urfe's, was Governor of Metz, and I
felt sure that, with a letter of introduction from Madame d'Urfe, this
nobleman would give me a distinguished reception. Besides, his nephew,
the Comte de Lastic, whom I knew well, was there with his regiment.
For these reasons I chose Metz as a meeting-place with the virgin
Corticelli, to whom this new part would certainly be a surprise. Madame
d'Urfe gave me the necessary introductions, and I left Paris on January
25th, 1762, loaded with presents. I had a letter of credit to a
large amount, but I did not make use of it as my purse was abundantly
replenished.

I took no servant, for after Costa's robbing me and Le Duc's cheating me
I felt as if I could not trust in anyone. I got to Metz in two days, and
put up at the "Roi Dagobert," an excellent inn, where I found the Comte
de Louvenhaupt, a Swede, whom I had met at the house of the Princess of
Anhalt-Zerbst, mother of the Empress of Russia. He asked me to sup with
him and the Duc de Deux Pants, who was travelling incognito to Paris to
visit Louis XV., whose constant friend he was.

The day after my arrival I took my letters to the governor, who told me
I must dine with him every day. M. de Lastic had left Metz, much to my
regret, as he would have contributed in no small degree to the pleasure
of my stay. The same day I wrote to the Corticelli, sending her fifty
louis, and telling her to come with her mother as soon as possible, and
to get someone who knew the way to accompany her. She could not leaves
Prague before the beginning of Lent, and to make sure of her coming I
promised that I would make her fortune.

In four or five days I knew my way about the town, but I did not
frequent polite assemblies, preferring to go to the theatre, where a
comic opera singer had captivated me. Her name was Raton, and she was
only fifteen, after the fashion of actresses who always subtract at
least two or three years from their age. However, this failing is common
to women, and is a pardonable one, since to be youthful is the greatest
of all advantages to them. Raton was not so much handsome as attractive,
but what chiefly made her an object of desire was the fact that she had
put the price of twenty-five louis on her maidenhead. One could spend
a night with her, and make the trial for a Louis; the twenty-five were
only to be paid on the accomplishment of the great work.

It was notorious that numerous officers in the army and young barristers
had undertaken the operation unsuccessfully, and all of them had paid a
louis apiece.

This singular case was enough to whet my curiosity. I was not long
before I called on Raton, but not wishing to be duped by her I took due
precautions. I told her that she must come and sup with me, and that I
would give her the twenty-five louis if my happiness was complete, and
that if I were unsuccessful she should have six louis instead of one,
provided that she was not tied. Her aunt assured me that this was not
the case; but I could not help thinking of Victorine.

Raton came to supper with her aunt, who went to bed in an adjoining
closet when the dessert was brought in. The girl's figure was
exquisitely beautiful, and I felt that I had no small task before me.
She was kind, laughing, and defied me to the conquest of a fleece not
of gold, but of ebony, which the youth of Metz had assaulted in vain.
Perhaps the reader will think that I, who was no longer in my first
vigour, was discouraged by the thought of the many who had failed; but
I knew my powers, and it only amused me. Her former lovers had been
Frenchmen, more skilled in carrying strong places by assault than
in eluding the artfulness of a girl who corked herself up. I was an
Italian, and knew all about that, so I had no doubts as to my victory.

However, my preparations were superfluous; for as soon as Raton felt
from my mode of attack that the trick would be of no avail she met my
desires half-way, without trying the device which had made her seem to
be what she was no longer to her inexpert lovers. She gave herself up in
good faith, and when I had promised to keep the secret her ardours were
equal to mine. It was not her first trial, and I consequently need not
have given her the twenty-five louis, but I was well satisfied, and not
caring much for maidenheads rewarded her as if I had been the first to
bite at the cherry.

I kept Raton at a louis a day till the arrival of the Corticelli, and
she had to be faithful to me, as I never let her go out of my sight. I
liked the girl so well and found her so pleasant that I was sorry that
the Corticelli was coming; however, I was told of her arrival one night
just as I was leaving my box at the theatre. My footman told me in a
loud voice that my lady wife, my daughter, and a gentleman had just
arrived from Frankfort, and were awaiting me at the inn.

"Idiot," I exclaimed, "I have no wife and no daughter."

However, all Metz heard that my family had arrived.

The Corticelli threw her arms round my neck, laughing as usual, and
her mother presented me to the worthy man who had accompanied them from
Prague to Metz. He was an Italian named Month, who had lived for a long
time at Prague, where he taught his native language. I saw that M. Month
and the old woman were suitably accommodated, and I then led the young
fool into my room. I found her changed for the better; she had grown,
her shape was improved, and her pleasant manners made her a very
charming girl.



CHAPTER XV


     I Returned to Paris With The Corticelli, Now Countess
     Lascaris--The Hypostasis Fails--Aix-la-Chapelle--Duel--Mimi
     d'Ache--The Corticelli Turns Traitress to Her Own
     Disadvantage--Journey to Sulzbach

"Why did you allow your mother to call herself my wife, little
simpleton? Do you think that's a compliment to my judgment? She might
have given herself out for your governess, as she wishes to pass you off
as my daughter."

"My mother is an obstinate old woman who had rather be whipped at the
cart-tail than call herself my governess. She has very narrow ideas, and
always thinks that governess and procuress mean the same thing."

"She's an old fool, but we will make her hear reason either with her
will or in spite of it. But you look well dressed, have you made your
fortune?"

"At Prague I captivated the affections of Count N----, and he proved a
generous lover. But let your first action be to send back M. Month. The
worthy man has his family at Prague to look after; he can't afford to
stay long here."

"True, I will see about it directly."

The coach started for Frankfort the same evening, and summoning Month
I thanked him for his kindness and paid him generously, so he went off
well pleased.

I had nothing further to do at Metz, so I took leave of my new friends,
and in two days time I was at Nancy, where I wrote to Madame d'Urfe that
I was on my way back with a virgin, the last of the family of Lascaris,
who had once reigned at Constantinople. I begged her to receive her from
my hands, at a country house which belonged to her, where we should be
occupied for some days in cabalistic ceremonies.

She answered that she would await us at Pont-Carre, an old castle
four leagues distant from Paris, and that she would welcome the young
princess with all possible kindness.

"I owe her all the more friendship," added the sublime madwoman, "as the
family of Lascaris is connected with the family of d'Urfe, and as I am
to be born again in the seed of the happy virgin."

I felt that my task would be not exactly to throw cold water on her
enthusiasm, but to hold it in check and to moderate its manifestations.
I therefore explained to her by return of post that she must be content
to treat the virgin as a countess, not a princess, and I ended by
informing her that we should arrive, accompanied by the countess's
governess, on the Monday of Holy Week.

I spent twelve days at Nancy, instructing the young madcap in the part
she had to play, and endeavouring to persuade her mother that she must
content herself with being the Countess Lascaris's humble servant. It
was a task of immense difficulty; it was not enough to shew her that our
success depended on her submitting; I had to threaten to send her back
to Bologna by herself. I had good reason to repent of my perseverance.
That woman's obstinacy was an inspiration of my good angel's, bidding me
avoid the greatest mistake I ever made.

On the day appointed we reached Pont-Carre. Madame d'Urfe, whom I had
advised of the exact hour of our arrival, had the drawbridge of the
castle lowered, and stood in the archway in the midst of her people,
like a general surrendering with all the honours of war. The dear lady,
whose madness was but an excess of wit, gave the false princess so
distinguished a reception that she would have shewn her amazement if I
had not warned her of what she might expect. Thrice did she clasp her
to her breast with a tenderness that was quite maternal, calling her her
beloved niece, and explaining the entire pedigrees of the families of
Lascaris and d'Urfe to make the countess understand how she came to be
her niece. I was agreeably surprised to see the polite and dignified
air with which the Italian wench listened to all this; she did not even
smile, though the scene must have struck her as extremely laughable.

As soon as we got into the castle Madame d'Urfe proceeded to cense the
new-comer, who received the attention with all the dignity of an opera
queen, and then threw herself into the arms of the priestess, who
received her with enthusiastic affection.

At dinner the countess was agreeable and talkative, which won her Madame
d'Urfe's entire favour; her broken French being easily accounted for.
Laura, the countess's mother, only knew her native Italian, and so kept
silence. She was given a comfortable room, where her meals were brought
to her, and which she only left to hear mass.

The castle was a fortified building, and had sustained several sieges in
the civil wars. As its name, Pont-Carre, indicated, it was square, and
was flanked by four crenelated towers and surrounded by a broad moat.
The rooms were vast, and richly furnished in an old-fashioned way. The
air was full of venomous gnats who devoured us and covered our faces
with painful bites; but I had agreed to spend a week there, and I should
have been hard put to it to find a pretext for shortening the time.
Madame d'Urfe had a bed next, her own for her niece, but I was not
afraid of her attempting to satisfy herself as to the countess's
virginity, as the oracle had expressly forbidden it under pain or
failure. The operation was fixed for the fourteenth day of the April
moon.

On that day we had a temperate supper, after which I went to bed. A
quarter of an hour afterwards Madame d'Urfe came, leading the virgin
Lascaris. She undressed her, scented her, cast a lovely veil over her
body, and when the countess was laid beside me she remained, wishing to
be present at an operation which was to result in her being born again
in the course of nine months.

The act was consummated in form, and then Madame d'Urfe left us alone
for the rest of the night, which was well employed. Afterwards, the
countess slept with her aunt till the last day of the moon, when I asked
the oracle if the Countess Lascaris had conceived. That well might be,
for I had spared nothing to that intent; but I thought it more prudent
to make the oracle reply that the operation had failed because the small
Count d'Aranda had watched us behind a screen. Madame d'Urfe was in
despair, but I consoled her by a second reply, in which the oracle
declared that though the operation could only be performed in France in
April, it could take place out of that realm in May; but the inquisitive
young count, whose influence had proved so fatal, must be sent for at
least a year to some place a hundred leagues from Paris. The oracle also
indicated the manner in which he was to travel; he was to have a tutor,
a servant, and all in order.

The oracle had spoken, and no more was wanted. Madame d'Urfe thought of
an abbe she liked for his tutor, and the count was sent to Lyons, with
strong letters of commendation to M. de Rochebaron, a relation of his
patroness. The young man was delighted to travel, and never had any
suspicion of the way in which I had slandered him. It was not a mere
fancy which suggested this course of action. I had discovered that
the Corticelli was making up to him, and that her mother favoured the
intrigue. I had surprised her twice in the young man's room, and though
he only cared for the girl as a youth cares for all girls, the Signora
Laura did not at all approve of my opposing her daughter's designs.

Our next task was to fix on some foreign town where we could again
attempt the mysterious operation. We settled on Aix-la-Chapelle, and in
five or six days all was ready for the journey.

The Corticeili, angry with me for having thwarted her in her projects,
reproached me bitterly, and from that time began to be my enemy; she
even allowed herself to threaten me if I did not get back the pretty
boy, as she called him.

"You have no business to be jealous," said she, "and I am the mistress
of my own actions."

"Quite right, my dear," I answered; "but it is my business to see that
you do not behave like a prostitute in your present position."

The mother was in a furious rage, and said that she and her daughter
would return to Bologna, and to quiet them I promised to take them there
myself as soon as we had been to Aix-la-Chapelle.

Nevertheless I did not feel at ease, and to prevent any plots taking
place I hastened our departure.

We started in May, in a travelling carriage containing Madame d'Urfe,
myself, the false Lascaris, and her maid and favourite, named Brougnole.
We were followed by a coach with two seats; in it were the Signora Laura
and another servant. Two men-servants in full livery sat on the outside
of our travelling carriage. We stopped a day at Brussels, and another at
Liege. At Aix there were many distinguished visitors, and at the first
ball we attended Madame d'Urfe presented the Lascaris to two Princesses
of Mecklenburg as her niece. The false countess received their embraces
with much ease and modesty, and attracted the particular attention of
the Margrave of Baireuth and the Duchess of Wurtemberg, his daughter,
who took possession of her, and did not leave her till the end of the
ball.

I was on thorns the whole time, in terror lest the heroine might make
some dreadful slip. She danced so gracefully that everybody gazed at
her, and I was the person who was complimented on her performance.

I suffered a martyrdom, for these compliments seemed to be given with
malicious intent. I suspected that the ballet-girl had been discovered
beneath the countess, and I felt myself dishonoured. I succeeded in
speaking privately to the young wanton for a moment, and begged her to
dance like a young lady, and not like a chorus girl; but she was proud
of her success, and dared to tell me that a young lady might know how
to dance as well as a professional dancer, and that she was not going
to dance badly to please me. I was so enraged with her impudence, that I
would have cast her off that instant if it had been possible; but as
it was not, I determined that her punishment should lose none of its
sharpness by waiting; and whether it be a vice or a virtue, the desire
of revenge is never extinguished in my heart till it is satisfied.

The day after the ball Madame d'Urfe presented her with a casket
containing a beautiful watch set with brilliants, a pair of diamond
ear-rings, and a ring containing a ruby of fifteen carats. The whole
was worth sixty thousand francs. I took possession of it to prevent her
going off without my leave.

In the meanwhile I amused myself with play and making bad acquaintances.
The worst of all was a French officer, named d'Ache, who had a pretty
wife and a daughter prettier still. Before long the daughter had taken
possession of the heart which the Corticelli had lost, but as soon as
Madame d'Ache saw that I preferred her daughter to herself she refused
to receive me at her house.

I had lent d'Ache ten Louis, and I consequently felt myself entitled to
complain of his wife's conduct; but he answered rudely that as I only
went to the house after his daughter, his wife was quite right; that he
intended his daughter to make a good match, and that if my intentions
were honourable I had only to speak to the mother. His manner was still
more offensive than his words, and I felt enraged, but knowing the
brutal drunken characteristics of the man, and that he was always ready
to draw cold steel for a yes or a no, I was silent and resolved to
forget the girl, not caring to become involved with a man like her
father.

I had almost cured myself of my fancy when, a few days after our
conversation, I happened to go into a billiard-room where d'Ache was
playing with a Swiss named Schmit, an officer in the Swedish army. As
soon as d'Ache saw me he asked whether I would lay the ten Louis he owed
me against him.

"Yes," said I, "that will make double or quits."

Towards the end of the match d'Ache made an unfair stroke, which was so
evident that the marker told him of it; but as this stroke made him
the winner, d'Ache seized the stakes and put them in his pocket without
heeding the marker or the other player, who, seeing himself cheated
before his very eyes, gave the rascal a blow across the face with his
cue. D'Ache parried the blow with his hand, and drawing his sword rushed
at Schmit, who had no arms. The marker, a sturdy young fellow, caught
hold of d'Ache round the body, and thus prevented murder. The Swiss went
out, saying,

"We shall see each other again."

The rascally Frenchman cooled down, and said to me,

"Now, you see, we are quits."

"Very much quits."

"That's all very well; but, by God! you might have prevented the insult
which has dishonoured me."

"I might have done so, but I did not care to interfere. You are strong
enough to look after yourself. Schmit had not his sword, but I believe
him to be a brave man; and he will give you satisfaction if you will
return him his money, for there can be no doubt that you lost the
match."

An officer, named de Pyene, took me up and said that he himself would
give me the twenty louis which d'Ache had taken, but that the Swiss must
give satisfaction. I had no hesitation in promising that he would do so,
and said I would bring a reply to the challenge the next morning.

I had no fears myself. The man of honour ought always to be ready to use
the sword to defend himself from insult, or to give satisfaction for an
insult he has offered. I know that the law of duelling is a prejudice
which may be called, and perhaps rightly, barbarous, but it is a
prejudice which no man of honour can contend against, and I believed
Schmit to be a thorough gentleman.

I called on him at day-break, and found him still in bed. As soon as he
saw me, he said,

"I am sure you have come to ask me to fight with d'Ache. I am quite
ready to burn powder with him, but he must first pay me the twenty Louis
he robbed me of."

"You shall have them to-morrow, and I will attend you. D'Ache will be
seconded by M. de Pyene."

"Very good. I shall expect you at day-break."

Two hours after I saw de Pyene, and we fixed the meeting for the next
day, at six o'clock in the morning. The arms were to be pistols. We
chose a garden, half a league from the town, as the scene of the combat.

At day-break I found the Swiss waiting for me at the door of
his lodgings, carolling the 'ranz-des-vaches', so dear to his
fellow-countrymen. I thought that a good omen.

"Here you are," said he; "let us be off, then."

On the way, he observed, "I have only fought with men of honour up to
now, and I don't much care for killing a rascal; it's hangman's work."

"I know," I replied, "that it's very hard to have to risk one's life
against a fellow like that."

"There's no risk," said Schmit, with a laugh. "I am certain that I shall
kill him."

"How can you be certain?"

"I shall make him tremble."

He was right. This secret is infallible when it is applied to a coward.
We found d'Ache and de Pyene on the field, and five or six others who
must have been present from motives of curiosity.

D'Ache took twenty louis from his pocket and gave them to his enemy,
saying,

"I may be mistaken, but I hope to make you pay dearly for your
brutality." Then turning to me he said,

"I owe you twenty louis also;" but I made no reply.

Schmit put the money in his purse with the calmest air imaginable, and
making no reply to the other's boast placed himself between two trees,
distant about four paces from one another, and drawing two pistols from
his pocket said to d'Ache,

"Place yourself at a distance of ten paces, and fire first. I shall walk
to and fro between these two trees, and you may walk as far if you like
to do so when my turn comes to fire."

Nothing could be clearer or more calmly delivered than this explanation.

"But we must decide," said I, "who is to have the first shot."

"There is no need," said Schmit. "I never fire first, besides, the
gentleman has a right to the first shot."

De Pyene placed his friend at the proper distance and then stepped
aside, and d'Ache fired on his antagonist, who was walking slowly to and
fro without looking at him. Schmit turned round in the coolest manner
possible, and said,

"You have missed me, sir; I knew you would. Try again."

I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but
nothing of the kind. D'Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and
Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in
the air, and then covering d'Ache with his second pistol hit him in the
forehead and stretched him dead on the ground. He put back his pistols
into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely
continuing his walk. In two minutes I followed his example, after
ascertaining that the unfortunate d'Ache no longer breathed.

I was in a state of amazement. Such a duel was more like a combat of
romance than a real fact. I could not understand it; I had watched the
Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face.

I breakfasted with Madame d'Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the
full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the
mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again.
But the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and
turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be
impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.

My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the
first place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the
second because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the
incident to take vengeance on her.

I lavished consolations on Madame d'Urfe; and on consulting the oracle
I found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I
must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection
of more powerful spirits. I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy
with this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed
with her mother beside her.

"You have convulsions, have you, dearest?" said I.

"No, I haven't. I am quite well, but all the same I shall have them till
you give me back my jewel-casket."

"You are getting wicked, my poor child; this comes of following your
mother's advice. As for the casket, if you are going to behave like
this, probably you will have it."

"I will reveal all."

"You will not be believed; and I shall send you back to Bologna without
letting you take any of the presents which Madame d'Urfe has given you."

"You ought to have given me back the casket when I declared myself with
child."

Signora Laura told me that this was only too true, though I was not the
father.

"Who is, then?" I asked.

"Count N----, whose mistress she was at Prague."

It did not seem probable, as she had no symptoms of pregnancy; still it
might be so. I was obliged to plot myself to bring the plots of these
two rascally women to nought, and without saying anything to them I shut
myself up with Madame d'Urfe to enquire of the oracle concerning the
operation which was to make her happy.

After several answers, more obscure than any returned from the oracular
tripod at Delphi, the interpretation of which I left to the infatuated
Madame d'Urfe, she discovered herself--and I took care not to contradict
her--that the Countess Lascaris had gone mad. I encouraged her fears,
and succeeded in making her obtain from a cabalistic pyramid the
statement that the reason the princess had not conceived was that she
had been defiled by an evil genius--an enemy of the Fraternity of the
Rosy Cross. This put Madame d'Urfe fairly on the way, and she added on
her own account that the girl must be with child by a gnome.

She then erected another pyramid to obtain guidance on our quest, and I
so directed things that the answer came that she must write to the moon.

This mad reply, which should have brought her to her senses, only made
her more crazy than ever. She was quite ecstatic, and I am sure that if
I had endeavoured to shew her the nothingness of all this I show have
had nothing for my trouble. Her conclusion would probably have been that
I was possessed by an evil spirit, and was no longer a true Rosy Cross.
But I had no idea of undertaking a cure which would have done me harm
and her no 'good. Her chimerical notions made her happy, and the cold
naked truth would doubtless have made her unhappy.

She received the order to write to the moon with the greater delight as
she knew what ceremonies were to be observed in addressing that planet;
but she could not dispense with the assistance of an adept, and I knew
she would reckon on me. I told her I should always be ready to serve
her, but that, as she knew herself, we should have to wait for the first
phase of the new moon. I was very glad to gain time, for I had lost
heavily at play, and I could not leave Aix-la-Chapelle before a bill,
which I had drawn on M. d'O. of Amsterdam, was cashed. In the mean time
we agreed that as the Countess Lascaris had become mad, we must not pay
any attention to what she might say, as the words would not be hers but
would proceed from the evil spirit who possessed her.

Nevertheless, we determined that as her state was a pitiable one, and
should be as much alleviated as possible, she should continue to dine
with us, but that in the evening she was to go to her governess and
sleep with her.

After having thus disposed of Madame d'Urfe to disbelieve whatever the
Corticelli cared to tell her, and to concentrate all her energies on the
task of writing to Selenis, the intelligence of the moon, I set myself
seriously to work to regain the money I had lost at play; and here
my cabala was no good to me. I pledged the Corticelli's casket for a
thousand louis, and proceeded to play in an English club where I had a
much better chance of winning than with Germans or Frenchmen.

Three or four days after d'Ache's death, his widow wrote me a note
begging me to call on her. I found her in company with de Pyene. She
told me in a lugubrious voice that her husband had left many debts
unsettled, and that his creditors had seized everything she possessed;
and--that she was thus unable to pay the expenses of a journey, though
she wanted to take her daughter with her to Colmar, and there to rejoin
her family.

"You caused my husband's death," she added, "and I ask you to give me
a thousand crowns; if you refuse me I shall commence a lawsuit against
you, for as the Swiss officer has left, you are the only person I can
prosecute."

"I am surprised at your taking such a tone towards me," I replied,
coldly, "and were it not for the respect I feel for your misfortune, I
should answer as bitterly as you deserve. In the first place I have not
a thousand crowns to throw away, and if I had I would not sacrifice my
money to threats. I am curious to know what kind of a case you could
get up against me in the courts of law. As for Schmit, he fought like a
brave gentleman, and I don't think you could get much out of him if he
were still here. Good-day, madam."

I had scarcely got fifty paces from the house when I was joined by de
Pyene, who said that rather than Madame d'Ache should have to complain
of me he would cut my throat on the spot. We neither of us had swords.

"Your intention is not a very flattering one," said I, "and there is
something rather brutal about it. I had rather not have any affair of
the kind with a man whom I don't know and to whom I owe nothing."

"You are a coward."

"I would be, you mean, if I were to imitate you. It is a matter of
perfect indifference to me what opinion you may have on the subject.

"You will be sorry for this."

"Maybe, but I warn you that I never go out unattended by a pair of
pistols, which I keep in good order and know how to use." So saying I
shewd him the pistols, and took one in my right hand.

At this the bully uttered an oath and we separated.

At a short distance from the place where this scene had occurred I met a
Neapolitan named Maliterni, a lieutenant-colonel and aide to the Prince
de Condo, commander-in-chief of the French army. This Maliterni was a
boon companion, always ready to oblige, and always short of money. We
were friends, and I told him what had happened.

"I should be sorry," said I, "to have anything to do with a fellow like
de Pyene, and if you can rid me of him I promise you a hundred crowns."

"I daresay that can be managed," he replied, "and I will tell you what I
can do to-morrow!"

In point of fact, he brought me news the next day that my cut-throat had
received orders from his superior officer to leave Aix-la-Chapelle at
day-break, and at the same time he gave me a passport from the Prince de
Conde.

I confess that this was very pleasant tidings. I have never feared to
cross my sword with any man, though never sought the barbarous pleasure
of spilling men's blood; but on this occasion I felt an extreme dislike
to a duel with a fellow who was probably of the same caste as his friend
d'Ache.

I therefore gave Maliterni my heartiest thanks, as well as the hundred
crowns I had promised him, which I considered so well employed that I
did not regret their loss.

Maliterni, who was a jester of the first water, and a creature of the
Marshal d'Estrees, was lacking neither in wit nor knowledge; but he
was deficient in a sense of order and refinement. He was a pleasant
companion, for his gaiety was inexhaustible and he had a large knowledge
of the world. He attained the rank of field-marshal in 1768, and went to
Naples to marry a rich heiress, whom he left a widow a year after.

The day after de Pyene's departure I received a note from Mdlle. d'Ache,
begging me, for the sake of her sick mother, to come and see her. I
answered that I would be at such a place at such a time, and that she
could say what she liked to me.

I found her at the place and time I appointed, with her mother, whose
illness, it appeared, did not prevent her from going out. She called me
her persecutor, and said that since the departure of her best friend,
de Pyene, she did not know where to turn; that she had pledged all her
belongings, and that I, who was rich, ought to aid her, if I were not
the vilest of men.

"I feel for your condition," I replied, "as I feel your abuse of me; and
I cannot help saying that you have shewn yourself the vilest of women
in inciting de Pyene, who may be an honest man for all I know, to
assassinate me. In fine, rich or not, and though I owe you nothing, I
will give you enough money to take your property out of pawn, and I may
possibly take you to Colmar myself, but you must first consent to my
giving your charming daughter a proof of my affection."

"And you dare to make this horrible proposal to me?"

"Horrible or not, I do make it."

"I will never consent."

"Good day, madam."

I called the waiter to pay him for the refreshments I had ordered, and
I gave the girl six double louis, but her proud mother forbade her to
accept the money from me. I was not surprised, in spite of her distress;
for the mother was in reality still more charming than the daughter,
and she knew it. I ought to have given her the preference, and thus have
ended the dispute, but who can account for his whims? I felt that she
must hate me, for she did not care for her daughter, and it must have
humiliated her bitterly to be obliged to regard her as a victorious
rival.

I left them still holding the six double louis, which pride or scorn had
refused, and I went to the faro-table and decided in sacrificing them
to fortune; but that capricious deity, as proud as the haughty widow,
refused them, and though I left them on the board for five deals I
almost broke the bank. An Englishman, named Martin, offered to go shares
with me, and I accepted, as I knew he was a good player; and in the
course of eight or ten days we did such good business that I was not
only able to take the casket out of pledge and to cover all losses, but
made a considerable profit in addition.

About this period, the Corticelli, in her rage against me, had told
Madame d'Urfe the whole history of her life, of our acquaintance, and
of her pregnancy. But the more truthfully she told her story so much
the more did the good lady believe her to be mad, and we often laughed
together at the extraordinary fancies of the traitress. Madame d'Urfe
put all her trust in the instructions which Selenis would give in reply
to her letter.

Nevertheless, as the girl's conduct displeased me, I made her eat her
meals with her mother, while I kept Madame d'Urfe company. I assured her
that we should easily find another vessel of election, the madness
of the Countess Lascaris having made her absolutely incapable of
participating in our mysterious rites.

Before long, d'Ache's widow found herself obliged to give me her Mimi;
but I won her by kindness, and in such a way that the mother could
pretend with decency to know nothing about it. I redeemed all the goods
she had pawned, and although the daughter had not yet yielded entirely
to my ardour, I formed the plan of taking them to Colmar with Madame
d'Urfe. To make up the good lady's mind, I resolved to let that be one
of the instructions from the moon, and this she would not only obey
blindly but would have no suspicions as to my motive.

I managed the correspondence between Selenis and Madame d'Urfe in the
following manner:

On the day appointed, we supped together in a garden beyond the town
walls, and in a room on the ground floor of the house I had made all the
necessary preparations, the letter which was to fall from the moon,
in reply to Madame d'Urfe's epistle, being in my pocket. At a little
distance from the chamber of ceremonies I had placed a large bath filled
with lukewarm water and perfumes pleasing to the deity of the night,
into which we were to plunge at the hour of the moon, which fell at one
o'clock.

When we had burnt incense, and sprinkled the essences appropriate to
the cult of Selenis, we took off all our clothes, and holding the letter
concealed in my left hand, with the right I graciously led Madame d'Urfe
to the brink of the bath. Here stood an alabaster cup containing
spirits of wine which I kindled, repeating magical words which I did not
understand, but which she said after me, giving me the letter addressed
to Selenis. I burnt the letter in the flame of the spirits, beneath the
light of the moon, and the credulous lady told me she saw the characters
she had traced ascending in the rays of the planet.

We then got into the bath, and the letter, which was written in silver
characters on green paper appeared on the surface of the water in the
course of ten minutes. As soon as Madame d'Urfe saw it, she picked it up
reverently and got out of the bath with me.

We dried and scented ourselves, and proceeded to put on our clothes.
As soon as we were in a state of decency I told Madame d'Urfe that she
might read the epistle, which she had placed on a scented silk cushion.
She obeyed, and I saw sadness visibly expressed on her features when she
saw that her hypostasis was deferred till the arrival of Querilinthus,
whom she would see with me at Marseilles in the spring of next year. The
genius also said that the Countess Lascaris could not only do her harm,
and that she should consult me as to the best means of getting rid of
her. The letter ended by ordering her not to leave at Aix a lady who
had lost her husband, and had a daughter who was destined to be of great
service to the fraternity of the R. C. She was to take them to Alsace,
and not to leave them till they were there, and safe from that danger
which threatened them if they were left to themselves.

Madame d'Urfe, who with all her folly was an exceedingly benevolent
woman, commended the widow to my care enthusiastically, and seemed
impatient to hear her whole history. I told her all the circumstances
which I thought would strengthen her in her resolution to befriend them,
and promised to introduce the ladies to them at the first opportunity.

We returned to Aix, and spent the night in discussing the phantoms which
coursed through her brain. All was going on well, and my only care was
for the journey to Aix, and how to obtain the complete enjoyment of Mimi
after having so well deserved her favours.

I had a run of luck at play the next day, and in the evening I gave
Madame d'Ache an agreeable surprise by telling her that I should
accompany her and her Mimi to Colmar. I told her that I should begin by
introducing her to the lady whom I had the honour to accompany, and I
begged her to be ready by the next day as the marchioness was impatient
to see her. I could see that she could scarcely believe her ears,
for she thought Madame d'Urfe was in love with me, and she could not
understand her desire to make the acquaintance of two ladies who might
be dangerous rivals.

I conducted them to Madame d'Urfe at the appointed hour, and they were
received with a warmth which surprised them exceedingly, for they could
not be expected to know that their recommendation came from the moon.
We made a party of four, and while the two ladies talked together in
the fashion of ladies who have seen the world, I paid Mimi a particular
attention, which her mother understood very well, but which Madame
d'Urfe attributed to the young lady's connection with the Rosy Cross.

In the evening we all went to a ball, and there the Corticelli, who
was always trying to annoy me, danced as no young lady would dance. She
executed rapid steps, pirouetted, cut capers, and shewed her legs; in
short, she behaved like a ballet-girl. I was on thorns. An officer, who
either ignored, or pretended to ignore, my supposed relation to her,
asked me if she was a professional dancer. I heard another man behind me
say that he thought he remembered seeing her on the boards at Prague. I
resolved on hastening my departure, as I foresaw that if I stayed much
longer at Aix the wretched girl would end by costing me my life.

As I have said, Madame d'Ache had a good society manner, and this put
her in Madame d'Urfe's good graces, who saw in her politeness a new
proof of the favour of Selenis. Madame d'Ache felt, I suppose, that
she awed me some return after all I had done for her, and left the ball
early, so that when I took Mimi home I found myself alone with her, and
at perfect liberty to do what I liked. I profited by the opportunity,
and remained with Mimi for two hours, finding her so complaisant and
even passionate that when I left her I had nothing more to desire.

In three days time I provided the mother and daughter with their outfit,
and we left Aix gladly in an elegant and convenient travelling carriage
which I had provided. Half an hour before we left I made an acquaintance
which afterwards proved fatal to me. A Flemish officer, unknown to me,
accosted me, and painted his destitute condition in such sad colours
that I felt obliged to give him twelve louis. Ten minutes after, he
gave me a paper in which he acknowledged the debt, and named the time
in which he could pay it. From the paper I ascertained that his name was
Malingan. In ten months the reader will hear the results.

Just as we were starting I shewed the Corticelli a carriage with four
places, in which she, her mother, and the two maids, were to travel. At
this she trembled, her pride was wounded, and for a moment I thought she
was going out of her mind; she rained sobs, abuse, and curses on me. I
stood the storm unmoved, however, and Madame d'Urfe only laughed at her
niece's paroxysms, and seemed delighted to find herself sitting opposite
to me with the servant of Selenis beside her, while Mimi was highly
pleased to be so close to me.

We got to Liege at nightfall on the next day, and I contrived to make
Madame d'Urfe stay there the day following, wishing to get horses to
take us through the Ardennes, and thus to have the charming Mimi longer
in my possession.

I rose early and went out to see the town. By the great bridge, a woman,
so wrapped up in a black mantilla that only the tip of her nose was
visible, accosted me, and asked me to follow her into a house with an
open door which she shewed me.

"As I have not the pleasure of knowing you," I replied, "prudence will
not allow me to do so."

"You do know me, though," she replied, and taking me to the corner of a
neighbouring street she shewed me her face. What was my surprise to see
the fair Stuart of Avignon, the statue of the Fountain of Vaucluse. I
was very glad to meet her.

In my curiosity I followed her into the house, to a room on the first
floor, where she welcomed me most tenderly. It was all no good, for I
felt angry with her, and despised her advances, no doubt, because I
had Mimi, and wished to keep all my love for her. However, I took three
louis out of my purse and gave them to her, asking her to tell me her
history.

"Stuart," she said, "was only my keeper; my real name is Ranson, and I
am the mistress of a rich landed proprietor. I got back to Liege after
many sufferings."

"I am delighted to hear that you are more prosperous now, but it must
be confessed that your behaviour at Avignon was both preposterous and
absurd. But the subject is not worth discussing. Good day, madam."

I then returned to my hotel to write an account of what I had seen to
the Marquis Grimaldi.

The next day we left Liege, and were two days passing through the
Ardennes. This is one of the strangest tracts in Europe: a vast forest,
the traditions of which furnished Ariosto with some splendid passages.

There is no town in the forest, and though one is obliged to cross it to
pass from one country to another, hardly any of the necessaries of life
are to be found in it.

The enquirer will seek in vain for vices or virtues, or manners of any
kind. The inhabitants are devoid of correct ideas, but have wild notions
of their own on the power of men they style scholars. It is enough to
be a doctor to enjoy the reputation of an astrologer and a wizard.
Nevertheless the Ardennes have a large population, as I was assured
that there were twelve hundred churches in the forest. The people are
good-hearted and even pleasant, especially the young girls; but as a
general rule the fair sex is by no means fair in those quarters. In this
vast district watered by the Meuse is the town of Bouillon--a regular
hole, but in my time it was the freest place in Europe. The Duke of
Bouillon was so jealous of his rights that he preferred the exercise of
his prerogatives to all the honours he might have enjoyed at the Court
of France. We stayed a day at Metz, but did not call on anyone; and in
three days we reached Colmar, where we left Madame d'Ache, whose good
graces I had completely won. Her family, in extremely comfortable
circumstances, received the mother and daughter with great affection.
Mimi wept bitterly when I left her, but I consoled her by saying that
I would come back before long. Madame d'Urfe seemed not to mind leaving
them, and I consoled myself easily enough. While congratulating myself
on having made mother and daughter happy, I adored the secret paths and
ways of Divine Providence.

On the following day we went to Sulzbach, where the Baron of Schaumburg,
who knew Madame d'Urfe, gave us a warm welcome. I should have been sadly
boared in this dull place if it had not been for gaming. Madame d'Urfe,
finding herself in need of company, encouraged the Corticelli to hope
to regain my good graces, and, consequently, her own. The wretched girl,
seeing how easily I had defeated her projects, and to what a pass
of humiliation I had brought her, had changed her part, and was now
submissive enough. She flattered herself that she would regain the
favour she had completely lost, and she thought the day was won when she
saw that Madame d'Ache and her daughter stayed at Colmar. But what she
had more at heart than either my friendship or Madame d'Urfe's was the
jewel-casket; but she dared not ask for it, and her hopes of seeing it
again were growing dim. By her pleasantries at table which made Madame
d'Urfe laugh she succeeded in giving me a few amorous twinges; but still
I did not allow my feelings to relax my severity, and she continued to
sleep with her mother.

A week after our arrival at Sulzbach I left Madame d'Urfe with the Baron
of Schaumburg, and I went to Colmar in the hope of good fortune. But I
was disappointed, as the mother and daughter had both made arrangements
for getting married.

A rich merchant, who had been in love with the mother eighteen years
before, seeing her a widow and still pretty, felt his early flames
revive, and offered his hand and was accepted. A young advocate found
Mimi to his taste, and asked her in marriage. The mother and daughter,
fearing the results of my affection, and finding it would be a good
match, lost no time in giving their consent. I was entertained in the
family, and supped in the midst of a numerous and choice assemblage; but
seeing that I should only annoy the ladies and tire myself in waiting
for some chance favour if I stayed, I bade them adieu and returned to
Sulzbach the next morning. I found there a charming girl from Strasburg,
named Salzmann, three or four gamesters who had come to drink the
waters, and several ladies, to whom I shall introduce the reader in the
ensuing chapter.



CHAPTER XVI


     I Send The Corticelli to Turin--Helen is Initiated Into The
     Mysteries of Love I Go to Lyons--My Arrival at Turin

One of the ladies, Madame Saxe, was intended by nature to win the
devotion of a man of feeling; and if she had not had a jealous officer
in her train who never let her go out of his sight, and seemed to
threaten anyone who aspired to please, she would probably have had
plenty of admirers. This officer was fond of piquet, but the lady was
always obliged to sit close beside him, which she seemed to do with
pleasure.

In the afternoon I played with him, and continued doing so for five or
six days. After that I could stand it no longer, as when he had won ten
or twelve louis he invariably rose and left me to myself. His name was
d'Entragues; he was a fine-looking man, though somewhat thin, and had a
good share of wit and knowledge of the world.

We had not played together for two days, when one afternoon he asked if
I would like to take my revenge.

"No, I think not," said I, "for we don't play on the same principle. I
play for amusement's sake and you play to win money."

"What do you mean? Your words are offensive."

"I didn't mean them to be offensive, but as a matter of fact, each time
we have played you have risen after a quarter of an hour."

"You ought to be obliged to me, as otherwise you would have lost
heavily."

"Possibly; but I don't think so."

"I can prove it to you:"

"I accept the offer, but the first to leave the table must forfeit fifty
Louis."

"I agree; but money down."

"I never play on credit."

I ordered a waiter to bring cards, and I went to fetch four or five
rolls of a hundred Louis each. We began playing for five Louis the game,
each player putting down the fifty Louis wagered.

We began to play at three, and at nine o'clock d'Entragues said we might
take some supper.

"I am not hungry," I replied, "but you can go if you want me to put the
hundred Louis in my pocket."

He laughed at this and went on playing, but this lacy fair scowled at
me, though I did not care in the least for that. All the guests went to
supper, and returned to keep us company till midnight, but at that hour
we found ourselves alone. D'Entragues saw what kind of man he had got
hold of and said never a word, while I only opened my lips to score; we
played with the utmost coolness.

At six o'clock the ladies and gentlemen who were taking the waters began
to assemble. We were applauded for our determination, in spite of our
grim look. The Louis were on the table; I had lost a hundred, and yet
the game was going in my favour.

At nine the fair Madame Saxe put in an appearance, and shortly after
Madame d'Urfe came in with M. de Schaumburg. Both ladies advised us
to take a cup of chocolate. D'Entragues was the first to consent, and
thinking that I was almost done he said,--

"Let us agree that the first man who asks for food, who absents himself
for more than a quarter of an hour, or who falls asleep in his chair,
loses the bet."

"I will take you at your word," I replied, "and I adhere to all your
conditions."

The chocolate came, we took it, and proceeded with our play. At noon we
were summoned to dinner, but we both replied that we were not hungry. At
four o'clock we allowed ourselves to be persuaded into taking some soup.
When supper-time came and we were still playing, people began to think
that the affair was getting serious, and Madame Saxe urged us to divide
the wager. D'Entragues, who had won a hundred louis, would have gladly
consented, but I would not give in, and M. de Schaumburg pronounced me
within my rights. My adversary might have abandoned the stake and still
found himself with a balance to the good, but avarice rather than pride
prevented his doing so. I felt the loss myself, but what I cared chiefly
about was the point of honour. I still looked fresh, while he resembled
a disinterred corpse. As Madame Saxe urged me strongly to give way, I
answered that I felt deeply grieved at not being able to satisfy such a
charming woman, but that there was a question of honour in the case;
and I was determined not to yield to my antagonist if I sat there till I
fell dead to the ground.

I had two objects in speaking thus: I wanted to frighten him and to make
him jealous of me. I felt certain that a man in a passion of jealousy
would be quite confused, and I hoped his play would suffer accordingly,
and that I should not have the mortification of losing a hundred louis
to his superior play, though I won the fifty louis of the wager.

The fair Madame Saxe gave me a glance of contempt and left us, but
Madame d'Urfe, who believed I was infallible, avenged me by saying to
d'Entragues, in a tone of the profoundest conviction,--

"O Lord! I pity you, sir."

The company did not return after supper, and we were left alone to our
play. We played on all the night, and I observed my antagonist's face as
closely as the cards. He began to lose his composure, and made mistakes,
his cards got mixed up, and his scoring was wild. I was hardly less done
up than he; I felt myself growing weaker, and I hoped to see him fall
to the ground every moment, as I began to be afraid of being beaten in
spite of the superior strength of my constitution. I had won back my
money by day-break, and I cavilled with him for being away for more
than a quarter of an hour. This quarrel about nothing irritated him,
and roused me up; the difference of our natures produced these different
results, and my stratagem succeeded because it was impromptu, and
could not have been foreseen. In the same way in war, sudden stratagems
succeed.

At nine o'clock Madame Saxe came in, her lover was losing.

"Now, sir," she said to me, "you may fairly yield."

"Madam," said I, "in hope of pleasing you, I will gladly divide the
stakes and rise from the table."

The tone of exaggerated gallantry with which I pronounced these words,
put d'Entragues into a rage, and he answered sharply that he would not
desist till one of us was dead.

With a glance at the lady which was meant to be lovelorn, but which must
have been extremely languid in my exhausted state, I said,--

"You see, Madam, that I am not the more obstinate of the two."

A dish of soup was served to us, but d'Entragues, who was in the last
stage of exhaustion, had no sooner swallowed the soup than he fell from
his chair in a dead faint. He was soon taken up, and after I had given
six louis to the marker who had been watching for forty-eight hours,
I pocketed the gold, and went to the apothecary's where I took a mild
emetic. Afterwards I went to bed and slept for a few hours, and at three
o'clock I made an excellent dinner.

D'Entragues remained in his room till the next day. I expected a
quarrel, but the night brings counsel, and I made a mistake. As soon as
he saw me he ran up to me and embraced me, saying,--

"I made a silly bet, but you have given me a lesson which will last me
all my days, and I am much obliged to you for it."

"I am delighted to hear it, provided that your health has not suffered."

"No, I am quite well, but we will play no more together."

"Well, I hope we shan't play against each other any more."

In the course of eight or ten days I took Madame d'Urfe and the
pretended Lascaris to Bale. We put up at the inn of the famous Imhoff,
who swindled us, but, all the same, the "Three Kings" is the best inn
in the town. I think I have noted that noon at Bale is at eleven
o'clock--an absurdity due to some historic event, which I had explained
to me but have forgotten. The inhabitants are said to be subject to
a kind of madness, of which they are cured by taking the waters of
Sulzbach; but they 'get it again as soon as they return.

We should have stayed at Bale some time, if it had not been for an
incident which made me hasten our departure. It was as follows:

My necessities had obliged me to forgive the Corticelli to a certain
extent, and when I came home early I spent the night with her; but when
I came home late, as often happened, I slept in my own room. The little
hussy, in the latter case, slept also alone in a room next to
her mother's, through whose chamber one had to pass to get to the
daughter's.

One night I came in at one o'clock, and not feeling inclined to sleep,
I took a candle and went in search of my charmer. I was rather surprised
to find Signora Laura's door half open, and just as I was going in the
old woman came forward and took me by the arm, begging me not to go into
her daughter's room.

"Why?" said I.

"She has been very poorly all the evening, and she is in need of sleep."

"Very good; then I will sleep too."

So saying I pushed the mother to one side, and entering the girl's room
I found her in bed with someone who was hiding under the sheets.

I 'gazed at the picture for a moment and then began to laugh, and
sitting down on the bed begged to enquire the name of the happy
individual whom I should have the pleasure of throwing out of the
window. On a chair I saw the coat, trousers, hat, and cane of the
gentleman; but as I had my two trusty pistols about me I knew I had
nothing to fear; however, I did not want to make a noise.

With tears in her eyes, and trembling all over, the girl took my hand
and begged me to forgive her.

"It's a young lord," said she, "and I don't even know his name."

"Oh, he is a young lord, is he? and you don't know his name, you little
hussy, don't you? Well, he will tell me himself."

So saying, I took a pistol and vigorously stripped the sheets off the
cuckoo who had got into my nest. I saw the face of a young man whom I
did not know, his head covered with a nightcap, but the rest perfectly
naked, as indeed was my mistress. He turned his back to me to get his
shirt which he had thrown on the floor, but seizing him by the arm I
held him firmly, with my pistol to his forehead.

"Kindly tell me your name, fair sir."

"I am Count B----, canon of Bale."

"And do you think you have been performing an ecclesiastical function
here?"

"No sir, no, and I hope you will forgive me and the lady too, for I am
the only guilty party."

"I am not asking you whether she is guilty or not."

"Sir, the countess is perfectly innocent."

I felt in a good temper, and far from being angry I was strongly
inclined to laugh. I found the picture before me an attractive one; it
was amusing and voluptuous. The sight of the two nudities on the bed was
a truly lascivious one, and I remained contemplating it in silence for
a quarter of an hour, occupied in resisting a strong temptation to take
off my clothes and lie beside them. The only thing which prevented my
yielding to it was the fear that I might find the canon to be a fool,
incapable of playing the part with dignity. As for the Corticelli, she
soon passed from tears to laughter, and would have done it well, but
if, as I feared, the canon was a blockhead, I should have been degrading
myself.

I felt certain that neither of them had guessed my thoughts, so I rose
and told the canon to put on his clothes.

"No one must hear anything more of this," said I, "but you and I will go
to a distance of two hundred paces and burn a little powder."

"No, no, sir," cried my gentleman, "you may take me where you like, and
kill me if you please, but I was not meant for a fighting man."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir, and I only became a priest to escape the fatal duty of
duelling."

"Then you are a coward, and will not object to a good thrashing?"

"Anything you like, but it would be cruelty, for my love blinded me.
I only came here a quarter of an hour ago, and the countess and her
governess were both asleep."

"You are a liar."

"I had only just taken off my shirt when you came, and I have never seen
this angel before."

"And that's gospel truth," said the Corticelli.

"Are you aware that you are a couple of impudent scoundrels? And as for
you, master canon, you deserve to be roasted like St. Laurence."

In the meanwhile the wretched ecclesiastic had huddled on his clothes.

"Follow me, sir," said I, in a tone which froze the marrow of his bones;
and I accordingly took him to my room.

"What will you do," said I, "if I forgive you and let you go without
putting you to shame?"

"I will leave in an hour and a half, and you shall never see me here
again; but even if we meet in the future, you will find me always ready
to do you a service."

"Very good. Begone, and in the future take more precautions in your
amorous adventures."

After this I went to bed, well pleased with what I had seen and what I
had done, for I now had complete power over the Corticelli.

In the morning I called on her as soon as I got up, and told her to pack
up her things, forbidding her to leave her room till she got into the
carriage.

"I shall say I am ill."

"Just as you please, but nobody will take any notice of you."

I did not wait for her to make any further objections, but proceeded to
tell the tale of what had passed to Madame d'Urfe, slightly embroidering
the narrative. She laughed heartily, and enquired of the oracle what
must be done with the Lascaris after her evident pollution by the evil
genius disguised as a priest. The oracle replied that we must set out
the next day for Besancon, whence she would go to Lyons and await me
there, while I would take the countess to Geneva, and thus send her back
to her native country.

The worthy visionary was enchanted with this arrangement, and saw in it
another proof of the benevolence of Selenis, who would thus give her an
opportunity of seeing young Aranda once more. It was agreed that I was
to rejoin her in the spring of the following year, to perform the great
operation which was to make her be born a man. She had not the slightest
doubts as to the reasonableness of this performance.

All was ready, and the next day we started; Madame d'Urfe and I in the
travelling carriage, and the Corticelli, her mother, and the servants in
another conveyance.

When we got to Besancon Madame d'Urfe left me, and on the next day I
journeyed towards Geneva with the mother and daughter.

On the way I not only did not speak to my companions, I did not so much
as look at them. I made them have their meals with a servant from the
Franche Comte, whom I had taken on M. de Schaumburg's recommendation.

I went to my banker, and asked him to get me a good coachman, who would
take two ladies of my acquaintance to Turin.

When I got back to the inn I wrote to the Chevalier Raiberti, sending
him a bill of exchange. I warned him that in three or four days after
the receipt of my letter he would be accosted by a Bolognese dancer and
her mother, bearing a letter of commendation. I begged him to see that
they lodged in a respectable house, and to pay for them on my behalf.
I also said that I should be much obliged if he would contrive that she
should dance, even for nothing, at the carnival, and I begged him to
warn her that, if I heard any tales about her when I came to Turin, our
relations would be at an end.

The following day a clerk of M. Tronchin's brought a coachman for me
to see. The man said he was ready to start as soon as he had had
his dinner. I confirmed the agreement he had made with the banker, I
summoned the two Corticellis, and said to the coachman,

"These are the persons you are to drive, and they will pay you when they
reach Turin in safety with their luggage. You are to take four days and
a half for the journey, as is stipulated in the agreement, of which
they have one copy and you another." An hour after he called to put the
luggage in.

The Corticelli burst into tears, but I was not so cruel as to send her
away without any consolation. Her bad conduct had been severely enough
punished already. I made her dine with me, and as I gave her the letter
for M. Raiberti, and twenty-five Louis for the journey, I told her what
I had written to the gentleman, who would take good care of them. She
asked me for a trunk containing three dresses and a superb mantle which
Madame d'Urfe had given her before she became mad, but I said that
we would talk of that at Turin. She dared not mention the casket, but
continued weeping; however, she did not move me to pity. I left her much
better off than when I first knew her; she had good clothes, good linen,
jewels, and an exceedingly pretty watch I had given her; altogether a
good deal more than she deserved.

As she was going I escorted her to the carriage, less for politeness'
sake than to commend her once more to the coachman. When she was fairly
gone I felt as if a load had been taken off my back, and I went to look
up my worthy syndic, whom the reader will not have forgotten. I had not
written to him since I was in Florence, and I anticipated the pleasure
of seeing his surprise, which was extreme. But after gazing at me for
a moment he threw his arms round my neck, kissed me several times, and
said he had not expected the pleasure of seeing me.

"How are our sweethearts getting on?"

"Excellently. They are always talking about you and regretting your
absence; they will go wild with joy when they know you are here."

"You must tell them directly, then."

"I will go and warn them that we shall all sup together this evening.
By the way, M. de Voltaire has given up his house at Delices to M. de
Villars, and has gone to live at Ferney."

"That makes no difference to me, as I was not thinking of calling on him
this time. I shall be here for two or three weeks, and I mean to devote
my time to you."

"You are too good."

"Will you give me writing materials before you go out? I will write a
few letters while you are away."

He put me in possession of his desk, and I wrote to my late housekeeper,
Madame Lebel, telling her that I was going to spend three weeks at
Geneva, and that if I were sure of seeing her I would gladly pay a
visit to Lausanne. Unfortunately, I also wrote to the bad Genoese poet,
Ascanio Pogomas, or Giaccomo Passano, whom I had met at Leghorn. I told
him to go to Turin and to wait for me there. At the same time I wrote
to M. F----, to whom I had commended him, asking him to give the poet
twelve Louis for the journey.

My evil genius made me think of this man, who was an imposing-looking
fellow, and had all the air of a magician, to introduce him to Madame
d'Urfe as a great adept. You will see, dear reader, in the course of a
year whether I had reason to repent of this fatal inspiration.

As the syndic and I were on our way to our young friend's house I saw an
elegant English carriage for sale, and I exchanged it for mine, giving
the owner a hundred Louis as well. While the bargain was going on the
uncle of the young theologian who argued so well, and to whom I had
given such pleasant lessons in physiology, came up to me, embraced me,
and asked me to dine with him the next day.

Before we got to the house the syndic informed me that we should find
another extremely pretty but uninitiated girl present.

"All the better," said I, "I shall know how to regulate my conduct, and
perhaps I may succeed in initiating her."

In my pocket I had placed a casket containing a dozen exquisite rings.
I had long been aware that such trifling presents are often very
serviceable.

The moment of meeting those charming girls once more was one of the
happiest I have ever enjoyed. In their greeting I read delight and love
of pleasure. Their love was without envy or jealousy, or any ideas which
would have injured their self-esteem. They felt worthy of my regard, as
they had lavished their favours on me without any degrading feelings,
and drawn by the same emotion that had drawn me.

The presence of the neophyte obliged us to greet each other with what is
called decency, and she allowed me to kiss her without raising her eyes,
but blushing violently.

After the usual commonplaces had passed and we had indulged in some
double meanings which made us laugh and her look thoughtful, I told her
she was pretty as a little love, and that I felt sure that her mind, as
beautiful as its casket, could harbour no prejudices.

"I have all the prejudices which honour and religion suggest," she
modestly replied.

I saw that this was a case requiring very delicate treatment. There was
no question of carrying the citadel by sudden assault. But, as usual, I
fell in love with her.

The syndic having pronounced my name, she said,--

"Ah! then, you, sir, are the person who discussed some very singular
questions with my cousin, the pastor's niece. I am delighted to make
your acquaintance."

"I am equally pleased to make yours, but I hope the pastor's niece said
nothing against me."

"Not at all; she has a very high opinion of you."

"I am going to dine with her to-morrow, and I shall take care to thank
her."

"To-morrow! I should like to be there, for I enjoy philosophical
discussions though I never dare to put a word in."

The syndic praised her discretion and wisdom in such a manner that I was
convinced he was in love with her, and that he had either seduced her
or was trying to do so. Her name was Helen. I asked the young ladies if
Helen was their sister. The eldest replied, with a sly smile, that she
was a sister, but as yet she had no brother; and with this explanation
she ran up to Helen and kissed her. Then the syndic and I vied with each
other in paying her compliments, telling her that we hoped to be her
brothers. She blushed, but gave no answer to our gallantries. I then
drew forth my casket, and seeing that all the girls were enchanted
with the rings, I told them to choose which ones they liked best. The
charming Helen imitated their example, and repaid me with a modest kiss.
Soon after she left us, and we were once more free, as in old times.

The syndic had good cause to shew for his love of Helen. She was not
merely pleasing, she was made to inspire a violent passion. However,
the three friends had no hope of making her join in their pleasures,
for they said that she had invincible feelings of modesty where men were
concerned.

We supped merrily, and after supper we began our sports again, the
syndic remaining as usual a mere looker-on, and well pleased with his
part. I treated each of the three nymphs to two courses, deceiving them
whenever I was forced by nature to do so. At midnight we broke up, and
the worthy syndic escorted me to the door of my lodging.

The day following I went to the pastor's and found a numerous party
assembled, amongst others M. d'Harcourt and M. de Ximenes, who told me
that M. de Voltaire knew that I was at Geneva and hoped to see me.
I replied by a profound bow. Mdlle. Hedvig, the pastor's niece,
complimented me, but I was still better pleased to see her cousin Helen.
The theologian of twenty-two was fair and pleasant to the eyes, but she
had not that 'je ne sais quoi', that shade of bitter-sweet, which
adds zest to hope as well as pleasure. However, the evident friendship
between Hedvig and Helen gave me good hopes of success with the latter.

We had an excellent dinner, and while it lasted the conversation was
restricted to ordinary topics; but at dessert the pastor begged M.
de Ximenes to ask his niece some questions. Knowing his worldwide
reputation, I expected him to put her some problem in geometry, but he
only asked whether a lie could be justified on the principle of a mental
reservation.

Hedvig replied that there are cases in which a lie is necessary, but
that the principle of a mental reservation is always a cheat.

"Then how could Christ have said that the time in which the world was to
come to an end was unknown to Him?"

"He was speaking the truth; it was not known to Him."

"Then he was not God?"

"That is a false deduction, for since God may do all things, He may
certainly be ignorant of an event in futurity."

I thought the way in which she brought in the word "futurity" almost
sublime. Hedvig was loudly applauded, and her uncle went all round
the table to kiss her. I had a very natural objection on the tip of my
tongue, which she might have found difficult to answer, but I wanted to
get into her good graces and I kept my own counsel.

M. d'Harcourt was urged to ask her some questions, but he replied in the
words of Horace, 'Nulla mihi religio est'. Then Hedvig turned to me and
asked me to put her some hard question, "something difficult, which you
don't know yourself."

"I shall be delighted. Do you grant that a god possesses in a supreme
degree the qualities of man?"

"Yes, excepting man's weaknesses."

"Do you class the generative power as a weakness?"

"No."

"Will you tell me, then, of what nature would have been the offspring of
a union between a god and a mortal woman?"

Hedvig looked as red as fire.

The pastor and the other guests looked at each other, while I gazed
fixedly at the young theologian, who was reflecting. M. d'Harcourt
said that we should have to send for Voltaire to settle a question so
difficult, but as Hedvig had collected her thoughts and seemed ready to
speak everybody was silent.

"It would be absurd," said she, "to suppose that a deity could perform
such an action without its having any results. At the end of nine months
a woman would be delivered a male child, which would be three parts man
and one part god."

At these words all the guests applauded, M. de Ximenes expressed his
admiration of the way the question had been solved, adding,--

"Naturally, if the son of the woman married, his children would be
seven-eighths men and one-eighth gods."

"Yes," said I, "unless he married a goddess, which would have made the
proportion different."

"Tell me exactly," said Hedvig, "what proportion of divinity there would
be in a child of the sixteenth generation."

"Give me a pencil and I will soon tell you," said M. de Ximenes.

"There is no need to calculate it," said I; "the child would have some
small share of the wit which you enjoy."

Everybody applauded this gallant speech, which did not by any means
offend the lady to whom it was addressed.

This pretty blonde was chiefly desirable for the charms of her
intellect. We rose from the table and made a circle round her, but she
told us with much grace not to pay her any more compliments.

I took Helen aside, and told her to get her cousin to choose a ring
from my casket, which I gave her, and she seemed glad to execute the
commission. A quarter of an hour afterwards Hedvig came to shew me her
hand adorned with the ring she had chosen. I kissed it rapturously, and
she must have guessed from the warmth of my kisses with what feelings
she had inspired me.

In the evening Helen told the syndic and the three girls all about the
morning's discussion without leaving out the smallest detail. She told
the story with ease and grace, and I had no occasion to prompt her. We
begged her to stay to supper, but she whispered something to the three
friends, and they agreed that it was impossible; but she said that she
might spend a couple of days with them in their country house on the
lake, if they would ask her mother.

At the syndic's request the girls called on the mother the next day, and
the day after that they went off with Helen. The same evening we went
and supped with them, but we could not sleep there. The syndic was to
take me to a house at a short distance off, where we should be very
comfortable. This being the case there was no hurry, and the eldest girl
said that the syndic and I could leave whenever we liked, but that they
were going to bed. So saying she took Helen to her room, while the two
others slept in another room. Soon after the syndic went into the room
where Helen was, and I visited the two others.

I had scarcely been with my two sweethearts for an hour when the syndic
interrupted my erotic exploits by begging me to go.

"What have you done with Helen?" I asked.

"Nothing; she's a simpleton, and an intractable one. She hid under the
sheets and would not look at my performance with her friend."

"You ought to go to her direct."

"I have done so, but she repulsed me again and again. I have given it
up, and shall not try it again, unless you will tame her for me."

"How is it to be done?"

"Come to dinner to-morrow. I shall be away at Geneva. I shall be back by
supper-time. I wish we could give her too much to drink!"

"That would be a pity. Let me see what I can do."

I accordingly went to dine with them by myself the next day, and they
entertained me in all the force of the word. After dinner we went for a
walk, and the three friends understanding my aims left me alone with the
intractable girl, who resisted my caresses in a manner which almost made
me give up the hope of taming her.

"The syndic," said I, "is in love with you, and last night . . .

"Last night," she said, "he amused himself with his old friend. I am
for everyone's following their own tastes, but I expect to be allowed to
follow mine."

"If I could gain your heart I should be happy."

"Why don't you invite the pastor and my cousin to dine with you? I could
come too, for the pastor makes much of everyone who loves his niece."

"I am glad to hear that. Has she a lover?"

"No."

"I can scarcely believe it. She is young, pretty, agreeable, and very
clever."

"You don't understand Genevan ways. It is because she is so clever that
no young man falls in love with her. Those who might be attracted by
her personal charms hold themselves aloof on account of her intellectual
capacities, as they would have to sit in silence before her."

"Are the young Genevans so ignorant, then?"

"As a rule they are. Some of them have received excellent educations,
but in a general way they are full of prejudice. Nobody wishes to be
considered a fool or a blockhead, but clever women are not appreciated;
and if a girl is witty or well educated she endeavors to hide her
lights, at least if she desires to be married."

"Ah! now I see why you did not open your lips during our discussion."

"No, I know I have nothing to hide. This was not the motive which made
me keep silence, but the pleasure of listening. I admired my cousin, who
was not afraid to display her learning on a subject which any other girl
would have affected to know nothing about."

"Yes, affected, though she might very probably know as much as her
grandmother."

"That's a matter of morals, or rather of prejudices."

"Your reasoning is admirable, and I am already longing for the party you
so cleverly suggested:"

"You will have the pleasure of being with my cousin."

"I do her justice. Hedvig is certainly a very interesting and agreeable
girl, but believe me it is your presence that will constitute my chief
enjoyment."

"And how if I do not believe you?"

"You would wrong me and give me pain, for I love you dearly."

"In spite of that you have deceived me. I am sure that you have given
marks of your affection to those three young ladies. For my part I pity
them."

"Why?"

"Because neither of them can flatter herself that you love her, and her
alone."

"And do you think that your delicacy of feeling makes you happier than
they are?"

"Yes, I think so though of course, I have no experience in the matter.
Tell me truly, do you think I am right?"

"Yes, I do."

"I am delighted to hear it; but you must confess that to associate
me with them in your attentions would not be giving me the greatest
possible proof of your love."

"Yes, I do confess it, and I beg your pardon. But tell me how I should
set to work to ask the pastor to dinner."

"There will be no difficulty. Just call on him and ask him to come, and
if you wish me to be of the party beg him to ask my mother and myself."

"Why your mother?"

"Because he has been in love with her these twenty years, and loves her
still."

"And where shall I give this dinner?"

"Is not M. Tronchin your banker?"

"Yes."

"He has a nice pleasure house on the lake; ask him to lend it you for
the day; he will be delighted to do so. But don't tell the syndic or his
three friends anything about it; they can hear of it afterwards."

"But do you think your learned cousin will be glad to be in my company?"

"More than glad, you may be sure."

"Very good, everything will be arranged by tomorrow. The day after, you
will be returning to Geneva, and the party will take place two or three
days later."

The syndic came back in due course, and we had a very pleasant evening.
After supper the ladies went to bed as before, and I went with the
eldest girl while the syndic visited the two younger ones. I knew that
it would be of no use to try to do anything with Helen, so I contented
myself with a few kisses, after which I wished them good night and
passed on to the next room. I found them in a deep sleep, and the syndic
seemed visibly bored. He did not look more cheerful when I told him that
I had had no success with Helen.

"I see," said he, "that I shall waste my time with the little fool. I
think I shall give her up."

"I think that's the best thing you could do," I replied, "for a man
who languishes after a woman who is either devoid of feeling or full of
caprice, makes himself her dupe. Bliss should be neither too easy nor
too hard to be won."

The next day we returned to Geneva, and M. Tronchin seemed delighted to
oblige me. The pastor accepted my invitation, and said I was sure to
be charmed with Helen's mother. It was easy to see that the worthy man
cherished a tenderness for her, and if she responded at all it would be
all the better for my purposes.

I was thinking of supping with the charming Helen and her three friends
at the house on the lake, but an express summoned me to Lausanne. Madame
Lebel, my old housekeeper, invited me to sup with her and her husband.
She wrote that she had made her husband promise to take her to Lausanne
as soon as she got my letter, and she added she was sure that I would
resign everything to give her the pleasure of seeing me. She notified
the hour at which she would be at her mother's house.

Madame Lebel was one of the ten or twelve women for whom in my happy
youth I cherished the greatest affection. She had all the qualities
to make a man a good wife, if it had been my fate to experience such
felicity. But perhaps I did well not to tie myself down with irrevocable
bonds, though now my independence is another name for slavery. But if I
had married a woman of tact, who would have ruled me unawares to myself,
I should have taken care of my fortune and have had children, instead of
being lonely and penniless in my old age.

But I must indulge no longer in digressions on the past which cannot be
recalled, and since my recollections make me happy I should be foolish
to cherish idle regrets.

I calculated that if I started directly I should get to Lausanne an hour
before Madame Lebel, and I did not hesitate to give her this proof of
my regard. I must here warn my readers, that, though I loved this
woman well, I was then occupied with another passion, and no voluptuous
thought mingled with my desire of seeing her. My esteem for her was
enough to hold my passions in check, but I esteemed Lebel too, and
nothing would have induced me to disturb the happiness of this married
pair.

I wrote in haste to the syndic, telling him that an important and
sudden call obliged me to start for Lausanne, but that I should have
the pleasure of supping with him and his three friends at Geneva on the
following day.

I knocked at Madame Dubois's door at five o'clock, almost dying with
hunger. Her surprise was extreme, for she did not know that her daughter
was going to meet me at her house. Without more ado I gave her two louis
to get us a good supper.

At seven o'clock, Madame Lebel, her husband, and a child of eighteen
months, whom I easily recognized as my own, arrived. Our meeting was
a happy one indeed; we spent ten hours at table, and mirth and joy
prevailed. At day-break she started for Soleure, where Lebel
had business. M. de Chavigni had desired to be remembered most
affectionately to me. Lebel assured me that the ambassador was extremely
kind to his wife, and he thanked me heartily for having given such a
woman up to him. I could easily see that he was a happy husband, and
that his wife was as happy as he.

My dear housekeeper talked to me about my son. She said that nobody
suspected the truth, but that neither she nor Lebel (who had faithfully
kept his promise, and had not consummated the marriage for the two
months agreed upon) had any doubts.

"The secret," said Lebel to me, "will never be known, and your son will
be my sole heir, or will share my property with my children if I ever
have any, which I doubt."

"My dear," said his wife, "there is somebody who has very strong
suspicions on the subject, and these suspicions will gain strength as
the child grows older; but we have nothing to fear on that score, as she
is well paid to keep the secret."

"And who is this person?" said I.

"Madame----. She has not forgotten the past, and often speaks of you."

"Will you kindly remember me to her?"

"I shall be delighted to do so, and I am sure the message will give her
great pleasure."

Lebel shewed me my ring, and I shewed him his, and gave him a superb
watch for my son.

"You must give it him," I said, "when you think he is old enough."

We shall hear of the young gentleman in twenty-one years at
Fontainebleau.

I passed three hours in telling them of all the adventures I had during
the twenty-seven months since we had seen one another. As to their
history, it was soon told; it had all the calm which belongs to
happiness.

Madame Lebel was as pretty as ever, and I could see no change in her,
but I was no longer the same man. She thought me less lively than of
old, and she was right. The Renaud had blasted me, and the pretended
Lascaris had given me a great deal of trouble and anxiety.

We embraced each other tenderly, and the wedded pair returned to Soleure
and I to Geneva; but feeling that I wanted rest I wrote to the syndic
that I was not well and could not come till the next day, and after I
had done so I went to bed.

The next day, the eve of my dinner party, I ordered a repast in which no
expense was to be spared. I did not forget to tell the landlord to get
me the best wines, the choicest liqueurs, ices, and all the materials
for a bowl of punch. I told him that we should be six in number, for I
foresaw that M. Tronchin would dine with us. I was right; I found him
at his pretty house ready to receive us, and I had not much trouble in
inducing him to stay. In the evening I thought it as well to tell the
syndic and his three friends about it in Helen's presence, while she,
feigning ignorance, said that her mother had told her they were going
somewhere or other to dinner.

"I am delighted to hear it," said I; "it must be at M. Tronchin's."

My dinner would have satisfied the most exacting gourmet, but Hedvig was
its real charm. She treated difficult theological questions with so
much grace, and rationalised so skilfully, that though one might not be
convinced it was impossible to help being attracted. I have never seen
any theologian who could treat the most difficult points with so much
facility, eloquence, and real dignity, and at dinner she completed her
conquest of myself. M. Tronchin, who had never heard her speak before,
thanked me a hundred times for having procured him this pleasure, and
being obliged to leave us by the call of business he asked us to meet
again in two days' time.

I was much interested during the dessert by the evident tenderness of
the pastor for Helen's mother. His amorous eloquence grew in strength
as he irrigated his throat with champagne, Greek wine, and eastern
liqueurs. The lady seemed pleased, and was a match for him as far as
drinking was concerned, while the two girls and myself only drank with
sobriety. However, the mixture of wines, and above all the punch, had
done their work, and my charmers were slightly elevated. Their spirits
were delightful, but rather pronounced.

I took this favourable opportunity to ask the two aged lovers if I might
take the young ladies for a walk in the garden by the lake, and they
told us enthusiastically to go and enjoy ourselves. We went out arm in
arm, and in a few minutes we were out of sight of everyone.

"Do you know," said I to Hedvig, "that you have made a conquest of M.
Tronchin?"

"Have I? The worthy banker asked me some very silly questions."

"You must not expect everyone to be able to contend with you."

"I can't help telling you that your question pleased me best of all.
A bigoted theologian at the end of the table seemed scandalized at the
question and still more at the answer."

"And why?"

"He says I ought to have told you that a deity could not impregnate a
woman. He said that he would explain the reason to me if I were a man,
but being a woman and a maid he could not with propriety expound such
mysteries. I wish you would tell me what the fool meant."

"I should be very glad, but you must allow me to speak plainly, and I
shall have to take for granted that you are acquainted with the physical
conformation of a man."

"Yes, speak as plainly as you like, for there is nobody to hear what we
say; but I must confess that I am only acquainted with the peculiarities
of the male by theory and reading. I have no practical knowledge. I have
seen statues, but I have never seen or examined a real live man. Have
you, Helen?"

"I have never wished to do so."

"Why not? It is good to know everything."

"Well, Hedvig, your theologian meant to say that a god was not capable
of this."

"What is that?"

"Give me your hand."

"I can feel it, and have thought it would be something like that;
without this provision of nature man would not be able to fecundate his
mate. And how could the foolish theologian maintain that this was an
imperfection?"

"Because it is the result of desire, Hedvig, and it would not have
taken place in me if I had not been charmed with you, and if I had not
conceived the most seducing ideas of the beauties that I cannot see from
the view of the beauties I can see. Tell me frankly whether feeling that
did not give you an agreeable sensation."

"It did, and just in the place where your hand is now. Don't you feel a
pleasant tickling there, Helen, after what the gentleman has been saying
to us?"

"Yes, I feel it, but I often do, without anything to excite me."

"And then," said I, "nature makes you appease it . . . thus?"

"Not at all."

"Oh, yes!" said Hedvig. "Even when we are asleep our hands seek that
spot as if by instinct, and if it were not for that solace I think we
should get terribly ill."

As this philosophical discourse, conducted by the young theologian in
quite a professional manner, proceeded, we reached a beautiful basin of
water, with a flight of marble steps for bathers. Although the air was
cool our heads were hot, and I conceived the idea of telling them that
it would do them good to bathe their feet, and that if they would allow
me I would take off their shoes and stockings.

"I should like to so much," said Hedvig.

"And I too," said Helen.

"Then sit down, ladies, on the first step."

They proceeded to sit down and I began to take off their shoes, praising
the beauty of their legs, and pretending for the present not to want to
go farther than the knee. When they got into the water they were obliged
to pick up their clothes, and I encouraged them to do so.

"Well, well," said Hedvig, "men have thighs too."

Helen, who would have been ashamed to be beaten by her cousin, was not
backward in shewing her legs.

"That will do, charming maids," said I, "you might catch cold if you
stayed longer in the water."

They walked up backwards, still holding up their clothes for fear of
wetting them, and it was then my duty to wipe them dry with all the
handkerchiefs I had. This pleasant task left me at freedom to touch and
see, and the reader will imagine that I did my best in that direction.
The fair theologian told me I wanted to know too much, but Helen let me
do what I liked with such a tender and affectionate expression that it
was as much as I could do to keep within bounds. At last, when I had
drawn on their shoes and stockings, I told them that I was delighted to
have seen the hidden charms of the two prettiest girls in Geneva.

"What effect had it on you?" asked Hedvig.

"I daren't tell you to look, but feel, both of you."

"Do you bathe, too."

"It's out of the question, a man's undressing takes so much trouble."

"But we have still two hours before us, in which we need not fear any
interruption."

This reply gave me a foretaste of the bliss I had to gain, but I did
not wish to expose myself to an illness by going into the water in
my present state. I noticed a summer-house at a little distance, and
feeling sure that M. Tronchin had left the door open, I took the two
girls on my arm and led them there without giving them any hint of my
intentions. The summer-house was scented with vases of pot-pourri and
adorned with engravings; but, best of all, there was a large couch which
seemed made for repose and pleasure. I sat down on it between my two
sweethearts, and as I caressed them I told them I was going to shew them
something they had never seen before, and without more ado I displayed
to their gaze the principal agent in the preservation of the human race.
They got up to admire it, and taking a hand of each one I procured them
some enjoyment, but in the middle of their labours an abundant flow of
liquid threw them into the greatest astonishment.

"That," said I, "is the Word which makes men."

"It's beautiful!" cried Helen, laughing at the term "word."

"I have a word too," said Hedvig, "and I will shew it to you if you will
wait a minute."

"Come, Hedvig, and I will save you the trouble of making it yourself,
and will do it better."

"I daresay, but I have never done it with a man."

"No more have I," said Helen.

Placing them in front of me I gave them another ecstacy. We then sat
down, and while I felt all their charms I let them touch me as much as
they liked till I watered their hands a second time.

We made ourselves decent once more, and spent half an hour in kisses and
caresses, and I then told them that they had made me happy only in part,
but that I hoped they would make my bliss complete by presenting me with
their maidenheads. I shewed them the little safety-bags invented by the
English in the interests of the fair sex. They admired them greatly when
I explained their use, and the fair theologian remarked to her cousin
that she would think it over. We were now close friends, and soon
promised to be something more; and we walked back and found the pastor
and Helen's mother strolling by the side of the lake.

When I got back to Geneva I went to spend the evening with the three
friends, but I took good care not to tell the syndic anything about my
victory with Helen. It would only have served to renew his hopes, and he
would have had this trouble for nothing. Even I would have done no good
without the young theologian; but as Helen admired her she did not like
to appear her inferior by refusing to imitate her freedom.

I did not see Helen that evening, but I saw her the next day at her
mother's house, for I was in mere politeness bound to thank the old lady
for the honour she had done me. She gave me a most friendly reception,
and introduced me to two very pretty girls who were boarding with her.
They might have interested me if I had been stopping long in Geneva, but
as if was Helen claimed all my attraction.

"To-morrow," said the charming girl, "I shall be able to get a word with
you at Madame Tronchin's dinner, and I expect Hedvig will have hit on
some way for you to satisfy your desires."

The banker gave us an excellent dinner. He proudly told me that no
inn-keeper could give such a good dinner as a rich gentleman who has
a good cook, a good cellar, good silver plate, and china of the best
quality. We were twenty of us at table, and the feast was given chiefly
in honour of the learned theologian and myself, as a rich foreigner who
spent money freely. M. de Ximenes, who had just arrived from Ferney
was there, and told me that M. de Voltaire was expecting me, but I had
foolishly determined not to go.

Hedvig shone in solving the questions put to her by the company. M. de
Ximenes begged her to justify as best she could our first mother, who
had deceived her husband by giving him the fatal apple to eat.

"Eve," she said, "did not deceive her husband, she only cajoled him into
eating it in the hope of giving him one more perfection. Besides Eve had
not been forbidden to eat the fruit by God, but only by Adam, and in all
probability her woman's sense prevented her regarding the prohibition as
serious."

At this reply, which I found full of sense and wit, two scholars from
Geneva and even Hedvig's uncle began to murmur and shake their heads.
Madame Tronchin said gravely that Eve had received the prohibition from
God himself, but the girl only answered by a humble "I beg your pardon,
madam." At this she turned to the pastor with a frightened manner, and
said,--

"What do you say to this?"

"Madam, my niece is not infallible."

"Excuse me, dear uncle, I am as infallible as Holy Writ when I speak
according to it."

"Bring a Bible, and let me see."

"Hedvig, my dear Hedvig, you are right after all. Here it is. The
prohibition was given before woman was made."

Everybody applauded, but Hedvig remained quite calm; it was only the two
scholars and Madame Tronchin who still seemed disturbed. Another lady
then asked her if it was allowable to believe the history of the apple
to be symbolical. She replied,--

"I do not think so, because it could only be a symbol of sexual union,
and it is clear that such did not take place between Adam and Eve in the
Garden of Eden."

"The learned differ on this point."

"All the worse for them, madam, the Scripture is plain enough. In the
first verse of the fourth chapter it is written, that Adam knew his wife
after they had been driven from the Garden, and that in consequence she
conceived Cain."

"Yes, but the verse does not say that Adam did not know her before and
consequently he might have done so."

"I cannot admit the inference, as in that case she would have conceived;
for it would be absurd to suppose that two creatures who had just left
God's hands, and were consequently as nearly perfect as is possible,
could perform the act of generation without its having any result."

This reply gained everyone's applause, and compliments to Hedvig made
the round of the table.

Mr. Tronchin asked her if the doctrine of the immortality of the soul
could be gathered from the Old Testament alone.

"The Old Testament," she replied, "does not teach this doctrine; but,
nevertheless, human reason teaches it, as the soul is a substance, and
the destruction of any substance is an unthinkable proposition."

"Then I will ask you," said the banker, "if the existence of the soul is
established in the Bible."

"Where there is smoke there is always fire."

"Tell me, then, if matter can think."

"I cannot answer that question, for it is beyond my knowledge. I can
only say that as I believe God to be all powerful, I cannot deny Him the
power to make matter capable of thought."

"But what is your own opinion?"

"I believe that I have a soul endowed with thinking capacities, but I do
not know whether I shall remember that I had the honour of dining with
you to-day after I die."

"Then you think that the soul and the memory may be separable; but in
that case you would not be a theologian."

"One may be a theologian and a philosopher, for philosophy never
contradicts any truth, and besides, to say 'I do not know' is not the
same as 'I am sure'."

Three parts of the guests burst into cries of admiration, and the fair
philosopher enjoyed seeing me laugh for pleasure at the applause. The
pastor wept for joy, and whispered something to Helen's mother. All at
once he turned to me, saying,--

"Ask my niece some question."

"Yes," said Hedvig, "but it must be something quite new."

"That is a hard task," I replied, "for how am I to know that what I ask
is new to you? However, tell me if one must stop at the first principle
of a thing one wants to understand."

"Certainly, and the reason is that in God there is no first principle,
and He is therefore incomprehensible."

"God be praised! that is how I would have you answer. Can God have any
self-consciousness?"

"There my learning is baffled. I know not what to reply. You should not
ask me so hard a thing as that."

"But you wished for something new. I thought the newest thing would be
to see you at a loss."

"That's prettily said. Be kind enough to reply for me, gentlemen, and
teach me what to say."

Everybody tried to answer, but nothing was said worthy of record. Hedvig
at last said,--

"My opinion is that since God knows all, He knows of His own existence,
but you must not ask me how He knows it."

"That's well said," I answered; and nobody could throw any further light
on the matter.

All the company looked on me as a polite Atheist, so superficial is the
judgment of society, but it did not matter to me whether they thought me
an Atheist or not.

M. de Ximenes asked Hedvig if matter had been created.

"I cannot recognize the word 'created,'" she replied. "Ask me whether
matter was formed, and I shall reply in the affirmative. The word
'created' cannot have existence, for the existence of anything must be
prior to the word which explains it."

"Then what meaning do you assign to the word 'created'?"

"Made out of nothing. You see the absurdity, for nothing must have first
existed. I am glad to see you laugh. Do you think that nothingness could
be created?"

"You are right."

"Not at all, not at all," said one of the guests, superciliously.

"Kindly tell me who was your teacher?" said M. de Ximenes.

"My uncle there."

"Not at all, my dear niece. I certainly never taught you what you have
been telling us to-day. But my niece, gentlemen, reads and reflects over
what she has read, perhaps with rather too much freedom, but I love her
all the same, because she always ends by acknowledging that she knows
nothing."

A lady who had not opened her lips hitherto asked Hedvig for a
definition of spirit.

"Your question is a purely philosophical one, and I must answer that I
do not know enough of spirit or matter to be able to give a satisfactory
definition."

"But since you acknowledge the existence of Deity and must therefore
have an abstract idea of spirit, you must have some notions on the
subject, and should be able to tell me how it acts on matter."

"No solid foundation can be built on abstract ideas. Hobbes calls such
ideas mere fantasms. One may have them, but if one begins to reason on
them, one is landed in contradiction. I know that God sees me, but I
should labour in vain if I endeavoured to prove it by reasoning, for
reason tells us no one can see anything without organs of sight; and God
being a pure spirit, and therefore without organs, it is scientifically
impossible that He can see us any more than we can see Him. But
Moses and several others have seen Him, and I believe it so, without
attempting to reason on it."

"You are quite right," said I, "for you would be confronted by blank
impossibility. But if you take to reading Hobbes you are in danger of
becoming an Atheist."

"I am not afraid of that. I cannot conceive the possibility of Atheism."

After dinner everybody crowded round this truly astonishing girl, so
that I had no opportunity of whispering my love. However, I went apart
with Helen, who told me that the pastor and his niece were going to sup
with her mother the following day.

"Hedvig," she added, "will stay the night and sleep with me as she
always does when she comes to supper with her uncle. It remains to be
seen if you are willing to hide in a place I will shew you at eleven
o'clock tomorrow, in order to sleep with us. Call on my mother at that
hour to-morrow, and I will find an opportunity of shewing you where it
is. You will be safe though not comfortable, and if you grow weary you
can console yourself by thinking that you are in our minds."

"Shall I have to stay there long?"

"Four hours at the most. At seven o'clock the street door is shut, and
only opened to anyone who rings."

"If I happen to cough while I am in hiding might I be heard?"

"Yes, that might happen."

"There's a great hazard. All the rest is of no consequence; but no
matter, I will risk all for the sake of so great happiness."

In the morning I paid the mother a visit, and as Helen was escorting me
out she shewed me a door between the two stairs.

"At seven o'clock," said she, "the door will be open, and when you are
in put on the bolt. Take care that no one sees you as you are entering
the house."

At a quarter to seven I was already a prisoner. I found a seat in my
cell, otherwise I should neither have been able to lie down or to stand
up. It was a regular hole, and I knew by my sense of smell that hams and
cheeses were usually kept there; but it contained none at present, for
I fell all round to see how the land lay. As I was cautiously stepping
round I felt my foot encounter some resistance, and putting down my hand
I recognized the feel of linen. It was a napkin containing two plates,
a nice roast fowl, bread, and a second napkin. Searching again I came
across a bottle and a glass. I was grateful to my charmers for having
thought of my stomach, but as I had purposely made a late and heavy meal
I determined to defer the consumption of my cold collation till a later
hour.

At nine o'clock I began, and as I had neither a knife nor a corkscrew
I was obliged to break the neck of the bottle with a brick which I
was fortunately able to detach from the mouldering floor. The wine was
delicious old Neuchatel, and the fowl was stuffed with truffles, and I
felt convinced that my two nymphs must have some rudimentary ideas on
the subject of stimulants. I should have passed the time pleasantly
enough if it had not been for the occasional visits of a rat, who nearly
made me sick with his disgusting odour. I remembered that I had been
annoyed in the same way at Cologne under somewhat similar circumstances.

At last ten o'clock struck, and I heard the pastor's voice as he came
downstairs talking; he warned the girls not to play any tricks together,
and to go to sleep quietly. That brought back to my memory M. Rose
leaving Madame Orio's house at Venice twenty-two years before; and
reflecting on my character I found myself much changed, though not more
reasonable; but if I was not so sensible to the charms of the sex, the
two beauties who were awaiting me were much superior to Madame Orio's
nieces.

In my long and profligate career in which I have turned the heads of
some hundreds of ladies, I have become familiar with all the methods of
seduction; but my guiding principle has been never to direct my attack
against novices or those whose prejudices were likely to prove an
obstacle except in the presence of another woman. I soon found out that
timidity makes a girl averse to being seduced, while in company with
another girl she is easily conquered; the weakness of the one brings on
the fall of the other. Fathers and mothers are of the contrary opinion,
but they are in the wrong. They will not trust their daughter to take a
walk or go to a ball with a young man, but if she has another girl with
her there is no difficulty made. I repeat, they are in the wrong; if
the young man has the requisite skill their daughter is a lost woman.
A feeling of false shame hinders them from making an absolute and
determined resistance, and the first step once taken the rest comes
inevitably and quickly. The girl grants some small favour, and
immediately makes her friend grant a much greater one to hide her own
blushes; and if the seducer is clever at his trade the young innocent
will soon have gone too far to be able to draw back. Besides the more
innocence a girl has, the less she knows of the methods of seduction.
Before she has had time to think, pleasure attracts her, curiosity draws
her a little farther, and opportunity does the rest.

For example, I might possibly have been able to seduce Hedvig without
Helen, but I am certain I should never have succeeded with Helen if
she had not seen her cousin take liberties with me which she no doubt
thought contrary to the feelings of modesty which a respectable young
woman ought to have.

Though I do not repent of my amorous exploits, I am far from wishing
that my example should serve for the perversion of the fair sex, who
have so many claims on my homage. I desire that what I say may be a
warning to fathers and mothers, and secure me a place in their esteem at
any rate.

Soon after the pastor had gone I heard three light knocks on my prison
door. I opened it, and my hand was folded in a palm as soft as satin.
All my being was moved. It was Helen's hand, and that happy moment had
already repaid me for my long waiting.

"Follow me on tiptoe," she whispered, as soon as she had shut the door;
but in my impatience I clasped her in my arms, and made her feel the
effect which her mere presence had produced on me, while at the same
time I assured myself of her docility. "There," she said, "now come
upstairs softly after me."

I followed her as best I could in the darkness, and she took me along
a gallery into a dark room, and then into a lighted one which contained
Hedvig almost in a state of nudity. She came to me with open arms as
soon as she saw me, and, embracing me ardently, expressed her gratitude
for my long and dreary imprisonment.

"Divine Hedvig," I answered, "if I had not loved you madly I would not
have stayed a quarter of an hour in that dismal cell, but I am ready to
spend four hours there every day till I leave Geneva for your sake. But
we must not lose any time; let us go to bed."

"Do you two go to bed," said Helen; "I will sleep on the sofa."

"No, no," cried Hedvig, "don't think of it; our fate must be exactly
equal."

"Yes, darling Helen," said I, embracing her; "I love you both with equal
ardour, and these ceremonies are only wasting the time in which I ought
to be assuring you of my passion. Imitate my proceedings. I am going
to undress, and then I shall lie in the middle of the bed. Come and
lie beside me, and I'll shew you how I love you. If all is safe I will
remain with you till you send me away, but whatever you do do not put
out the light."

In the twinkling of an eye, discussing the theory of shame the while
with the theological Hedvig, I presented myself to their gaze in the
costume of Adam. Hedvig blushed and parted with the last shred of her
modesty, citing the opinion of St. Clement Alexandrinus that the seat of
shame is in the shirt. I praised the charming perfection of her shape,
in the hope of encouraging Helen, who was slowly undressing herself; but
an accusation of mock modesty from her cousin had more effect than all
my praises. At last this Venus stood before me in a state of nature,
covering her most secret parts with her hand, and hiding one breast with
the other, and appearing woefully ashamed of what she could not conceal.
Her modest confusion, this strife between departing modesty and rising
passion, enchanted me.

Hedvig was taller than Helen; her skin was whiter, and her breasts
double the size of Helen's; but in Helen there was more animation, her
shape was more gently moulded, and her breast might have been the model
for the Venus de Medicis.

She got bolder by degrees, and we spent some moments in admiring each
other, and then we went to bed. Nature spoke out loudly, and all we
wanted was to satisfy its demands. With much coolness I made a woman of
Hedvig, and when all was over she kissed me and said that the pain was
nothing in comparison with the pleasure.

The turn of Helen (who was six years younger than Hedvig) now came, but
the finest fleece that I have ever seen was not won without difficulty.
She was jealous of her cousin's success, and held it open with her two
hands; and though she had to submit to great pain before being initiated
into the amorous mysteries, her sighs were sighs of happiness, as she
responded to my ardent efforts. Her great charms and the vivacity of her
movements shortened the sacrifice, and when I left the sanctuary my two
sweethearts saw that I needed repose.

The alter was purified of the blood of the victims, and we all washed,
delighted to serve one another.

Life returned to me under their curious fingers, and the sight filled
them with joy. I told them that I wished to enjoy them every night till
I left Geneva, but they told me sadly that this was impossible.

"In five or six days time, perhaps, the opportunity may recur again, but
that will be all."

"Ask us to sup at your inn to-morrow," said Hedvig; "and maybe, chance
will favour the commission of a sweet felony."

I followed this advice.

I overwhelmed them with happiness for several hours, passing five or six
times from one to the other before I was exhausted. In the intervals,
seeing them to be docile and desirous, I made them execute Aretin's most
complicated postures, which amused them beyond words. We kissed whatever
took our fancy, and just as Hedvig applied her lips to the mouth of the
pistol, it went off and the discharge inundated her face and her bosom.
She was delighted, and watched the process to the end with all the
curiosity of a doctor. The night seemed short, though we had not lost a
moment's time, and at daybreak we had to part. I left them in bed and I
was fortunate enough to get away without being observed.

I slept till noon, and then having made my toilette I went to call on
the pastor, to whom I praised Hedvig to the skies. This was the best way
to get him to come to supper at Balances the next day.

"We shall be in the town," said I, "and can remain together as long as
we please, but do not forget to bring the amiable widow and her charming
daughter."

He promised he would bring them both.

In the evening I went to see the syndic and his three friends, who
naturally found me rather insensible to their charms. I excused myself
by saying that I had a bad headache. I told them that I had asked the
young theologian to supper, and invited the girls and the syndic to come
too; but, as I had foreseen, the latter would not hear of their going as
it would give rise to gossip.

I took care that the most exquisite wines should form an important
feature of my supper. The pastor and the widow were both sturdy
drinkers, and I did my best to please them. When I saw that they were
pretty mellow and were going over their old recollections, I made a
sign to the girls, and they immediately went out as if to go to a
retiring-room. Under pretext of shewing them the way I went out too, and
took them into a room telling them to wait for me.

I went back to the supper-room, and finding the old friends taken up
with each other and scarcely conscious of my presence, I gave them some
punch, and told them that I would keep the young ladies company; they
were looking at some pictures, I explained. I lost no time, and shewed
them some extremely interesting sights. These stolen sweets have a
wonderful charm. When we were to some extent satisfied, we went back,
and I plied the punch-ladle more and more freely. Helen praised the
pictures to her mother, and asked her to come and look at them.

"I don't care to," she replied.

"Well," said Helen, "let us go and see them again."

I thought this stratagem admissible, and going out with my two
sweethearts I worked wonders. Hedvig philosophised over pleasure, and
told me she would never have known it if I had not chanced to meet her
uncle. Helen did not speak; she was more voluptuous than her cousin,
and swelled out like a dove, and came to life only to expire a moment
afterwards. I wondered at her astonishing fecundity; while I was engaged
in one operation she passed from death to life fourteen times. It is
true that it was the sixth time with me, so I made my progress rather
slower to enjoy the pleasure she took in it.

Before we parted I agreed to call on Helen's mother every day to
ascertain the night I could spend with them before I left Geneva. We
broke up our party at two o'clock in the morning.

Three or four days after, Helen told me briefly that Hedvig was to sleep
with her that night, and that she would leave the door open at the same
time as before.

"I will be there."

"And I will be there to shut you up, but you cannot have a light as the
servant might see it."

I was exact to the time, and when ten o'clock struck they came to fetch
me in high glee.

"I forgot to tell you," said Helen, "that you would find a fowl there."

I felt hungry, and made short work of it, and then we gave ourselves up
to happiness.

I had to set out on my travels in two days. I had received a couple of
letters from M. Raiberti. In the first he told me that he had followed
my instructions as to the Corticelli, and in the second that she would
probably he paid for dancing at the carnival as first 'figurante'. I
had nothing to keep me at Geneva, and Madame d'Urfe, according to our
agreement, would be waiting for me at Lyons. I was therefore obliged to
go there. Thus the night that I was to pass with my two charmers would
be my last.

My lessons had taken effect, and I found they had become past mistresses
in the art of pleasure. But now and again joy gave place to sadness.

"We shall be wretched, sweetheart," said Hedvig, "and if you like we
will come with you."

"I promise to come and see you before two years have expired," said I;
and in fact they had not so long to wait.

We fell asleep at midnight, and waking at four renewed our sweet battles
till six o'clock. Half an hour after I left them, worn out with my
exertions, and I remained in bed all day. In the evening I went to
see the syndic and his young friends. I found Helen there, and she was
cunning enough to feign not to be more vexed at my departure than the
others, and to further the deception she allowed the syndic to kiss her.
I followed suit, and begged her to bid farewell for me to her learned
cousin and to excuse my taking leave of her in person.

The next day I set out in the early morning, and on the following day I
reached Lyons. Madame d'Urfe was not there, she had gone to an estate
of hers at Bresse. I found a letter in which she said that she would be
delighted to see me, and I waited on her without losing any time.

She greeted me with her ordinary cordiality, and I told her that I was
going to Turin to meet Frederic Gualdo, the head of the Fraternity of
the Rosy Cross, and I revealed to her by the oracle that he would come
with me to Marseilles, and that there he would complete her happiness.
After having received this oracle she would not go to Paris before
she saw us. The oracle also bade her wait for me at Lyons with young
d'Aranda; who begged me to take him with me to Turin. It may be imagined
that I succeeded in putting him off.

Madame d'Urfe had to wait a fortnight to get me fifty thousand francs
which I might require on my journey. In the course of this fortnight I
made the acquaintance of Madame Pernon, and spent a good deal of money
with her husband, a rich mercer, in refurnishing my wardrobe. Madame
Pernon was handsome and intelligent. She had a Milanese lover, named
Bono, who did business for a Swiss banker named Sacco. It was through
Madame Peron that Bono got Madame d'Urfe the fifty thousand francs I
required. She also gave me the three dresses which she had promised to
the Countess of Lascaris, but which that lady had never seen.

One of these dresses was furred, and was exquisitely beautiful. I left
Lyons equipped like a prince, and journeyed towards Turin, where I was
to meet the famous Gualdo, who was none other than Ascanio Pogomas, whom
I had summoned from Berne. I thought it would be easy to make the fellow
play the part I had destined for him, but I was cruelly deceived as the
reader will see.

I could not resist stopping at Chamberi to see my fair nun, whom I found
looking beautiful and contented. She was grieving, however, after the
young boarder, who had been taken from the convent and married.

I got to Turin at the beginning of December, and at Rivoli I found
the Corticelli, who had been warned by the Chevalier de Raiberti of my
arrival. She gave me a letter from this worthy gentleman, giving the
address of the house he had taken for me as I did not want to put up at
an inn. I immediately went to take possession of my new lodging.



CHAPTER XVII


     My Old Friends--Pacienza--Agatha--Count Boryomeo--The Ball--
     Lord Percy

The Corticelli was as gentle as a lamb, and left me as we got into
Turin. I promised I would come and see her, and immediately went to the
house the Chevalier had taken, which I found convenient in every way.

The worthy Chevalier was not long in calling on me. He gave me an
account of the moneys he had spent on the Corticelli, and handed over
the rest to me.

"I am flush of money," I said, "and I intend to invite my friends to
supper frequently. Can you lay your hands on a good cook?"

"I know a pearl amongst cooks," said he, "and you can have him
directly."

"You, chevalier, are the pearl of men. Get me this wonder, tell him I am
hard to please, and agree on the sum I am to pay him per month."

The cook, who was an excellent one, came the same evening.

"It would be a good idea," said Raiberti, "to call on the Count d'Aglie.
He knows that the Corticelli is your mistress, and he has given a formal
order to Madame Pacienza, the lady with whom she lives, that when you
come and see her you are not to be left alone together."

This order amused me, and as I did not care about the Corticelli it did
not trouble me in the least, though Raiberti, who thought I was in love
with her, seemed to pity me.

"Since she has been here," he said, "her conduct has been
irreproachable."

"I am glad to hear that."

"You might let her take some lessons from the dancing-master Dupre,"
said he. "He will no doubt give her something to do at the carnival."

I promised to follow his advice, and I then paid a visit to the
superintendent of police.

He received me well, complimented me on my return to Turin, and then
added with a smile:--

"I warn you that I have been informed that you keep a mistress, and that
I have given strict orders to the respectable woman with whom she lives
not to leave her alone with you."

"I am glad to hear it," I replied, "and the more as I fear her mother is
not a person of very rigid morals. I advised the Chevalier Raiberti
of my intentions with regard to her, and I am glad to see that he has
carried them out so well. I hope the girl will shew herself worthy of
your protection."

"Do you think of staying here throughout the carnival?"

"Yes, if your excellency approves."

"It depends entirely on your good conduct."

"A few peccadilloes excepted, my conduct is always above reproach."

"There are some peccadilloes we do not tolerate here. Have you seen the
Chevalier Osorio?"

"I think of calling on him to-day or to-morrow."

"I hope you will remember me to him."

He rang his bell, bowed, and the audience was over.

The Chevalier Osorio received me at his office, and gave me a most
gracious reception. After I had given him an account of my visit to the
superintendent, he asked me, with a smile, if I felt inclined to submit
with docility to not seeing my mistress in freedom.

"Certainly," said I, "for I am not in love with her."

Osorio looked at me slyly, and observed, "Somehow I don't think your
indifference will be very pleasing to the virtuous duenna."

I understood what he meant, but personally I was delighted not to be
able to see the Corticelli save in the presence of a female dragon. It
would make people talk, and I loved a little scandal, and felt curious
to see what would happen.

When I returned to my house I found the Genoese Passano, a bad poet and
worse painter, to whom I had intended to give the part of a Rosicrucian,
because there was something in his appearance which inspired, if not
respect, at least awe and a certain feeling of fear. In point of fact,
this was only a natural presentiment that the man must be either a
clever rogue or a morose and sullen scholar.

I made him sup with me and gave him a room on the third floor, telling
him not to leave it without my permission. At supper I found him insipid
in conversation, drunken, ignorant, and ill disposed, and I already
repented of having taken him under my protection; but the thing was
done.

The next day, feeling curious to see how the Corticelli was lodged, I
called on her, taking with me a piece of Lyons silk.

I found her and her mother in the landlady's room, and as I came in the
latter said that she was delighted to see me and that she hoped I would
often dine with them. I thanked her briefly and spoke to the girl coolly
enough.

"Shew me your room," said I. She took me there in her mother's company.
"Here is something to make you a winter dress," said I, skewing her the
silk.

"Is this from the marchioness?"

"No, it is from me."

"But where are the three dresses she said she would give me?"

"You know very well on what conditions you were to have them, so let us
say no more about it."

She unfolded the silk which she liked very much, but she said she must
have some trimmings. The Pacienza offered her services, and said she
would send for a dressmaker who lived close by. I acquiesced with a nod,
and as soon as she had left the room the Signora Laura said she was very
sorry only to be able to receive me in the presence of the landlady.

"I should have thought," said I, "that a virtuous person like you would
have been delighted."

"I thank God for it every morning and night."

"You infernal old hypocrite!" said I, looking contemptuously at her.

"Upon my word, anybody who didn't know you would be taken in."

In a few minutes Victorine and another girl came in with their
band-boxes.

"Are you still at Madame R----'s?" said I.

"Yes sir," said she, with a blush.

When the Corticelli had chosen what she wanted I told Victorine to
present my compliments to her mistress, and tell her that I would call
and pay for the articles.

The landlady had also sent for a dressmaker, and while the Corticelli
was being measured, she shewed me her figure and said she wanted a
corset. I jested on the pregnancy with which she threatened me, and of
which there was now no trace, pitying Count N---- for being deprived of
the joys of fatherhood. I then gave her what money she required and took
my leave. She escorted me to the door, and asked me if she should have
the pleasure of seeing me again before long.

"It's a pleasure, is it?" I replied; "well, I don't know when you will
have it again; it depends on my leisure and my fancy."

It is certain that if I had any amorous feelings or even curiosity about
the girl, I should not have left her in that house for a moment; but
I repeat my love for her had entirely vanished. There was one thing,
however, which annoyed me intolerably, namely, that in spite of my
coolness towards her, the little hussy pretended to think that I had
forgotten and forgiven everything.

On leaving the Corticelli, I proceeded to call on my bankers, amongst
others on M. Martin, whose wife was justly famous for her wit and
beauty.

I chanced to meet the horse-dealing Jew, who had made money out of me by
means of his daughter Leah. She was still pretty, but married; and her
figure was too rounded for my taste. She and her husband welcomed me
with great warmth, but I cared for her no longer, and did not wish to
see her again.

I called on Madame R----, who had been awaiting me impatiently ever
since Victorine had brought news of me. I sat down by the counter and
had the pleasure of hearing from her lips the amorous histories of Turin
for the past few months.

"Victorine and Caton are the only two of the old set that still remain,
but I have replaced them with others."

"Has Victorine found anyone to operate on her yet?"

"No, she is just as you left her, but a gentleman who is in love with
her is going to take her to Milan."

This gentleman was the Comte de Perouse, whose acquaintance I made three
years afterwards at Milan. I shall speak of him in due time. Madame
R---- told me that, in consequence of her getting into trouble several
times with the police, she had been obliged to promise the Count d'Aglie
only to send the girls to ladies, and, consequently, if I found any
of them to my taste I should be obliged to make friends with their
relations and take them to the festas. She shewed me the girls in the
work-room, but I did not think any of them worth taking trouble about.

She talked about the Pacienza, and when I told her that I kept the
Corticelli, and of the hard conditions to which I was obliged to submit,
she exclaimed with astonishment, and amused me by her jests on the
subject.

"You are in good hands, my dear sir," said she; "the woman is not only
a spy of d'Aglie's, but a professional procuress. I wonder the Chevalier
Raiberti placed the girl with her."

She was not so surprised when I told her that the chevalier had good
reasons for his action, and that I myself had good reasons of my own for
wishing the Corticelli to remain there.

Our conversation was interrupted by a customer who wanted silk
stockings. Hearing him speak of dancing, I asked him if he could tell me
the address of Dupre, the ballet-master.

"No one better, sir, for I am Dupre, at your service."

"I am delighted at this happy chance. The Chevalier Raiberti gave me
to understand that you might be able to give dancing lessons to a
ballet-girl of my acquaintance."

"M. de Raiberti mentioned your name to me this morning. You must be the
Chevalier de Seingalt?"

"Exactly."

"I can give the young lady lessons every morning at nine o'clock at my
own home."

"No, do you come to her house, but at whatever hour you like. I will pay
you, and I hope you will make her one of your best pupils. I must warn
you, however, that she is not a novice."

"I will call on her to-day, and to-morrow I will tell you what I can
make of her; but I think I had better tell you my terms: I charge three
Piedmontese livres a lesson."

"I think that is very reasonable; I will call on you to-morrow."

"You do me honour. Here is my address. If you like to come in the
afternoon you will see the rehearsal of a ballet."

"Is it not rehearsed at the theatre?"

"Yes, but at the theatre no on-lookers are allowed by the orders of the
superintendent of police."

"This superintendent of yours puts his finger into a good many pies."

"In too many."

"But at your own house anybody may come?"

"Undoubtedly, but I could not have the dancers there if my wife were not
present. The superintendent knows her, and has great confidence in her."

"You will see me at the rehearsal."

The wretched superintendent had erected a fearful system of surveillance
against the lovers of pleasure, but it must be confessed that he
was often cheated. Voluptuousness was all the more rampant when thus
restrained; and so it ever will be while men have passions and women
desires. To love and enjoy, to desire and to satisfy one's desires, such
is the circle in which we move, and whence we can never be turned.
When restrictions are placed upon the passions as in Turkey, they still
attain their ends, but by methods destructive to morality.

At the worthy Mazzali's I found two gentlemen to whom she introduced me.
One was old and ugly, decorated with the Order of the White Eagle--his
name was Count Borromeo; the other, young and brisk, was Count A----
B---- of Milan. After they had gone I was informed that they were paying
assiduous court to the Chevalier Raiberti, from whom they hoped to
obtain certain privileges for their lordships which were under the
Sardinian rule.

The Milanese count had not a penny, and the Lord of the Borromean Isles
was not much better off. He had ruined himself with women, and not being
able to live at Milan he had taken refuge in the fairest of his isles,
and enjoyed there perpetual spring and very little else. I paid him a
visit on my return from Spain, but I shall relate our meeting when I
come to my adventures, my pleasures, my misfortunes, and above all my
follies there, for of such threads was the weft of my life composed, and
folly was the prominent element.

The conversation turned on my house, and the lively Mazzoli asked me how
I liked my cook. I replied that I had not yet tried him, but I proposed
to put him to test the next day, if she and the gentlemen would do me
the honour of supping with me.

The invitation was accepted, and she promised to bring her dear
chevalier with her, and to warn him of the event, as his health only
allowed him to eat once a day.

I called on Dupre in the afternoon. I saw the dancers, male and female,
the latter accompanied by their mothers, who stood on one side muffled
up in thick cloaks. As I passed them under review in my lordly manner,
I noticed that one of them still looked fresh and pretty, which augured
well for her daughter, though the fruit does not always correspond to
the tree.

Dupre introduced me to his wife, who was young and pretty, but who had
been obliged to leave the theatre owing to the weakness of her chest.
She told me that if the Corticelli would work hard her husband would
make a great dancer of her, as her figure was eminently suited for
dancing. While I was talking with Madame Dupre, the Corticelli, late
Lascaris, came running up to me with the air of a favourite, and told
me she wanted some ribbons and laces to make a bonnet. The others girls
began to whisper to each other, and guessing what they must be saying I
turned to Dupre without taking any notice of Madame Madcap, and gave him
twelve pistoles, saying that I would pay for the lessons three months in
advance, and that I hoped he would bring his new pupil on well. Such
a heavy payment in advance caused general surprise, which I enjoyed,
though pretending not to be aware of it. Now I know that I acted
foolishly, but I have promised to speak the truth in these Memoirs,
which will not see the light till all light has left my eyes, and I will
keep my promise.

I have always been greedy of distinction; I have always loved to
draw the eyes of men towards men, but I must also add that if I have
humiliated anyone it has always been a proud man or a fool, for it has
been my rule to please everyone if I can.

I sat on one side, the better to observe the swarm of girls, and I soon
fixed my eyes on one whose appearance struck me. She had a fine figure,
delicate features, a noble air, and a patient look which interested me
in the highest degree. She was dancing with a man who did not scruple
to abuse her in the coarsest manner when she made any mistakes, but she
bore it without replying, though an expression of contempt mingled with
the sweetness of her face.

Instinct drew me to the mother I have remarked on, and I asked her to
whom the dancer that interested me belonged.

"I am her mother," she replied.

"You, madam! I should not have thought it possible."

"I was very young when she was born."

"I should think so. Where do you come from?"

"I am from Lucca, and what is more-a poor widow."

"How can you be poor, when you are still young and handsome, and have an
angel for a daughter?"

She replied only by an expressive glance. I understood her reserve, and
I stayed by her without speaking. Soon after, Agatha, as her daughter
was named, came up to her to ask for a handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Allow me to offer you mine," said I. It was a white handkerchief, and
scented with attar of roses; this latter circumstance gave her an excuse
for accepting it, but after smelling it she wanted to return it to me.

"You have not used it," said I! "do so."

She obeyed, and then returned it to me with a bow by way of thanks.

"You must not give it me back, fair Agatha, till you have had it
washed."

She smiled, and gave it to her mother, glancing at me in a grateful
manner, which I considered of good omen.

"May I have the pleasure of calling on you?" said I. "I cannot receive
you, sir, except in the presence of my landlady."

"This cursed restriction is general in Turin, then?"

"Yes, the superintendent uses everybody in the same way."

"Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again here?"

In the evening I had one of the best suppers I ever had in my life, if I
except those I enjoyed during my stay at Turin. My cook was worthy of a
place in the kitchen of Lucullus; but without detracting from his
skill I must do justice to the products of the country. Everything
is delicious; game, fish, birds, meat, vegetables, fruit, milk, and
truffles--all are worthy of the table of the greatest gourmets, and the
wines of the country yield to none. What a pity that strangers do
not enjoy liberty at Turin! It is true that better society, and more
politeness, such as are found in several French and Italian towns, are
to be wished for.

The beauty of the women of Turin is no doubt due to the excellence of
the air and diet.

I had not much trouble in extracting a promise from Madame Mazzoli and
the two counts to sup with me every night, but the Chevalier de Raiberti
would only promise to come whenever he could.

At the Carignan Theatre, where opera-bouffe was being played, I saw
Redegonde, with whom I had failed at Florence. She saw me in the pit and
gave me a smile, so I wrote to her, offering my services if the mother
had changed her way of thinking. She answered that her mother was always
the same, but that if I would ask the Corticelli she could come and sup
with me, though the mother would doubtless have to be of the party. I
gave her no answer, as the terms she named were by no means to my taste.

I had a letter from Madame du Rumain, enclosing one from M. de
Choiseul to M. de Chauvelin, the French ambassador at Turin. It will
be remembered that I had known this worthy nobleman at Soleure, and had
been treated with great politeness by him, but I wished to have a more
perfect title to his acquaintance; hence I asked Madame du Rumain to
give me a letter.

M. de Chauvelin received me with the greatest cordiality; and
reproaching me for having thought a letter of introduction necessary,
introduced me to his charming wife, who was no less kind than her
husband. Three or four days later he asked me to dine with him, and I
met at his table M. Imberti, the Venetian ambassador, who said he was
very sorry not to be able to present me at Court. On hearing the reason
M. de Chauvelin offered to present me himself, but I thought it best to
decline with thanks. No doubt it would have been a great honour, but the
result would be that I should be more spied on than even in this town
of spies, where the most indifferent actions do not pass unnoticed. My
pleasures would have been interfered with.

Count Borromeo continued to honour me by coming every night to sup
with me, preserving his dignity the while, for as he accompanied Madame
Mazzoli it was not to be supposed that he came because he was in need of
a meal. Count A---- B---- came more frankly, and I was pleased with
him. He told me one day that the way I put up with his visits made him
extremely grateful to Providence, for his wife could not send him any
money, and he could not afford to pay for his dinner at the inn, so that
if it were not for my kindness he would often be obliged to go hungry to
bed. He shewed me his wife's letters; he had evidently a high opinion
of her. "I hope," he would say, "that you will come and stay with us at
Milan, and that she will please you."

He had been in the service of Spain, and by what he said I judged his
wife to be a pleasing brunette of twenty-five or twenty-six. The count
had told her how I had lent him money several times, and of my goodness
to him, and she replied, begging him to express her gratitude to me, and
to make me promise to stay with them at Milan. She wrote wittily, and
her letters interested me to such an extent that I gave a formal promise
to journey to Milan, if it were only for the sake of seeing her.

I confess that in doing so I was overcome by my feelings of curiosity.
I knew they were poor, and I should not have given a promise which would
either bring them into difficulties or expose me to paying too dearly
for my lodging. However, by way of excuse, I can only say that
curiosity is near akin to love. I fancied the countess sensible like an
Englishwoman, passionate like a Spaniard, caressing like a Frenchwoman,
and as I had a good enough opinion of my own merit, I did not doubt for
a moment that she would respond to my affection. With these pleasant
delusions in my head, I counted on exciting the jealousy of all the
ladies and gentlemen of Milan. I had plenty of money, and I longed for
an opportunity of spending it.

Nevertheless, I went every day to rehearsal at Dupre's, and I soon got
madly in love with Agatha. Madame Dupre won over by several presents I
made her, received my confidences with kindness, and by asking Agatha
and her mother to dinner procured me the pleasure of a more private
meeting with my charmer. I profited by the opportunity to make known my
feelings, and I obtained some slight favours, but so slight were they
that my flame only grew the fiercer.

Agatha kept on telling me that everybody knew that the Corticelli was my
mistress, and that for all the gold in the world she would not have it
said that she was my last shift, as I could not see the Corticelli in
private. I swore to her that I did not love the Corticelli, and that I
only kept her to prevent M. Raiberti being compromised; but all this was
of no avail, she had formed her plans, and nothing would content her but
a formal rupture which would give all Turin to understand that I loved
her and her alone. On these conditions she promised me her heart, and
everything which follows in such cases.

I loved her too well not to endeavour to satisfy her, since my
satisfaction depended on hers. With this idea I got Dupre to give a
ball at my expense in some house outside the town, and to invite all the
dancers, male and female, who were engaged for the carnival at Turin.
Every gentleman had the right to bring a lady to have supper and look
on, as only the professional dancers were allowed to dance.

I told Dupre that I would look after the refreshment department, and
that he might tell everybody that no expense was to be spared. I also
provided carriages and sedan-chairs for the ladies, but nobody was to
know that I was furnishing the money. Dupre saw that there was profit
in store for him, and went about it at once. He found a suitable house,
asked the lady dancers, and distributed about fifty tickets.

Agatha and her mother were the only persons who knew that the project
was mine, and that I was responsible to a great extent for the expenses;
but these facts were generally known the day after the ball.

Agatha had no dress that was good enough, so I charged Madame Dupre to
provide one at my expense, and I was well served. It is well known that
when this sort of people dip their fingers into other's purses they are
not sparing, but that was just what I wanted. Agatha promised to dance
all the quadrilles with me, and to return to Turin with Madame Dupre.

On the day fixed for the ball I stayed to dinner at the Dupre's to be
present at Agatha's toilette. Her dress was a rich and newly-made Lyons
silk, and the trimming was exquisite Alencon point lace, of which the
girl did not know the value. Madame R----, who had arranged the dress,
and Madame Dupre, had received instructions to say nothing about it to
her.

When Agatha was ready to start, I told her that the ear-rings she was
wearing were not good enough for her dress.

"That's true," said Madame Dupre, "and it's a great pity."

"Unfortunately," said the mother, "my poor girl hasn't got another
pair."

"I have some pretty imitation pendants, which I could lend you," said I;
"they are really very brilliant."

I had taken care to put the ear-rings which Madame d'Urfe had intended
for the Countess Lascaris in my pocket. I drew them out, and they were
greatly admired.

"One would swear they were real diamonds," said Madame Dupre.

I put them in Agatha's ears. She admired them very much, and said that
all the other girls would be jealous, as they would certainly take them
for real stones.

I went home and made an elaborate toilette, and on arriving at the ball
I found Agatha dancing with Lord Percy, a young fool, who was the son of
the Duke of Northumberland, and an extravagant spendthrift.

I noticed several handsome ladies from Turin, who, being merely
onlookers, might be thinking that the ball was given for their
amusement, like the fly on the chariot wheel. All the ambassadors were
present, and amongst others M. de Chauvelin, who told me that to make
everything complete my pretty housekeeper at Soleure was wanting.

The Marquis and Marchioness de Prie were there also. The marquis did
not care to dance, so was playing a little game of quinze with a rude
gamester, who would not let the marquis's mistress look over his cards.
She saw me, but pretended not to recognize me; the trick I had played
her at Aix being probably enough to last her for some time.

The minuets came to an end, and Dupre announced the quadrilles, and I
was glad to see the Chevalier Ville-Follet dancing with the Corticelli.
My partner was Agatha, who had great difficulty in getting rid of Lord
Percy, though she told him that she was fully engaged.

Minuets and quadrilles followed each other in succession, and
refreshments began to make their appearance. I was delighted to see that
the refreshment counter was furnished with the utmost liberality. The
Piedmontese, who are great at calculations, estimated that Dupre must
lose by it, the firing of champagne corks was continuous.

Feeling tired I asked Agatha to sit down, and I was telling her how I
loved her when Madame de Chauvelin and another lady interrupted us. I
rose to give them place, and Agatha imitated my example; but Madame de
Chauvelin made her sit down beside her, and praised her dress, and above
all the lace trimming. The other lady said how pretty her ear-rings
were, and what a pity it was that those imitation stones would lose
their brilliance in time. Madame de Chauvelin, who knew something about
precious stones, said that they would never lose their brilliance, as
they were diamonds of the first water.

"It is not so?" she added, to Agatha, who in the candour of her heart
confessed that they were imitation, and that I had lent them to her.

At this Madame de Chauvelin burst out laughing, and said,--

"M. de Seingalt has deceived you, my dear child. A gentleman of his
caste does not lend imitation jewellery to such a pretty girl as you
are. Your ear-rings are set with magnificent diamonds."

She blushed, for my silence confirmed the lady's assertion, and she felt
that the fact of my having lent her such stones was a palpable proof of
the great esteem in which I held her.

Madame de Chauvelin asked me to dance a minuet with Agatha, and my
partner executed the dance with wonderful grace. When it was over Madame
de Chauvelin thanked me, and told me that she should always remember our
dancing together at Soleure, and that she hoped I would dance again with
her at her own house. A profound bow shewed her how flattered I felt by
the compliment.

The ball did not come to an end till four o'clock in the morning, and I
did not leave it till I saw Agatha going away in the company with Madame
Dupre.

I was still in bed the next morning, when my man told me a pretty woman
wanted to speak to me. I had her in and was delighted to find it was
Agatha's mother. I made her sit down beside me, and gave her a cup
of chocolate. As soon as we were alone she drew my ear-rings from her
pocket, and said, with a smile, that she had just been shewing them to a
jeweller, who had offered her a thousand sequins for them.

"The man's mad," said I, "you ought to have let him have them; they are
not worth four sequins."

So saying, I drew her to my arms and gave her a kiss. Feeling that she
had shared in the kiss, and that she seemed to like it, I went farther,
and at last we spent a couple of hours in shewing what a high opinion we
had of each other.

Afterwards we both looked rather astonished, and it was the beautiful
mother who first broke the silence.

"Am I to tell my girl," said she, with a smile, "of the way in which you
proved to me that you love her?"

"I leave that to your discretion, my dear," said I. "I have certainly
proved that I love you, but it does not follow that I do not adore your
daughter. In fact, I burn for her; and yet, if we are not careful to
avoid being alone together, what has just happened between us will often
happen again."

"It is hard to resist you, and it is possible that I may have occasion
to speak to you again in private."

"You may be sure you will always be welcome, and all I ask of you is not
to put any obstacles in the way of my suit with Agatha."

"I have also a favour to ask."

"If it is within my power, you may be sure I will grant it."

"Very good! Then tell me if these ear-rings are real, and what was your
intention in putting them in my daughter's ears?"

"The diamonds are perfectly genuine, and my intention was that Agatha
should keep them as a proof of my affection."

She heaved a sigh, and then told me that I might ask them to supper,
with Dupre and his wife, whenever I pleased. I thanked her, gave her ten
sequins, and sent her away happy.

On reflection I decided that I had never seen a more sensible woman than
Agatha's mother. It would have been impossible to announce the success
of my suit in a more delicate or more perspicuous manner.

My readers will no doubt guess that I seized the opportunity and brought
this interesting affair to a conclusion. The same evening I asked Dupre
and his wife, Agatha and her mother, to sup with me the next day, in
addition to my usual company. But as I was leaving Dupre's I had an
adventure.

My man, who was a great rascal, but who behaved well on this occasion,
ran up to me panting for breath, and said triumphantly,

"Sir, I have been looking for you to warn you that I have just seen
the Chevalier de Ville-Follet slip into Madame Pacienza's house, and I
suspect he is making an amorous call on the Corticelli."

I immediately walked to the abode of the worthy spy in high spirits, and
hoping that my servant's guess had been correct. I walked in and found
the landlady and the mother sitting together. Without noticing them, I
was making my way towards the Corticelli's room when the two old ladies
arrested my course, telling me that the signora was not well and wanted
rest. I pushed them aside, and entered the room so swiftly and suddenly
that I found the gentleman in a state of nature while the girl remained
stretched on the bed as if petrified by my sudden apparition.

"Sir," said I, "I hope you will pardon me for coming in without
knocking."

"Wait a moment, wait a moment."

Far from waiting I went away in high glee, and told the story to the
Chevalier Raiberti, who enjoyed it as well as I did. I asked him to
warn the Pacienza woman that from that day I would pay nothing for
Corticelli, who had ceased to belong to me. He approved, and said,--

"I suppose you will not be going to complain to the Count d'Aglie?"

"It is only fools who complain, above all in circumstances like these."

This scandalous story would have been consigned to forgetfulness, if it
had not been for the Chevalier de Ville-Follet's indiscretion. He
felt angry at being interrupted in the middle of the business, and
remembering he had seen my man just before fixed on him as the informer.
Meeting him in the street the chevalier reproached him for spying,
whereon the impudent rascal replied that he was only answerable to his
master, and that it was his duty to serve me in all things. On this the
chevalier caned him, and the man went to complain to the superintendent,
who summoned Ville-Follet to appear before him and explain his conduct.
Having nothing to fear, he told the whole story.

The Chevalier de Raiberti, too, was very ill received when he went
to tell Madame Pacienza that neither he nor I were going to pay
her anything more in future; but he would listen to no defence. The
chevalier came to sup with me, and he informed me that on leaving the
house he had met a police sergeant, whom he concluded had come to cite
the landlady to appear before the Count d'Aglie.

The next day, just as I was going to M. de Chauvelin's ball, I received
to my great surprise a note from the superintendent begging me to call
on him as he had something to communicate to me. I immediately ordered
my chairmen to take me to his residence.

M. de Aglie received me in private with great politeness, and after
giving me a chair he began a long and pathetic discourse, the gist
of which was that it was my duty to forgive this little slip of my
mistress's.

"That's exactly what I am going to do," said I; "and for the rest of my
days I never wish to see the Corticelli again, or to make or mar in
her affairs, and for all this I am greatly obliged to the Chevalier de
Ville-Follet."

"I see you are angry. Come, come! you must not abandon the girl for
that. I will have the woman Pacienza punished in such a way as to
satisfy you, and I will place the girl in a respectable family where you
can go and see her in perfect liberty."

"I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, indeed I am grateful;
but I despise the Pacienza too heartily to wish for her punishment, and
as to the Corticelli and her mother, they are two female swindlers, who
have given me too much trouble already. I am well quit of them."

"You must confess, however, that you had no right to make a forcible
entry into a room in a house which does not belong to you."

"I had not the right, I confess, but if I had not taken it I could never
have had a certain proof of the perfidy of my mistress; and I should
have been obliged to continue supporting her, though she entertained
other lovers."

"The Corticelli pretends that you are her debtor, and not vice versa.
She says that the diamonds you have given another girl belong of
right to her, and that Madame d'Urfe, whom I have the honour to know,
presented her with them."

"She is a liar! And as you know Madame d'Urfe, kindly write to her (she
is at Lyons); and if the marchioness replies that I owe the wretched
girl anything, be sure that I will discharge the debt. I have a hundred
thousand francs in good banks of this town, and the money will be a
sufficient surety for the ear-rings I have disposed of."

"I am sorry that things have happened so."

"And I am very glad, as I have ridden myself of a burden that was hard
to bear."

Thereupon we bowed politely to one another, and I left the office.

At the French ambassador's ball I heard so much talk of my adventure
that at last I refused to reply to any more questions on the subject.
The general opinion was that the whole affair was a trifle of which
I could not honourably take any notice; but I thought myself the best
judge of my own honour, and was determined to take no notice of the
opinions of others. The Chevalier de Ville-Follet came up to me and said
that if I abandoned the Corticelli for such a trifle, he should feel
obliged to give me satisfaction. I shook his hand, saying,--

"My dear chevalier, it will be enough if you do not demand satisfaction
of me."

He understood how the land lay, and said no more about it; but not so
his sister, the Marchioness de Prie, who made a vigorous attack on me
after we had danced together. She was handsome, and might have been
victorious if she had liked, but luckily she did not think of exerting
her power, and so gained nothing.

Three days after, Madame de St. Giles, a great power in Turin, and a
kind of protecting deity to all actresses, summoned me to her presence
by a liveried footman. Guessing what she wanted, I called on her
unceremoniously in a morning coat. She received me politely, and began
to talk of the Corticelli affair with great affability; but I did not
like her, and replied dryly that I had had no hesitation in abandoning
the girl to the protection of the gallant gentleman with whom I had
surprised her in 'flagrante delicto'. She told me I should be sorry for
it, and that she would publish a little story which she had already read
and which did not do me much credit. I replied that I never changed my
mind, and that threats were of no avail with me. With that parting shot
I left her.

I did not attach much importance to the town gossip, but a week after
I received a manuscript containing an account--accurate in most
respects--of my relations with the Corticelli and Madame d'Urfe, but
so ill written and badly expressed that nobody could read it without
weariness. It did not make the slightest impression on me, and I
stayed a fortnight longer in Turin without its causing me the slightest
annoyance. I saw the Corticelli again in Paris six months after, and
will speak of our meeting in due time.

The day after M. de Chauvelin's ball I asked Agatha, her mother, the
Dupres, and my usual company to supper. It was the mother's business
to so arrange matters that the ear-rings should become Agatha's lawful
property, so I left everything to her. I knew she would manage to
introduce the subject, and while we were at supper she said that the
common report of Turin was that I had given her daughter a pair of
diamond ear-rings worth five hundred Louis, which the Corticelli claimed
as hers by right.

"I do not know," she added, "if they are real diamonds, or if they
belong to the Corticelli, but I do know that my girl has received no
such present from the gentleman."

"Well, well," said I, "we will have no more surmises in the matter;" and
going up to Agatha I put the earrings on her, saying,--

"Dearest Agatha, I make you a present of them before this company, and
my giving them to you now is a proof that hitherto they have belonged to
me."

Everybody applauded, and I read in the girl's eyes that I should have no
cause to regret my generosity.

We then fell to speaking of the affair of Ville-Follet and the
Corticelli, and of the efforts that had been made to compel me to retain
her. The Chevalier Raiberti said that in my place he would have offered
Madame de St. Giles or the superintendent to continue paying for her
board, but merely as an act of charity, and that I could have deposited
money with either of them.

"I should be very glad to do so," said I; and the next day the worthy
chevalier made the necessary arrangements with Madame de St. Giles, and
I furnished the necessary moneys.

In spite of this charitable action, the wretched manuscript came out,
but, as I have said, without doing me any harm. The superintendent
made the Corticelli live in the same house with Redegonde, and Madame
Pacienza was left in peace.

After supper, with the exception of the Chevalier Raiberti, we all
masked, and went to the ball at the opera-house. I soon seized the
opportunity of escaping with Agatha, and she granted me all that love
can desire. All constraint was banished; she was my titular mistress,
and we were proud of belonging the one to the other, for we loved each
other. The suppers I had given at my house had set me perfectly at
liberty, and the superintendent could do nothing to thwart our love,
though he was informed of it, so well are the spies of Turin organized.

Divine Providence made use of me as its instrument in making Agatha's
fortune. It may be said that Providence might have chosen a more moral
method, but are we to presume to limit the paths of Providence to the
narrow circle of our prejudices and conventions? It has its own ways,
which often appear dark to us because of our ignorance. At all events,
if I am able to continue these Memoirs for six or seven years more, the
reader will see that Agatha shewed herself grateful. But to return to
our subject.

The happiness we enjoyed by day and night was so great, Agatha was so
affectionate and I so amorous, that we should certainly have remained
united for some time if it had not been for the event I am about to
relate. It made me leave Turin much sooner than I had intended, for I
had not purposed to visit the wonderful Spanish countess at Milan till
Lent. The husband of the Spanish lady had finished his business and left
Turin, thanking me with tears in his eyes; and if it had not been for
me he would not have been able to quit the town, for I paid divers small
debts he had incurred, and gave him the wherewithal for his journey.
Often is vice thus found allied to virtue or masking in virtue's guise;
but what matter? I allowed myself to be taken in, and did not wish to
be disabused. I do not seek to conceal my faults. I have always led a
profligate life, and have not always been very delicate in the choice
of means to gratify my passions, but even amidst my vices I was always
a passionate lover of virtue. Benevolence, especially, has always had a
great charm for me, and I have never failed to exercise it unless when
restrained by the desire of vengeance--a vice which has always had a
controlling influence on my actions.

Lord Percy, as I have remarked, was deeply in love with my Agatha. He
followed her about everywhere, was present at all the rehearsals,
waited for her at the wings, and called on her every day, although her
landlady, a duenna of the Pacienza school, would never let her see him
alone. The principal methods of seduction--rich presents--had not been
spared, but Agatha persistently refused them all, and forbade her duenna
to take anything from the young nobleman. Agatha had no liking for him,
and kept me well informed of all his actions, and we used to laugh at
him together. I knew that I possessed her heart, and consequently Lord
Percy's attempts neither made me angry or jealous--nay, they flattered
my self-esteem, for his slighted love made my own happiness stand out in
greater relief. Everybody knew that Agatha remained faithful to me, and
at last Lord Percy was so convinced of the hopelessness of the attempt
that he resolved on making a friend of me, and winning me over to his
interests.

With the true Englishman's boldness and coolness he came to me one
morning, and asked me to give him breakfast. I welcomed him in the
French manner, that is, with combined cordiality and politeness, and he
was soon completely at his ease.

With insular directness he went straight to the point at the first
interview, declared his love for Agatha, and proposed an exchange, which
amused, but did not offend me, as I knew that such bargains were common
in England.

"I know," said he, "that you are in love with Redegonde, and have long
tried vainly to obtain her; now I am willing to exchange her for Agatha,
and all I want to know is what sum of money you want over and above?"

"You are very good, my dear lord, but to determine the excess of value
would require a good mathematician. Redegonde is all very well, and
inspires me with curiosity, but what is she compared to Agatha?"

"I know, I know, and I therefore offer you any sum you like to mention."

Percy was very rich, and very passionate. I am sure that if I had named
twenty-five thousand guineas as overplus, or rather as exchange--for I
did not care for Redegonde--he would have said done. However, I did not,
and I am glad of it. Even now, when a hundred thousand francs would be a
fortune to me, I never repent of my delicacy.

After we had breakfasted merrily together, I told him that I liked him
well, but that in the first place it would be well to ascertain whether
the two commodities would consent to change masters.

"I am sure of Redegonde's consent," said Lord Percy.

"But I am not at all sure of Agatha's," said I.

"Why not?"

"I have very strong grounds for supposing that she would not consent to
the arrangement. What reasons have you for the contrary opinion?"

"She will shew her sense."

"But she loves me."

"Well, Redegonde loves me."

"I dare say; but does she love me?"

"I am sure I don't know, but she will love you."

"Have you consulted her upon the point?"

"No, but it is all the same. What I want to know now is whether you
approve of my plan, and how much you want for the exchange, for your
Agatha is worth much more than my Redegonde."

"I am delighted to hear you do my mistress justice. As for the money
question, we will speak of that later. In the first place I will take
Agatha's opinion, and will let you know the result to-morrow morning."

The plan amused me, and though I was passionately attached to Agatha I
knew my inconstant nature well enough to be aware that another woman,
may be not so fair as she, would soon make me forget her. I therefore
resolved to push the matter through if I could do so in a manner that
would be advantageous for her.

What surprised me was that the young nobleman had gained possession
of Redegonde, whose mother appeared so intractable, but I knew what an
influence caprice has on woman, and this explained the enigma.

Agatha came to supper as usual, and laughed heartily when I told her of
Lord Percy's proposal.

"Tell me," said I, "if you would agree to the change?"

"I will do just as you like," said she; "and if the money he offers be
acceptable to you, I advise you to close with him."

I could see by the tone of her voice that she was jesting, but her reply
did not please me. I should have liked to have my vanity flattered by a
peremptory refusal, and consequently I felt angry. My face grew grave,
and Agatha became melancholy.

"We will see," said I, "how it all ends."

Next day I went to breakfast with the Englishman, and told him Agatha
was willing, but that I must first hear what Redegonde had to say.

"Quite right," he observed.

"I should require to know how we are to live together."

"The four of us had better go masked to the first ball at the Carignan
Theatre. We will sup at a house which belongs to me, and there the
bargain can be struck."

The party took place according to agreement, and at the given signal we
all left the ball-room. My lord's carriage was in waiting, and we all
drove away and got down at a house I seemed to know. We entered the
hall, and the first thing I saw was the Corticelli. This roused my
choler, and taking Percy aside I told him that such a trick was unworthy
of a gentleman. He laughed, and said he thought I should like her to
be thrown in, and that two pretty women were surely worth as much as
Agatha. This amusing answer made me less angry; but, calling him a
madman, I took Agatha by the arm and went out without staying for any
explanations. I would not make use of his carriage, and instead
of returning to the ball we went home in sedan-chairs, and spent a
delicious night in each other's arms.



EPISODE 20 -- MILAN



CHAPTER XVIII


     I Give up Agatha to Lord Percy--I Set out for Milan--
     The Actress at Pavia--Countess A * * * B * * *--Disappointment--
     Marquis Triulzi--Zenobia--The Two Marchionesses Q * * *--
     The Venetian Barbaro

Far from punishing the Corticelli by making her live with Redegonde, the
Count d'Aglie seemed to have encouraged her; and I was not sorry for it,
since as long as she did not trouble me any more I did not care how many
lovers she had. She had become a great friend of Redegonde's, and did
exactly as she pleased, for their duenna was much more easy going than
the Pacienza.

Nobody knew of the trick which Lord Percy had played me, and I took
care to say nothing about it. However, he did not give up his designs
on Agatha, his passion for her was too violent. He hit upon an ingenious
method for carrying out his plans. I have already said that Percy was
very rich, and spent his money wildly, not caring at what expenditure
he gratified his passion. I was the last person to reproach him for his
extravagance, and in a country where money is always scarce his guineas
opened every door to him.

Four or five days after the ball night, Agatha came to tell me that the
manager of the Alexandria Theatre had asked her if she would take the
part of second dancer throughout the carnival time.

"He offered me sixty sequins," she added, "and I told him I would let
him know by to-morrow. Do you advise me to accept his offer?"

"If you love me, dearest Agatha, you will prove it by refusing all
engagements for a year. You know I will let you want for nothing.

"I will get you the best masters, and in that time you can perfect your
dancing, and will be able to ask for a first-class appointment, with a
salary of five hundred sequins a year."

"Mamma thinks that I should accept the offer, as the dancing on the
stage will improve my style, and I can study under a good master all the
same. I think myself that dancing in public would do me good."

"There is reason in what you say, but you do not need the sixty sequins.
You will dishonour me by accepting such a poor offer, and you will do
yourself harm too, as you will not be able to ask for a good salary
after taking such a small one."

"But sixty sequins is not so bad for a carnival engagement."

"But you don't want sixty sequins; you can have them without dancing at
all. If you love me, I repeat, you will tell the manager that you are
going to rest for a year."

"I will do what you please, but it seems to me the best plan would be to
ask an exorbitant sum."

"You are right; that is a good idea. Tell him you must be first dancer,
and that your salary must be five hundred sequins."

"I will do so, and am only too happy to be able to prove that I love
you."

Agatha had plenty of inborn common sense, which only needed development.
With that and the beauty which Heaven had given her her future was
assured.

She was eventually happy, and she deserved her happiness.

The next day she told me that the manager did not appear at all
astonished at her demands.

"He reflected a few minutes," said she, "and told me he must think it
over, and would see me again. It would be amusing if he took me at my
word, would it not?"

"Yes, but we should then have to enquire whether he is a madman or a
beggar on the verge of bankruptcy."

"And if he turns out to be a man of means?"

"In that case you would be obliged to accept."

"That is easily said and easily done, but have I sufficient talent?
Where shall I find an actor to dance with me?"

"I will engage to find you one. As to talent, you have enough and to
spare; but you will see that it will come to nothing."

All the time I felt a presentiment that she would be engaged, and I
was right. The manager came to her the next day, and offered her the
agreement for her signature. She was quite alarmed, and sent for me.
I called at her house, and finding the manager there asked him what
security he could give for the fulfilment of his part of the engagement.

He answered by naming M. Martin, a banker of my acquaintance, who would
be his surety. I could make no objection to this, and the agreement was
made out in duplicate in good form.

On leaving Agatha I went to M. Raiberti and told him the story. He
shared my astonishment that M. Martin should become surety for the
manager whom he knew, and whose financial position was by no means good;
but the next day the problem was solved, for in spite of the secrecy
that had been observed we found out that it was Lord Percy who was
behind the manager. I might still bar the Englishman's way by continuing
to keep Agatha, in spite of his five hundred sequins, but I was
obliged to return to France after Easter to wait on Madame d'Urfe, and
afterwards, peace having been concluded, I thought it would be a good
opportunity for seeing England. I therefore determined to abandon
Agatha, taking care to bind her new lover to provide for her, and I
proceeded to make a friend of the nobleman.

I was curious to see how he would win Agatha's good graces, for she did
not love him, and physically he was not attractive.

In less than a week we had become intimate. We supped together every
night either at his house or mine, and Agatha and her mother were always
of the party. I concluded that his attentions would soon touch Agatha's
heart, and that finding herself so beloved she would end by loving. This
was enough to make me determine not to put any obstacles in their
way, and I resolved to leave Turin earlier than I had intended. In
consequence I spoke as follows to Lord Percy, while we were breakfasting
together:

"My lord, you know that I love Agatha, and that she loves me,
nevertheless I am your friend, and since you adore her I will do my best
to hasten your bliss. I will leave you in possession of this treasure,
but you must promise that when you abandon her you will give her two
thousand guineas."

"My dear sir," said he, "I will give them her now if you like."

"No, my lord, I do not wish her to know anything about our agreement
while you are living happily together."

"Then I will give you a bond binding myself to pay her the two thousand
guineas when we separate."

"I don't want that, the word of an Englishman is enough; but since we
cannot command the fates, and may die without having time to put our
affairs in order, I wish you to take such steps as may seem convenient
to you, whereby that sum would go to her after your death."

"I give you my word on it."

"That is enough; but I have one other condition to make."

"Say on."

"It is that you promise to say nothing to Agatha before my departure."

"I swear I will not."

"Very good; and on my part I promise to prepare her for the change:"

The same day the Englishman, whose love grew hotter and hotter, made
Agatha and her mother rich presents, which under any other circumstances
I should not have allowed them to accept.

I lost no time in preparing Agatha and her mother for the impending
change. They seemed affected, but I knew they would soon get reconciled
to the situation. Far from giving me any cause for complaint, Agatha was
more affectionate than ever. She listened attentively to my advice as to
her conduct towards her new lover and the world in general, and promised
to follow it. It was to this advice that she owed her happiness, for
Percy made her fortune. However, she did not leave the theatre for some
years, when we shall hear more of her.

I was not the man to take presents from my equals, and Percy no doubt
being aware of that succeeded in making me a handsome present in a very
singular way. I told him that I thought of paying a visit to England and
requested him to give me a letter of introduction to the duchess, his
mother, whereon he drew out a portrait of her set with magnificent
diamonds, and gave it to me, saying,--

"This is the best letter I can give you. I will write and tell her that
you will call and give her the portrait, unless, indeed, she likes to
leave it in your hands."

"I hope my lady will think me worthy of such an honour."

There are certain ideas, it seems to me, which enter no head but an
Englishman's.

I was invited by Count A---- B---- to Milan, and the countess wrote me a
charming letter, begging me to get her two pieces of sarcenet, of which
she enclosed the patterns.

After taking leave of all my friends and acquaintances I got a letter of
credit on the banker, Greppi, and started for the capital of Lombardy.

My separation from Agatha cost me many tears, but not so many as those
shed by her. Her mother wept also, for she loved me, and was grateful
for all my kindness to her daughter. She said again and again that she
could never have borne any rival but her own daughter, while the latter
sobbed out that she wished she had not to part from me.

I did not like Passano, so I sent him to his family at Genoa, giving him
the wherewithal to live till I came for him. As to my man, I dismissed
him for good reasons and took another, as I was obliged to have
somebody; but since I lost my Spaniard I have never felt confidence in
any of my servants.

I travelled with a Chevalier de Rossignan, whose acquaintance I had
made, and we went by Casal to see the opera-bouffe there.

Rossignan was a fine man, a good soldier, fond of wine and women, and,
though he was not learned, he knew the whole of Dante's Divine Comedy
by heart. This was his hobby-horse, and he was always quoting it,
making the passage square with his momentary feelings. This made him
insufferable in society, but he was an amusing companion for anyone
who knew the sublime poet, and could appreciate his numerous and rare
beauties. Nevertheless he made me privately give in my assent to the
proverb, Beware of the man of one book. Otherwise he was intelligent,
statesmanlike, and good-natured. He made himself known at Berlin by his
services as ambassador to the King of Sardinia.

There was nothing interesting in the opera at Casal, so I went to
Pavia, where, though utterly unknown, I was immediately welcomed by the
Marchioness Corti, who received all strangers of any importance. In 1786
I made the acquaintance of her son, an admirable man, who honoured me
with his friendship, and died quite young in Flanders with the rank of
major-general. I wept bitterly for his loss, but tears, after all, are
but an idle tribute to those who cause them to flow. His good qualities
had endeared him to all his acquaintances, and if he had lived longer he
would undoubtedly have risen to high command in the army.

I only stopped two days at Pavia, but it was decreed that I should get
myself talked of, even in that short time.

At the second ballet at the opera an actress dressed in a tippet held
out her cap to the bones as if to beg an alms, while she was dancing a
pas de deux. I was in the Marchioness of Corti's box, and when the
girl held out her cap to me I was moved by feelings of ostentation and
benevolence to draw forth my purse and drop it in. It contained about
twenty ducats. The girl took it, thanked me with a smile, and the pit
applauded loudly. I asked the Marquis Belcredi, who was near me, if she
had a lover.

"She has a penniless French officer, I believe," he replied; "there he
is, in the pit."

I went back to my inn, and was supping with M. Basili, a Modenese
colonel, when the ballet girl, her mother, and her younger sister came
to thank me for my providential gift. "We are so poor," said the girl.

I had almost done supper, and I asked them all to sup with me after the
performance the next day. This offer was quite a disinterested one, and
it was accepted.

I was delighted to have made a woman happy at so little expense and
without any ulterior objects, and I was giving orders to the landlord
for the supper, when Clairmont, my man, told me that a French officer
wanted to speak to me. I had him in, and asked what I could do for him.

"There are three courses before you, Mr. Venetian," said he, "and you
can take which you like. Either countermand this supper, invite me to
come to it, or come and measure swords with me now."

Clairmont, who was attending to the fire, did not give me time to reply,
but seized a burning brand and rushed on the officer, who thought it
best to escape. Luckily for him the door of my room was open. He made
such a noise in running downstairs that the waiter came out and caught
hold of him, thinking he had stolen something; but Clairmont, who was
pursuing him with his firebrand, had him released.

This adventure became town talk directly. My servant, proud of his
exploit and sure of my approval, came to tell me that I need not be
afraid of going out, as the officer was only a braggart. He did not even
draw his sword on the waiter who had caught hold of him, though the man
only had a knife in his belt.

"At all events," he added, "I will go out with you."

I told him that he had done well this time, but that for the future he
must not interfere in my affairs.

"Sir," he replied, "your affairs of this kind are mine too, I shall take
care not to go beyond my duty."

With this speech, which I thought very sensible, though I did not tell
him so, he took one of my pistols and saw to the priming, smiling at me
significantly.

All good French servants are of the same stamp as Clairmont; they are
devoted and intelligent, but they all think themselves cleverer than
their masters, which indeed is often the case, and when they are sure
of it they become the masters of their masters, tyrannize over them,
and give them marks of contempt which the foolish gentlemen endeavour
to conceal. But when the master knows how to make himself respected, the
Clairmonts are excellent.

The landlord of my inn sent a report of the affair to the police, and
the French officer was banished from the town the same day. At dinner
Colonel Basili asked to hear the story, and said that no one but a
French officer would think of attacking a man in his own room in such a
foolish manner. I differed from him.

"The French are brave," I replied, "but generally they are perfectly
polite and have wonderful tact. Wretchedness and love, joined to a false
spirit of courage, makes a fool of a man all the world over."

At supper the ballet-girl thanked me for ridding her of the poor devil,
who (as she said) was always threatening to kill her, and wearied her
besides. Though she was not beautiful, there was something captivating
about this girl. She was graceful, well-mannered, and intelligent, her
mouth was well-shaped, and her eyes large and expressive. I think I
should have found her a good bargain, but as I wanted to get away from
Pavia, and piqued myself on having been good-natured without ulterior
motive, I bade her farewell after supper, with many thanks for her
kindness in coming. My politeness seemed rather to confuse her, but she
went away reiterating her gratitude.

Next day I dined at the celebrated Chartreuse, and in the evening I
reached Milan, and got out at Count A---- B----'s, who had not expected
me till the following day.

The countess, of whom my fancy had made a perfect woman, disappointed me
dreadfully. It is always so when passion gives reins to the imagination.
The Countess was certainly pretty, though too small, and I might still
have loved her, in spite of my disappointment, but at our meeting she
greeted me with a gravity that was not to my taste, and which gave me a
dislike to her.

After the usual compliments, I gave her the two pieces of sarcenet
she had commissioned me to get. She thanked me, telling me that her
confessor would reimburse me for my expenditure. The count then took me
to my room, and left me there till supper. It was nicely furnished,
but I felt ill at ease, and resolved to leave in a day or two if the
countess remained immovable. Twenty-four hours was as much as I cared to
give her.

We made a party of four at supper; the count talking all the time to
draw me out, and to hide his wife's sulkiness. I answered in the same
gay strain, speaking to his wife, however, in the hope of rousing her.
It was all lost labour. The little woman only replied by faint smiles
which vanished almost as they came, and by monosyllabic answers of the
briefest description, without taking her eyes off the dishes which she
thought tasteless; and it was to the priest, who was the fourth person
present, that she addressed her complaints, almost speaking affably to
him.

Although I liked the count very well, I could not help pronouncing his
wife decidedly ungracious. I was looking at her to see if I could find
any justification for her ill humour on her features, but as soon as she
saw me she turned away in a very marked manner, and began to speak about
nothing to the priest. This conduct offended me, and I laughed heartily
at her contempt, or her designs on me, for as she had not fascinated me
at all I was safe from her tyranny.

After supper the sarcenet was brought in; it was to be used for a dress
with hoops, made after the extravagant fashion then prevailing.

The count was grieved to see her fall so short of the praises he had
lavished on her, and came to my room with me, begging me to forgive her
Spanish ways, and saying that she would be very pleasant when she knew
me better.

The count was poor, his house was small, his furniture shabby, and his
footman's livery threadbare; instead of plate he had china, and one of
the countess's maids was chief cook. He had no carriages nor horses, not
even a saddle horse of any kind. Clairmont gave me all this information,
and added that he had to sleep in a little kitchen, and was to share his
bed with the man who had waited at table.

I had only one room, and having three heavy trunks found myself
very uncomfortable, and I decided on seeking some other lodging more
agreeable to my tastes.

The count came early in the morning to ask what I usually took for
breakfast.

"My dear count," I replied, "I have enough fine Turin chocolate to go
all round. Does the countess like it?"

"Very much, but she won't take it unless it is made by her woman."

"Here are six pounds: make her accept it, and tell her that if I hear
anything about payment I shall take it back."

"I am sure she will accept it, and thank you too. Shall I have your
carriage housed?"

"I shall be extremely obliged to you, and I shall be glad if you would
get me a hired carriage, and a guide for whom you can answer."

"It shall be done."

The count was going out when the priest, who had supped with us the
night before, came in to make his bow. He was a man of forty-one of the
tribe of domestic chaplains who are so common in Italy--who, in
return for keeping the accounts of the house, live with its master and
mistress. In the morning this priest said mass in a neighbouring church,
for the rest of the day he either occupied himself with the cares of the
house, or was the lady's obedient servant.

As soon as We were alone he begged me to say that he had paid me the
three hundred Milanese crowns for the sarcenet, if the countess asked me
about it.

"Dear, dear, abbe!" said I, laughing, "this sort of thing is not exactly
proper in a man of your sacred profession. How can you advise me to tell
a lie? No, sir; if the countess asks me any such impertinent question, I
shall tell her the truth."

"I am sure she will ask you, and if you answer like that I shall suffer
for it."

"Well, sir, if you are in the wrong you deserve to suffer."

"But as it happens, I should be blamed for nothing."

"Well, go and tell her it's a present; and if she won't have that, tell
her I am in no hurry to be paid."

"I see, sir, that you don't know the lady or the way in which this house
is managed. I will speak to her husband."

In a quarter of an hour the count told me that he owed me a lot of
money, which he hoped to pay back in the course of Lent, and that I must
add the sarcenet to the account. I embraced him and said that he would
have to keep the account himself, as I never noted down any of the
moneys that I was only too happy to lend to my friends.

"If your wife asks me whether I have received the money, be sure I will
answer in the affirmative."

He went out shedding grateful tears, while I felt indebted to him for
having given me the opportunity of doing him a service; for I was very
fond of him.

In the morning, the countess being invisible, I watched my man spreading
out my suits over the chairs, amongst them being some handsome women's
cloaks, and a rich red dress deeply trimmed with fur, which had been
originally intended for the luckless Corticelli. I should no doubt have
given it to Agatha, if I had continued to live with her, and I should
have made a mistake, as such a dress was only fit for a lady of rank.

At one o'clock I received another visit from the count, who told me that
the countess was going to introduce me to their best friend. This
was the Marquis Triuizi, a man of about, my own age, tall, well made,
squinting slightly, and with all the manner of a nobleman. He told me
that besides coming to have the honour of my acquaintance, he also came
to enjoy the fire, "for," said he, "there's only one fireplace in the
house and that's in your room."

As all the chairs were covered, the marquis drew the countess on to his
knee and made her sit there like a baby; but she blushed, and escaped
from his grasp. The marquis laughed heartily at her confusion, and she
said,--

"Is it possible that a man of your years has not yet learnt to respect a
woman?"

"Really, countess," said he, "I thought it would be very disrespectful
to continue sitting while you were standing."

While Clairmont was taking the clothes off the chairs, the marquis
noticed the mantles and the beautiful dress, and asked me if I were
expecting a lady.

"No," said I, "but I hope to find someone at Milan who will be worthy
of such presents." I added, "I know the Prince Triulzi, at Venice; I
suppose he is of your family?"

"He says he is, and it may be so; but I am certainly not a member of his
family."

This let me know that I should do well to say no more about the prince.

"You must stay to dinner, marquis," said Count A---- B----; "and as
you only like dishes prepared by your own cook you had better send for
them."

The marquis agreed, and we made good cheer. The table was covered with
fair linen and handsome plate, the wine was good and plentiful, and the
servants quick and well dressed. I could now understand the marquis's
position in the house. It was his wit and mirth which kept the
conversation going, and the countess came in for a share of his
pleasantries, while she scolded him for his familiarity.

I could see, however, that the marquis did not want to humiliate her;
on the contrary, he was fond of her, and only wished to bring down her
exaggerated pride. When he saw her on the point of bursting into tears
of rage and shame, he quieted her down by saying that no one in Milan
respected her charms and her high birth more than he.

After dinner the tailor who was to measure the countess for a domino for
the ball was announced. On the marquis's praising the colours and
the beauty of the materials, she told him that I had brought her the
sarcenet from Turin, and this reminded her to ask me whether I had been
paid.

"Your husband settled with me," said I, "but you have given me a lesson
I can never forget."

"What lesson?" said the marquis.

"I had hoped that the countess would have deigned to receive this poor
present at my hands."

"And she wouldn't take it? It's absurd, on my life."

"There is nothing to laugh at," said the countess, "but you laugh at
everything."

While the man was measuring her, she complained of feeling cold, as she
was in her stays, and her beautiful breast was exposed. Thereupon, the
marquis put his hands on it, as if he were quite accustomed to use
such familiarities. But the Spaniard, no doubt ashamed because of my
presence, got into a rage, and abused him in the most awful manner,
while he laughed pleasantly, as if he could calm the storm when he
pleased. This was enough to inform me of the position in which they
stood to one another, and of the part I ought to take.

We remained together till the evening, when the countess and the marquis
went to the opera, and the count came with me to my room, till my
carriage was ready to take us there too. The opera had begun when we
got in, and the first person I noticed on the stage was my dear Therese
Palesi, whom I had left at Florence. It was a pleasant surprise to me,
and I foresaw that we should renew our sweet interviews while I remained
at Milan I was discreet enough to say nothing to the count about his
wife's charms, or the way their house was managed. I saw that the place
was taken, and the odd humours of the lady prevented my falling in love
with her. After the second act we went to the assembly rooms, where five
or six banks at faro were being held; I staked and lost a hundred ducats
as if to pay for my welcome, and then rose from the table.

At supper the countess seemed to unbend a little, she condoled with me
on my loss, and I said that I was glad of it as it made her speak so.

Just as I rang my bell the next morning, Clairmont told me that a woman
wanted to speak to me.

"Is she young?"

"Both young and pretty, sir."

"That will do nicely, shew her in."

I saw a simply dressed girl, who reminded me of Leah. She was tall and
beautiful, but had not as high pretensions as the Jewess; as she only
wanted to know whether she could do my washing for me. I was quite taken
with her. Clairmont had just brought me my chocolate, and I asked her to
sit down on the bed; but she answered modestly that she did not want to
trouble me, and would come again when I was up.

"Do you live at any distance?"

"I live on the ground floor of this house."

"All by yourself?"

"No sir, I have my father and mother."

"And what is your name?"

"Zenobia."

"Your name is as pretty as you are. Will you give me your hand to kiss?"

"I can't," she replied, with a smile, "my hand is another's."

"You are engaged, are you?"

"Yes, to a tailor, and we are going to be married before the end of the
carnival:"

"Is he rich or handsome?"

"Neither the one nor the other."

"Then why are you going to marry him?"

"Because I want to have a house of my own:"

"I like you, and will stand your friend. Go and fetch your tailor. I
will give him some work to do."

As soon as she went out I got up and told Clairmont to put my linen on
a table. I had scarcely finished dressing when she came back with her
tailor. It was a striking contrast, for he was a little shrivelled-up
man, whose appearance made one laugh.

"Well, master tailor," said I, "so you are going to marry this charming
girl?"

"Yes, sir, the banns have been published already."

"You are a lucky fellow indeed to have so much happiness in store. When
are you going to marry her?"

"In ten or twelve days."

"Why not to-morrow?"

"Your worship is in a great hurry."

"I think I should be, indeed," said I, laughing, "if I were in your
place. I want you to make me a domino for the ball to-morrow."

"Certainly, sir; but your excellency must find me the stuff, for nobody
in Milan would give me credit for it, and I couldn't afford to lay out
so much money in advance."

"When you are married you will have money and credit too. In the
meanwhile here are ten sequins for you."

He went away in high glee at such a windfall.

I gave Zenobia some lace to do up, and asked her if she was afraid of
having a jealous husband.

"He is neither jealous nor amorous," she replied. "He is only marrying
me because I earn more than he does."

"With your charms I should have thought you might have made a better
match."

"I have waited long enough; I have got tired of maidenhood. Besides, he
is sharp if he is not handsome, and perhaps a keen head is better than a
handsome face."

"You are sharp enough yourself, anyhow. But why does he put off the
wedding?"

"Because he hasn't got any money, and wants to have a fine wedding for
his relations to come to. I should like it myself."

"I think you are right; but I can't see why you should not let an honest
man kiss your hand."

"That was only a piece of slyness to let you know I was to be married. I
have no silly prejudices myself."

"Ah, that's better! Tell your future husband that if he likes me to be
the patron of the wedding I will pay for everything."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I will give him twenty-five sequins on the condition that
he spends it all on the wedding."

"Twenty-five sequins! That will make people talk; but what care we? I
will give you an answer to-morrow."

"And a kiss now?"

"With all my heart."

Zenobia went away in great delight, and I went out to call on my banker
and dear Therese.

When the door was opened the pretty maid recognized me, and taking me
by the hand led me to her mistress, who was just going to get up. Her
emotion at seeing me was so great that she could not utter a word, but
only claps me to her breast.

Our natural transports over, Therese told me that she had got tired of
her husband, and that for the last six months they had not been living
together. She had made him an allowance to get rid of him, and he lived
on it at Rome.

"And where is Cesarino?"

"In this town. You can see him whenever you like."

"Are you happy?"

"Quite. People say that I have a lover, but it is not true; and you can
see me at any time with perfect liberty."

We spent two pleasant hours in telling each other of our experiences
since our last meeting, and then, finding her as fresh and fair as
in the season of our early loves, I asked her if she had vowed to be
faithful to her husband.

"At Florence," she replied, "I was still in love with him; but now, if
I am still pleasing in your eyes, we can renew our connection, and live
together till we die."

"I will soon shew you, darling, that I love you as well as ever."

She answered only by giving herself up to my embrace.

After action and contemplation I left her as amorous as she had been
eighteen years before, but my passion found too many new objects to
remain constant long.

Countess A---- B---- began to be more polite. "I know where you have
been," said she, with a pleased air; "but if you love that person, you
will not go and see her again, or else her lover will leave her."

"Then I would take his place, madam."

"You are right in amusing yourself with women who know how to earn your
presents. I am aware that you never give anything till you have received
evident proofs of their affection."

"That has always been my principle."

"It's an excellent way to avoid being duped. The lover of the person you
have been with kept a lady in society for some time in great splendour,
but all the rest of us despised her."

"Why so, if you please?"

"Because she lowered herself so terribly. Greppi is absolutely a man of
no family whatever."

Without expressing my surprise at the name of Greppi, I replied that a
man need not be well born to be an excellent lover.

"The only thing needful," said I, "is a fine physique and plenty
of money, and those ladies who despised their friend were either
ridiculously proud or abominably envious. I have not the slightest doubt
that if they could find any more Gieppis they would be willing enough to
lower themselves."

She would doubtless have made a sharp reply, for what I had said had
angered her; but the Marquis Triulzi arriving, she went out with him,
while her husband and myself went to a place where there was a bank at
faro, the banker only having a hundred sequins before him.

I took a card and staked small sums like the rest of the company. After
losing twenty ducats I left the place.

As we were going to the opera the poor count told me I had made him lose
ten ducats on his word of honour, and that he did not know how he could
pay it by the next day. I pitied him, and gave him the money without a
word; for misery has always appealed strongly to me. Afterwards I
lost two hundred ducats at the same bank to which I had lost money the
evening before. The count was in the greatest distress. He did not know
that Greppi, whom his proud wife considered so worthless, had a hundred
thousand francs of my money, and that I possessed jewellery to an even
greater amount.

The countess, who had seen me lose, asked me if I would sell my
beautiful dress.

"They say it's worth a thousand sequins," said she.

"Yes, that is so; but I would sell everything I possess before parting
with any of the articles which I intend for the fair sex."

"Marquis Triulzi wants it badly to present to someone."

"I am very sorry, but I cannot sell it to him."

She went away without a word, but I could see that she was exceedingly
vexed at my refusal.

As I was leaving the opera-house I saw Therese getting into her
sedan-chair. I went up to her, and told her that I was sure she was
going to sup with her lover. She whispered in my ear that she was going
to sup by herself, and that I might come if I dared. I gave her an
agreeable surprise by accepting the invitation.

"I will expect you, then," she said.

I asked the count to ride home in my carriage, and taking a chair I
reached Therese's house just as she was going in.

What a happy evening we had! We laughed heartily when we told each other
our thoughts.

"I know you were in love with Countess A---- B----," said she, "and I
felt sure you would not dare to come to supper with me."

"And I thought I should confound you by accepting your invitation, as I
knew Greppi was your lover."

"He is my friend," she replied. "If he loves me in any other way than
that of friendship, I pity him, for as yet he has not discovered the
secret of seduction."

"Do you think he ever will?"

"No, I don't. I am rich."

"Yes, but he is richer than you."

"I know that, but I think he loves his money better than he loves me."

"I understand. You will make him happy if he loves you well enough to
ruin himself."

"That is it, but it will never come to pass. But here we are, together
again after a divorce of nearly twenty years. I don't think you will
find any change in me."

"That is a privilege which nature grants to the fair sex only. You will
find me changed, but you will be able to work miracles."

This was a piece of politeness, for she was hardly capable of working
any miracle. However, after an excellent supper, we spent two hours
in amorous raptures, and then Morpheus claimed us for his own. When we
awoke I did not leave her before giving her a good day equal to the good
night which had sent us to sleep.

When I got back I found the fair Zenobia, who said the tailor was ready
to marry her next Sunday if my offer was not a joke.

"To convince you of the contrary," said I, "here are the twenty-five
sequins."

Full of gratitude she let herself fall into my arms, and I covered
her mouth and her beautiful bosom with my fiery kisses. Therese had
exhausted me, so I did not go any further, but the girl no doubt
attributed my self-restraint to the fact that the door was open. I
dressed carefully, and made myself look less weary, and to freshen
myself up I had a long drive in an open carriage.

When I returned, I found the Marquis of Triulzi teasing the countess as
usual. On that day he furnished the dinner, and it was consequently, a
very good one.

The conversation turned on the dress in my possession, and the countess
told the marquis, like an idiot, that it was destined for the lady who
would make me desirous and gratify my desire.

With exquisite politeness the marquis told me that I deserved to enjoy
favours at a cheaper rate.

"I suppose you will be giving it to the person with whom you spent the
night," said the countess.

"That's an impossibility," I answered, "for I spent the night in play."

Just then Clairmont came in, and told me an officer wanted to speak to
me. I went to the door, and saw a handsome young fellow, who greeted
me with an embrace. I recognized him as Barbaro, the son of a Venetian
noble, and brother of the fair and famous Madame Gritti Scombro, of whom
I spoke ten years ago, whose husband had died in the citadel of Cattaro,
where the State Inquisitors had imprisoned him. My young friend had also
fallen into disgrace with the despotic Inquisitors. We had been good
friends during the year before my imprisonment, but I had heard nothing
of him since.

Barbaro told me the chief incidents in a life that had been adventurous
enough, and informed me that he was now in the service of the Duke of
Modena, the Governor of Milan.

"I saw you losing money at Canano's bank," said he, "and remembering our
old friendship I want to communicate to you a sure way of winning money.
All that is necessary is for me to introduce you to a club of young men
who are very fond of play, and cannot possibly win."

"Where does this club meet?"

"In an extremely respectable house. If you agree I will keep the bank
myself, and I am sure of winning. I want you to lend me capital, and I
only ask a fourth of the profits."

"I suppose you can hold the cards well."

"You are right."

This was as much as to tell me that he was an adroit sharper, or, in
other words, a skilful corrector of fortune's mistakes. He concluded by
saying that I should find something worth looking at in the house he had
mentioned.

"My dear sir," I replied, "I will give you my decision after seeing the
club to which you want to introduce me."

"Will you be at the theatre coffee-house at three o'clock to-morrow?"

"Yes, but I hope to see you at the ball in the evening."

Zenobia's betrothed brought me my domino, and the countess had hers
already. As the ball did not begin till the opera was over, I went to
hear Therese's singing. In the interval between the acts I lost another
two hundred sequins, and then went home to dress for the ball. The
countess said that if I would be kind enough to take her to the ball in
my carriage and fetch her home in it, she would not send for the Marquis
Triulzi's. I replied that I was at her service.

Under the impression that the fair Spaniard had only given me the
preference to enable me to take liberties with her, I told her I should
be very glad to give her the dress, and that the only condition was that
I should spent a night with her.

"You insult me cruelly," said she, "you must know my character better
than that."

"I know everything, my dear countess; but, after all, the insult's
nothing; you can easily forgive me if you pluck up a little spirit;
trample on a foolish prejudice; get the dress, and make me happy for a
whole night long."

"That it all very well when one is in love, but you must confess that
your coarse way of speaking is more likely to make me hate you than love
you."

"I use that style, because I want to come to the point; I have no time
to waste. And you, countess, must confess in your turn, that you would
be delighted to have me sighing at your feet."

"It would be all the same to me, I don't think I could love you."

"Then we are agreed on one point at all events, for I love you no more
than you love me."

"And yet you would spend a thousand sequins for the pleasure of passing
a night with me."

"Not at all, I don't want to sleep with you for the sake of the
pleasure, but to mortify your infernal pride, which becomes you so ill."

God knows what the fierce Spaniard would have answered, but at that
moment the carriage stopped at the door of the theatre. We parted, and
after I had got tired of threading my way amidst the crowd I paid a
visit to the gaming-room, hoping to regain the money I had lost. I had
more than five hundred sequins about me and a good credit at the bank,
but I certainly did my best to lose everything I had. I sat down
at Canano's bank, and noticing that the poor count, who followed me
wherever I went, was the only person who knew me, I thought I should
have a lucky evening. I only punted on one card, and spent four hours
without losing or gaining. Towards the end, wishing to force fortune's
favour, I lost rapidly, and left all my money in the hands of the
banker. I went back to the ball-room, where the countess rejoined me,
and we returned home.

When we were in the carriage, she said,--

"You lost an immense sum, and I am very glad of it. The marquis will
give you a thousand sequins, and the money will bring you luck."

"And you, too, for I suppose you will have the dress?"

"Maybe."

"No, madam, you shall never have it in this way, and you know the other.
I despise a thousand sequins."

"And I despise you and your presents."

"You may despise me as much as you please, and you may be sure I despise
you."

With these polite expressions we reached the house. When I got to my
room I found the count there with a long face, as if he wanted to pity
me but dared not do it. However, my good temper gave him the courage to
say:--

"Triulzi will give you a thousand sequins; that will fit you up again."

"For the dress you mean?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to give it to your wife, but she said she would despise it,
coming from my hands."

"You astonish me; she is mad after it. You must have wounded her
haughty temper in some way or another. But sell it, and get the thousand
sequins."

"I will let you know to-morrow."

I slept four or five hours, and then rose and went out in my great coat
to call on Greppi, for I had no more money. I took a thousand sequins,
begging him not to tell my affairs to anyone. He replied that my affairs
were his own, and that I could count on his secrecy. He complimented me
on the esteem in which Madame Palesi held me, and said he hoped to meet
me at supper at her house one night.

"Such a meeting would give me the greatest pleasure," I replied.

On leaving him I called on Therese, but as there were some people with
her I did not stay long. I was glad to see that she knew nothing about
my losses or my affairs. She said that Greppi wanted to sup with me at
her house, and that she would let me know when the day was fixed. When I
got home I found the count in front of my fire.

"My wife is in a furious rage with you," said he, "and won't tell me
why."

"The reason is, my dear count, that I won't let her accept the dress
from any hand but mine. She told me that she should despise it as a gift
from me, but she has nothing to be furious about that I know."

"It's some mad notion of hers, and I don't know what to make of it. But
pray attend to what I am about to say to you. You despise a thousand
sequins--good. I congratulate you. But if you are in a position to
despise a sum which would make me happy, offer up a foolish vanity on
the shrine of friendship, take the thousand sequins, and lend them to
me, and let my wife have the dress, for of course he will give it her."

This proposal made me roar with laughter, and certainly it was of a
nature to excite the hilarity of a sufferer from confirmed melancholia,
which I was far from being. However, I stopped laughing when I saw how
the poor count blushed from shame. I kissed him affectionately to calm
him, but at last I was cruel enough to say,

"I will willingly assist you in this arrangement. I will sell the dress
to the marquis as soon as you please, but I won't lend you the money.
I'll give it to you in the person of your wife at a private interview;
but when she receives me she must not only be polite and complaisant,
but as gentle as a lamb. Go and see if it can be arranged, my dear
count; 'tis absolutely my last word."

"I will see," said the poor husband; and with that he went out.

Barbaro kept his appointment with exactitude. I made him get into my
carriage, and we alighted at a house at the end of Milan. We went to the
first floor, and there I was introduced to a fine-looking old man, an
amiable lady of pleasing appearance, and then to two charming cousins.
He introduced me as a Venetian gentleman in disgrace with the State
Inquisitors, like himself, adding, that as I was a rich bachelor their
good or ill favour made no difference to me.

He said I was rich, and I looked like it. My luxury of attire was
dazzling: My rings, my snuff-boxes, my chains, my diamonds, my
jewelled cross hanging on my breast-all gave me the air of an important
personage. The cross belonged to the Order of the Spur the Pope had
given me, but as I had carefully taken the spur away it was not known
to what order I belonged. Those who might be curious did not dare to ask
me, for one can no more enquire of a knight what order he belongs to,
than one can say to a lady how old are you? I wore it till 1785, when
the Prince Palatine of Russia told me in private that I would do well to
get rid of the thing.

"It only serves to dazzle fools," said he, "and here you have none such
to deal with."

I followed his advice, for he was a man of profound intelligence.
Nevertheless, he removed the corner-stone of the kingdom of Poland. He
ruined it by the same means by which he had made it greater.

The old man to whom Barbaro presented me was a marquis. He told me that
he knew Venice, and as I was not a patrician I could live as pleasantly
anywhere else. He told me to consider his house and all he possessed as
mine.

The two young marchionesses had enchanted me; they were almost ideal
beauties. I longed to enquire about them of some good authority, for I
did not put much faith in Barbaro.

In half an hour the visitors commenced to come on foot and in carriages.
Among the arrivals were several pretty and well-dressed girls, and
numerous smart young men all vying with each other in their eagerness
to pay court to the two cousins. There were twenty of us in all. We sat
round a large table, and began to play a game called bankruptcy. After
amusing myself for a couple of hours in losing sequins, I went out with
Barbaro to the opera.

"The two young ladies are two incarnate angels," I said to my
countryman. "I shall pay my duty to them, and shall find out in a few
days whether they are for me. As for the gaming speculation, I will lend
you two hundred sequins; but I don't want to lose the money, so you must
give me good security."

"To that I agree willingly, but I am certain of giving it you back with
good interest."

"You shall have a half share and not twenty-five per cent., and I must
strongly insist that nobody shall know of my having anything to do
with your bank. If I hear any rumours, I shall bet heavily on my own
account."

"You may be sure I shall keep the secret; it is to my own interest to
have it believed that I am my own capitalist."

"Very good. Come to me early to-morrow morning, and bring me good
security, and you shall have the money."

He embraced me in the joy of his heart.

The picture of the two fair ladies was still in my brain, and I was
thinking of enquiring of Greppi when I chanced to see Triulzi in the
pit of the opera-house. He saw me at the same moment, and came up to
me, saying gaily that he was sure I had had a bad dinner, and that I had
much better dine with him every day.

"You make me blush, marquis, for not having called on you yet."

"No, no; there can be nothing of that kind between men of the world, who
know the world's worth."

"We are agreed there, at all events."

"By the way, I hear you have decided on selling me that handsome dress
of yours. I am really very much obliged to you, and will give you the
fifteen thousand livres whenever you like."

"You can come and take it to-morrow morning."

He then proceeded to tell me about the various ladies I noticed in the
theatre. Seizing the opportunity, I said,--

"When I was in church the other day I saw two exquisite beauties. A man
at my side told me they were cousins, the Marchionesses Q---- and I----,
I think he said. Do you know them? I am quite curious to hear about
them."

"I know them. As you say, they are charming. It's not very difficult to
obtain access to them; and I suppose they are good girls, as I have not
heard their names in connection with any scandal. However, I know that
Mdlle. F has a lover, but it is a great secret; he is the only son of
one of the noblest of our families. Unfortunately, they are not rich;
but if they are clever, as I am sure they are, they may make good
matches. If you like I can get someone to introduce you there."

"I haven't made up my mind yet. I may be able to forget them easily only
having seen them once. Nevertheless, I am infinitely obliged to you for
your kind offer."

After the ballet I went into the assembly-room and I heard "there he
is" several times repeated as I came in. The banker made me a bow, and
offered me a place next to him. I sat down and he handed me a pack of
cards. I punted, and with such inveterate bad luck that in less than an
hour I lost seven hundred sequins. I should probably have lost all the
money I had in my pocket if Canano had not been obliged to go away. He
gave the cards to a man whose looks displeased me, and I rose and went
home and got into bed directly, so as not to be obliged to conceal my
ill temper.

In the morning Barbaro came to claim the two hundred sequins. He gave
me the right to sequestrate his pay by way of surety. I do not think
I should have had the heart to exercise my rights if things had gone
wrong, but I liked to have some control over him. When I went out I
called on Greppi, and took two thousand sequins in gold.



CHAPTER XIX


     Humiliation of The Countess--Zenobia's Wedding--Faro
     Conquest of The Fair Irene--Plan for a Masquerade

On my return I found the count with one of the marquis's servants, who
gave me a note, begging me to send the dress, which I did directly.

"The marquis will dine with us," said the count, "and, no doubt, he will
bring the money with him for this treasure."

"You think it a treasure, then?"

"Yes, fit for a queen to wear."

"I wish the treasure had the virtue of giving you a crown; one
head-dress is as good as another."

The poor devil understood the allusion, and as I liked him I reproached
myself for having humiliated him unintentionally, but I could not resist
the temptation to jest. I hastened to smooth his brow by saying that as
soon as I got the money for the dress I would take it to the countess.

"I have spoken to her about it," said he, "and your proposal made her
laugh; but I am sure she will make up her mind when she finds herself in
possession of the dress."

It was a Friday. The marquis sent in an excellent fish dinner, and came
himself soon after with the dress in a basket. The present was made with
all ceremony, and the proud countess was profuse in her expressions of
thanks, which the giver received coolly enough, as if accustomed to that
kind of thing. However, he ended by the no means flattering remark that
if she had any sense she would sell it, as everybody knew she was too
poor to wear it. This suggestion by no means met with her approval. She
abused him to her heart's content, and told him he must be a great fool
to give her a dress which he considered unsuitable to her.

They were disputing warmly when the Marchioness Menafoglio was
announced. As soon as she came in her eyes were attracted by the dress,
which was stretched over a chair, and finding it superb she exclaimed,

"I would gladly buy that dress."

"I did not buy it to sell again," said the countess, sharply.

"Excuse me," replied the marchioness, "I thought it was for sale, and I
am sorry it is not."

The marquis, who was no lover of dissimulation, began to laugh, and the
countess, fearing he would cover her with ridicule, hastened to change
the conversation. But when the marchioness was gone the countess gave
reins to her passion, and scolded the marquis bitterly for having
laughed. However, he only replied by remarks which, though exquisitely
polite, had a sting in them; and at last the lady said she was tired,
and was going to lie down.

When she had left the room the marquis gave me the fifteen thousand
francs, telling me that they would bring me good luck at Canano's.

"You are a great favourite of Canano's," he added, "and he wants you to
come and dine with him. He can't ask you to supper, as he is obliged to
spend his nights in the assembly-rooms."

"Tell him I will come any day he likes except the day after to-morrow,
when I have to go to a wedding at the 'Apple Garden.'"

"I congratulate you," said the count and the marquis together, "it will
no doubt be very pleasant."

"I expect to enjoy myself heartily there."

"Could not we come, too?"

"Do you really want to?"

"Certainly."

"Then I will get you an invitation from the fair bride herself on the
condition that the countess comes as well. I must warn you that the
company will consist of honest people of the lower classes, and I cannot
have them humiliated in any way."

"I will persuade the countess," said Triulzi.

"To make your task an easier one, I may as well tell you that the
wedding is that of the fair Zenobia."

"Bravo! I am sure the countess will come to that."

The count went out, and shortly reappeared with Zenobia. The marquis
congratulated her, and encouraged her to ask the countess to the
wedding. She seemed doubtful, so the marquis took her by the hand and
let her into the proud Spaniard's room. In half an hour they returned
informing us that my lady had deigned to accept the invitation.

When the marquis had gone, the count told me that I might go and keep
his wife company, if I had nothing better to do, and that he would see
to some business.

"I have the thousand sequins in my pocket," I remarked, "and if I find
her reasonable, I will leave them with her."

"I will go and speak to her first."

"Do so."

While the count was out of the room, I exchanged the thousand sequins
for the fifteen thousand francs in bank notes which Greppi had given me.

I was just shutting up my cash-box when Zenobia came in with my lace
cuffs. She asked me if I would like to buy a piece of lace. I replied in
the affirmative, and she went out and brought it me.

I liked the lace, and bought it for eighteen sequins, and said,--

"This lace is yours, dearest Zenobia, if you will content me this
moment."

"I love you well, but I should be glad if you would wait till after my
marriage."

"No, dearest, now or never. I cannot wait. I shall die if you do not
grant my prayer. Look! do you not see what a state I am in?"

"I see it plainly enough, but it can't be done."

"Why not? Are you afraid of your husband noticing the loss of your
maidenhead?"

"Not I, and if he did I shouldn't care. I promise you if he dared to
reproach me, he should not have me at all."

"Well said, for my leavings are too good for him. Come quick!"

"But you will shut the door, at least?"

"No, the noise would be heard, and might give rise to suspicion. Nobody
will come in."

With these words I drew her towards me, and finding her as gentle as
a lamb and as loving as a dove, the amorous sacrifice was offered with
abundant libations on both sides. After the first ecstacy was over, I
proceeded to examine her beauties, and with my usual amorous frenzy
told her that she should send her tailor out to graze and live with me.
Fortunately she did not believe in the constancy of my passion. After
a second assault I rested, greatly astonished that the count had not
interrupted our pleasures. I thought he must have gone out, and I told
Zenobia my opinion, whereon she overwhelmed me with caresses. Feeling at
my ease, I set her free from her troublesome clothes, and gave myself
up to toying with her in a manner calculated to arouse the exhausted
senses; and then for the third time we were clasped to each other's
arms, while I made Zenobia put herself into the many attitudes which I
knew from experience as most propitious to the voluptuous triumph.

We were occupied a whole hour in these pleasures, but Zenobia, in the
flower of her age and a novice, poured forth many more libations than I.

Just as I lost life for the third time, and Zenobia for the fourteenth,
I heard the count's voice. I told my sweetheart, who had heard it as
well, and after we had dressed hastily I gave her the eighteen sequins,
and she left the room.

A moment after the count came in laughing, and said,--

"I have been watching you all the time by this chink" (which he shewed
me), "and I have found it very amusing."

"I am delighted to hear it, but keep it to yourself."

"Of course, of course."

"My wife," said he, "will be very pleased to see you; and I," he added,
"shall be very pleased as well."

"You are a philosophical husband," said I, "but I am afraid after the
exercises you witnessed the countess will find me rather slow."

"Not at all, the recollection will make it all the pleasanter for you."

"Mentally perhaps, but in other respects . . ."

"Oh! you will manage to get out of it."

"My carriage is at your service, as I shall not be going out for the
rest of the day."

I softly entered the countess's room and finding her in bed enquired
affectionately after her health.

"I am very well," said she, smiling agreeably, "my husband has done me
good."

I had seated myself quietly on the bed, and she had shewn no vexation;
certainly a good omen.

"Aren't you going out any more to-day?" said she, "you have got your
dressing-gown on."

"I fell asleep lying on my bed, and when I awoke I decided on keeping
you company if you will be as good and gentle as you are pretty."

"If you behave well to me, you will always find me so.

"And will you love me?"

"That depends on you. So you are going to sacrifice Canano to me this
evening."

"Yes, and with the greatest pleasure. He has won a lot from me already,
and I foresee that he will win the fifteen thousand francs I have in my
pocket to-morrow. This is the money the Marquis Triulzi gave me for the
dress."

"It would be a pity to lose such a large sum."

"You are right, and I need not lose them if you will be complaisant, for
they are meant for you. Allow me to shut the door."

"What for?"

"Because I am perishing with cold and desire, and intend warming myself
in your bed."

"I will never allow that."

"I don't want to force you. Good-bye, countess, I will go and warm
myself by my own fire, and to-morrow I will wage war on Canano's bank."

"You are certainly a sad dog. Stay here, I like your conversation."

Without more ado I locked the door, took off my clothes, and seeing that
her back was turned to me, jumped into bed beside her. She had made
up her mind, and let me do as I liked, but my combats with Zenobia had
exhausted me. With closed eyes she let me place her in all the postures
which lubricity could suggest, while her hands were not idle; but all
was in vain, my torpor was complete, and nothing would give life to the
instrument which was necessary to the operation.

Doubtless the Spaniard felt that my nullity was an insult to her charms;
doubtless I must have tortured her by raising desires which I could not
appease; for several times I felt my fingers drenched with a flow that
shewed she was not passive in the matter; but she pretended all the
while to be asleep. I was vexed at her being able to feign insensibility
to such an extent, and I attached myself to her head; but her lips,
which she abandoned to me, and which I abused disgracefully, produced
no more effect than the rest of her body. I felt angry that I could not
effect the miracle of resurrection, and I decided on leaving a stage
where I had so wretched a part, but I was not generous to her, and put
the finishing stroke to her humiliation by saying,--

"'Tis not my fault, madam, that your charms have so little power over
me. Here, take these fifteen thousand francs by way of consolation."

With this apostrophe I left her.

My readers, more especially my lady readers, if I ever have any, will
no doubt pronounce me a detestable fellow after this. I understand
their feelings, but beg them to suspend their judgment. They will see
afterwards that my instinct served me wonderfully in the course I had
taken.

Early the next day the count came into my room with a very pleased
expression.

"My wife is very well," said he, "and told me to wish you good day."

I did not expect this, and I no doubt looked somewhat astonished.

"I am glad," he said, "that you gave her francs instead of the sequins
you got from Triulzi, and I hope, as Triulzi said, you will have luck
with it at the bank."

"I am not going to the opera," said I, "but to the masked ball, and I
don't want anyone to recognize me."

I begged him to go and buy me a new domino, and not to come near me in
the evening, so that none but he should know who I was. As soon as he
had gone out I began to write letters. I had heavy arrears to make up in
that direction.

The count brought me my domino at noon, and after hiding it we went
to dine with the countess. Her affability, politeness, and gentleness
astounded me. She looked so sweetly pretty that I repented having
outraged her so scandalously. Her insensibility of the evening before
seemed inconceivable, and I began to suspect that the signs I had
noticed to the contrary were only due to the animal faculties which are
specially active in sleep.

"Was she really asleep," said I to myself, "when I was outraging her so
shamefully?"

I hoped it had been so. When her husband left us alone, I said, humbly
and tenderly, that I knew I was a monster, and that she must detest me.

"You a monster?" said she. "On the contrary I owe much to you, and there
is nothing I can think of for which I have cause to reproach you."

I took her hand, tenderly, and would have carried it to my lips, but
she drew it away gently and gave me a kiss. My repentance brought a deep
blush to my face.

When I got back to my room I sealed my letters and went to the ball.
I was absolutely unrecognizable. Nobody had ever seen my watches or my
snuff-boxes before, and I had even changed my purses for fear of anybody
recognizing me by them.

Thus armed against the glances of the curious, I sat down at Canano's
table and commenced to play in quite a different fashion. I had a
hundred Spanish pieces in my pocket worth seven hundred Venetian
sequins. I had got this Spanish money from Greppi, and I took care not
to use what Triulzi had given me for fear he should know me.

I emptied my purse on the table, and in less than an hour it was all
gone. I rose from the table and everybody thought I was going to beat a
retreat, but I took out another purse and put a hundred sequins on
one card, going second, with paroli, seven, and the va. The stroke was
successful and Canano gave me back my hundred Spanish pieces, on which
I sat down again by the banker, and recommenced regular play. Canano
was looking at me hard. My snuff-box was the one which the Elector of
Cologne had given me, with the prince's portrait on the lid. I took a
pinch of snuff and he gave me to understand that he would like one too,
and the box was subjected to a general examination. A lady whom I did
not know said the portrait represented the Elector of Cologne in his
robes as Grand Master of the Teutonic Order. The box was returned to
me and I saw that it had made me respected, so small a thing imposes on
people. I then put fifty sequins on one card, going paroli and paix de
paroli, and at daybreak I had broken the bank. Canano said politely that
if I liked to be spared the trouble of carrying all that gold he would
have it weighed and give me a cheque. A pair of scales was brought, and
it was found that I had thirty-four pounds weight in gold, amounting
to two thousand eight hundred and fifty-six sequins. Canano wrote me a
cheque, and I slowly returned to the ball-room.

Barbaro had recognized me with the keenness of a Venetian. He accosted
me and congratulated me on my luck, but I gave him no answer, and seeing
that I wished to remain incognito he left me.

A lady in a Greek dress richly adorned with diamonds came up to me, and
said in a falsetto voice that she would like to dance with me.

I made a sign of assent, and as she took off her glove I saw a
finely-shaped hand as white as alabaster, one of the fingers bearing an
exquisite diamond ring. It was evidently no ordinary person, and though
I puzzled my head I could not guess who she could be.

She danced admirably, in the style of a woman of fashion, and I too
exerted myself to the utmost. By the time the dance was over I was
covered with perspiration.

"You look hot," said my partner, in her falsetto voice, "come and rest
in my box."

My heart leaped with joy, and I followed her with great delight; but
as I saw Greppi in the box to which she took me, I had no doubt that it
must be Therese, which did not please me quite so well. In short, the
lady took off her mask; it was Therese, and I complimented her on her
disguise.

"But how did you recognize me, dearest?"

"By your snuff-box. I knew it, otherwise I should never have found you
out."

"Then you think that nobody has recognized me?"

"Nobody, unless in the same way as I did."

"None of the people here have seen my snuff-box."

I took the opportunity of handing over to Greppi Canano's cheque, and
he gave me a receipt for it. Therese asked us to supper for the ensuing
evening, and said,--

"There will be four of us in all."

Greppi seemed curious to know who the fourth person could be, but I
right guessed it would be my dear son Cesarino.

As I went down once more to the ball-room two pretty female dominos
attacked me right and left, telling me that Messer-Grande was waiting
for me outside. They then asked me for some snuff, and I gave them a box
ornamented with an indecent picture. I had the impudence to touch the
spring and shew it them, and after inspecting it they exclaimed,--

"Fie, fie! your punishment is never to know who we are."

I was sorry to have displeased the two fair masquers, who seemed worth
knowing, so I followed them, and meeting Barbaro, who knew everybody, I
pointed them out to him, and heard to my delight that they were the two
Marchionesses Q---- and F----. I promised Barbaro to go and see them.
He said that everybody in the ball-room knew me, and that our bank was
doing very well, though, of course, that was a trifle to me.

Towards the end of the ball, when it was already full daylight, a
masquer, dressed as a Venetian gondolier, was accosted by a lady
masquer, also in Venetian costume. She challenged the gondolier to prove
himself a Venetian by dancing the 'forlana' with her. The gondolier
accepted, and the music struck up, but the boatman, who was apparently a
Milanese, was hooted, while the lady danced exquisitely. I was very fond
of the dance, and I asked the unknown Venetian lady to dance it again
with me. She agreed, and a ring was formed round us, and we were so
applauded that we had to dance it over again. This would have sufficed
if a very pretty shepherdess without a mask had not begged me to dance
it with her. I could not refuse her, and she danced exquisitely; going
round and round the circle three times, and seeming to hover in the air.
I was quite out of breath. When it was finished, she came up to me and
whispered my name in my ear. I was astonished, and feeling the charm of
the situation demanded her name.

"You shall know," said she, in Venetian, "if you will come to the 'Three
Kings.'"

"Are you alone?"

"No, my father and mother, who are old friends of yours, are with me"

"I will call on Monday."

What a number of adventures to have in one night! I went home wearily,
and went to bed, but I was only allowed to sleep for two hours. I was
roused and begged to dress myself. The countess, the marquis, and the
count, all ready for Zenobia's wedding, teased me till I was ready,
telling me it was not polite to keep a bride waiting. Then they all
congratulated me on my breaking the bank and the run of luck against me.
I told the marquis that it was his money that had brought me luck, but
he replied by saying that he knew what had become of his money.

This indiscretion either on the count's part or the countess's surprised
me greatly; it seemed to me contrary to all the principles in intrigue.

"Canano knew you," said the marquis, "by the way you opened your
snuff-box, and he hopes to see us to dinner before long. He says he
hopes you will win a hundred pounds weight of gold; he has a fancy for
you."

"Canano," said I, "has keen eyes, and plays faro admirably. I have not
the slightest wish to win his money from him."

We then started for the "Apple Garden," where we found a score of honest
folks and the bride and bridegroom, who overwhelmed us with compliments.
We soon put the company at their ease. At first our presence overawed
them, but a little familiarity soon restored the general hilarity. We
sat down to dinner, and among the guests were some very pretty girls,
but my head was too full of Zenobia to care about them. The dinner
lasted three hours. It was an abundant repast, and the foreign wines
were so exquisite that it was easy to see that the sum I had furnished
had been exceeded. Good fellowship prevailed, and after the first bumper
had passed round everybody proposed somebody else's health, and as
each tried to say something different to his neighbour the most fearful
nonsense prevailed. Then everybody thought himself bound to sing, and
they were not at all first-rate vocalists by any means. We laughed
heartily and also caused laughter, for our speeches and songs were as
bad as those of our humble friends.

When we rose from the table kissing became general, and the countess
could not resist laughing when she found herself obliged to hold out her
cheeks for the salute of the tailor, who thought her laughter a special
mark of favour.

Strains of sweet music were heard, and the ball was duly opened by the
newly-married couple. Zenobia danced, if not exactly well, at least
gracefully; but the tailor, who had never put his legs to any other use
besides crossing them, cut such a ridiculous figure that the countess
had much ado to restrain her laughter. But in spite of that I led out
Zenobia for the next minuet, and the proud countess was obliged to dance
with the wretched tailor.

When the minuets stopped the square dances began, and refreshments were
liberally handed round. Confetti, a kind of sweetmeat, even better than
that made at Verdun, were very plentiful.

When we were just going I congratulated the husband and offered to
bring Zenobia home in my carriage, which he was pleased to style a very
honourable offer. I gave my hand to Zenobia, and helped her into the
carriage, and having told the coachman to go slowly I put her on my
knee, extinguisher fashion, and kept her there all the time. Zenobia was
the first to get down, and noticing that my breeches of grey velvet were
spoiled, I told her that I would be with her in a few minutes. In two
minutes I put on a pair of black satin breeches, and I rejoined the lady
before her husband came in. She asked what I had been doing, and on
my telling her that our exploits in the carriage had left very evident
marks on my trousers, she gave me a kiss, and thanked me for my
forethought.

Before long the husband and his sister arrived. He thanked me, calling
me his gossip, and then noticing the change in my dress he asked me how
I had contrived to make the alteration so quickly.

"I went to my room, leaving your wife at your house, for which I beg
your pardon."

"Didn't you see that the gentleman had spilt a cup of coffee over his
handsome breeches?" said Zenobia.

"My dear wife," said the crafty tailor, "I don't see everything, nor is
it necessary that I should do so, but you should have accompanied the
gentleman to his room."

Then turning to me with a laugh, he asked me how I had enjoyed the
wedding.

"Immensely, and my friends have done the same; but you must let me pay
you, dear gossip, for what you spent over and above the twenty-four
sequins. You can tell me how much it is."

"Very little, a mere trifle; Zenobia shall bring you the bill."

I went home feeling vexed with myself for not having foreseen that the
rogue would notice my change of dress, and guess the reason. However, I
consoled myself with the thought that the tailor was no fool, and that
it was plain that he was content to play the part we had assigned to
him. So after wishing good night to the count, the countess and the
marquis, who all thanked me for the happy day they had spent, I went to
bed.

As soon as I was awake, I thought of the shepherdess who had danced the
'forlana' so well at the ball, and I resolved to pay her a visit. I was
not more interested in her beauty than to find out who her father and
mother, "old friends of mine," could be. I dressed and walked to the
"Three Kings," and on walking into the room which the shepherdess had
indicated to me, what was my astonishment to find myself face to face
with the Countess Rinaldi, whom Zavoisky had introduced me to at the
'locanda' of Castelletto sixteen years ago. The reader will remember how
M. de Bragadin paid her husband the money he won from me at play.

Madame Rinaldi had aged somewhat, but I knew her directly. However, as
I had never had more than a passing fancy for her, we did not go back to
days which did neither of us any honour.

"I am delighted to see you again," said I; "are you still living with
your husband?"

"You will see him in half an hour, and he will be glad to present his
respects to you."

"I should not at all care for it myself, madam; there are old quarrels
between us which I do not want to renew, so, madam, farewell."

"No, no, don't go yet, sit down."

"Pardon me."

"Irene, don't let the gentleman go."

At these words Irene ran and barred the way--not like a fierce mastiff,
but like an angel, entreating me to stay with that mingled look of
innocence, fear, and hope, of which girls know the effect so well. I
felt I could not go.

"Let me through, fair Irene," said I, "we may see each other somewhere
else."

"Pray do not go before you have seen my father:"

The words were spoken so tenderly that our lips met. Irene was
victorious. How can one resist a pretty girl who implores with a kiss?
I took a chair, and Irene, proud of her victory, sat on my knee and
covered me with kisses.

I took it into my head to task the countess where and when Irene was
born.

"At Mantua," said she, "three months after I left Venice."

"And when did you leave Venice?"

"Six months after I met you."

"That is a curious coincidence, and if we had been tenderly acquainted
you might say that Irene was my daughter, and I should believe you, and
think that my affection for her was purely paternal."

"Your memory is not very good, sir, I wonder at that."

"I may tell you, that I never forget certain things, But I guess your
meaning. You want me to subdue my liking for Irene. I am willing to do
so, but she will be the loser."

This conversation had silenced Irene, but she soon took courage, and
said she was like me.

"No, no," I answered, "if you were like me you would not be so pretty."

"I don't think so; I think you are very handsome."

"You flatter me."

"Stay to dinner with us."

"No, if I stayed I might fall in love with you, and that would be a
pity, as your mother says I am your father."

"I was joking," said the countess, "you may love Irene with a good
conscience."

"We will see what can be done."

When Irene had left the room, I said to the mother,--

"I like your daughter, but I won't be long sighing for her, and you
mustn't take me for a dupe."

"Speak to my husband about it. We are very poor, and we want to go to
Cremona."

"I suppose Irene has a lover?"

"No."

"But she has had one, of course?"

"Never anything serious."

"I can't believe it."

"It's true, nevertheless. Irene is intact."

Just then Irene came in with her father, who had aged to such an extent
that I should never have known him in the street. He came up to me and
embraced me, begging me to forget the past. "It is only you," he added,
"who can furnish me with funds to go to Cremona.

"I have several debts here, and am in some danger of imprisonment.
Nobody of any consequence comes to see me. My dear daughter is the only
thing of value which I still possess. I have just been trying to sell
this pinchbeck watch, and though I asked only six sequins, which is half
what it is worth, they would not give me more than two. When a man gets
unfortunate, everything is against him."

I took the watch, and gave the father six sequins for it, and then
handed it to Irene. She said with a smile that she could not thank me,
as I only gave her back her own, but she thanked me for the present I
had made her father.

"Here," said she seriously to the old man, "you can sell it again now."

This made me laugh. I gave the count ten sequins in addition, embraced
Irene, and said I must be gone, but that I would see them again in three
or four days.

Irene escorted me to the bottom of the stairs, and as she allowed me to
assure myself that she still possessed the rose of virginity, I gave her
another ten sequins, and told her that the first time she went alone to
the ball with me I would give her a hundred sequins. She said she would
consult her father.

Feeling sure that the poor devil would hand over Irene to me, and having
no apartment in which I could enjoy her in freedom, I stopped to read
a bill in a pastrycook's window. It announced a room to let. I went
in, and the pastrycook told me that the house belonged to him, and his
pretty wife, who was suckling a baby, begged me to come upstairs and see
the room. The street was a lonely one, and had a pleasing air of
mystery about it. I climbed to the third floor, but the rooms there were
wretched garrets of no use to me.

"The first floor," said the woman, "consists of a suite of four nice
rooms, but we only let them together."

"Let us go and see them. Good! they will do. What is the rent?"

"You must settle that with my husband."

"And can't I settle anything with you, my dear?"

So saying I gave her a kiss which she took very kindly, but she smelt
of nursing, which I detested, so I did not go any farther despite her
radiant beauty.

I made my bargain with the landlord, and paid a month's rent in advance
for which he gave me a receipt. It was agreed that I should come and go
as I pleased, and that he should provide me with food. I gave him a name
so common as to tell him nothing whatever about me, but he seemed to
care very little about that.

As I had agreed with Barbaro to visit the fair marchionesses, I dressed
carefully, and after a slight repast with the countess, who was pleasant
but did not quite please me, I met my fellow-countryman and we called on
the two cousins.

"I have come," said I, "to beg your pardons for having revealed to you
the secret of the snuff-box."

They blushed, and scolded Barbaro, thinking that he had betrayed them.
On examining them I found them far superior to Irene, my present flame,
but their manner, the respect they seemed to require, frightened me.
I was not at all disposed to dance attendance on them. Irene, on the
contrary, was an easy prey. I had only to do her parents a service,
and she was in my power; while the two cousins had their full share
of aristocratic pride, which debases the nobility to the level of the
vilest of the people, and only imposes upon fools, who after all are in
the majority everywhere. Further I was no longer at that brilliant age
which fears nothing, and I was afraid that my appearance would hardly
overcome them. It is true that Barbaro had made me hope that presents
would be of some use, but after what the Marquis Triulzi had said, I
feared that Barbaro had only spoken on supposition.

When the company was sufficiently numerous, the card-tables were brought
in. I sat down by Mdlle. Q----, and disposed myself to play for small
stakes. I was introduced by the aunt, the mistress of the house, to a
young gentleman in Austrian uniform who sat beside me.

My dear countryman played like a true sharper, much to my displeasure.
My fair neighbour, at the end of the game, which lasted four hours,
found herself the gainer of a few sequins, but the officer, who had
played on his word of honour, after losing all the money in his pockets,
owed ten louis. The bank was the winner of fifty sequins, including the
officer's debt. As the young man lived at some distance he honoured me
by coming in my carriage.

On the way, Barbaro told us he would introduce us to a girl who had just
come from Venice. The officer caught fire at this, and begged that we
should go and see her directly, and we accordingly went. The girl was
well enough looking, but neither I nor the officer cared much about her.
While they were making some coffee for us, and Barbaro was entertaining
the young lady, I took a pack of cards, and had not much difficulty in
inducing the officer to risk twenty sequins against the twenty I put
on the table. While we were playing I spoke to him of the passion with
which the young marchioness inspired me.

"She's my sister," said he.

I knew as much, but pretended to be astonished, and I went on playing.
Taking the opportunity I told him that I knew of no one who could let
the marchioness know of my affection better than he. I made him laugh,
and as he thought I was jesting he only gave vague answers; but seeing
that while I talked of my passion I forgot my card, he soon won the
twenty sequins from me, and immediately paid them to Barbaro. In the
excess of his joy he embraced me as if I had given him the money; and
when we parted he promised to give me some good news of his sister at
our next meeting.

I had to go to supper with Therese, Greppi, and my son, but having some
spare time before me I went to the opera-house. The third act was going
on, and I accordingly visited the cardroom, and there lost two hundred
sequins at a single deal. I left the room almost as if I was flying from
an enemy. Canano shook me by the hand, and told me he expected me and
the marquis to dinner every day, and I promised we would come at the
earliest opportunity.

I went to Therese's, and found Greppi there before me. Therese and
Don Cesarino, whom I covered with kisses, came in a quarter of an hour
afterwards. The banker stared at him in speechless wonder. He could
not make out whether he was my son or my brother. Seeing his amazement,
Therese told him Cesarino was her brother. This stupefied the worthy man
still more. At last he asked me if I had known Therese's mother pretty
well, and on my answering in the affirmative he seemed more at ease.

The meal was excellent, but all my attention went to my son. He had all
the advantages of a good disposition and an excellent education. He
had grown a great deal since I had seen him at Florence, and his mental
powers had developed proportionately. His presence made the party grave,
but sweet. The innocence of youth throws around it an ineffable charm;
it demands respect and restraint. An hour after midnight we left
Therese, and I went to bed, well pleased with my day's work, for the
loss of two hundred sequins did not trouble me much.

When I got up I received a note from Irene, begging me to call on her.
Her father had given her permission to go to the next ball with me, and
she had a domino, but she wanted to speak to me. I wrote and told her
I would see her in the course of the day. I had written to tell the
Marquis Triulzi that I was going to dine with Canano, and he replied
that he would be there.

We found this skilled gamester in a fine house, richly furnished, and
shewing traces on every side of the wealth and taste of its owner.
Canano introduced me to two handsome women, one of whom was his
mistress, and to five or six marquises; for at Milan no noble who is not
a marquis is thought anything of, just as in the same way they are
all counts at Vicenza. The dinner was magnificent and the conversation
highly intellectual. In a mirthful moment Canano said he had known me
for seventeen years, his acquaintance dating from the time I had juggled
a professional gamester, calling himself Count Celi, out of a pretty
ballet-girl whom I had taken to Mantua. I confessed the deed and amused
the company by the story of what had happened at Mantua with Oreilan,
and how I had found Count Celi at Cesena metamorphosed into Count
Alfani. Somebody mentioned the ball which was to be held the next day,
and when I said I was not going they laughed.

"I bet I know you," said Canano, "if you come to the bank."

"I am not going to play any more," said I.

"All the better for me," answered Canano; "for though your punting is
unlucky, you don't leave off till you have won my money. But that's only
my joke; try again, and I protest I would see you win half my fortune
gladly."

Count Canano had a ring on his finger with a stone not unlike one of
mine; it had cost him two thousand sequins, while mine was worth three
thousand. He proposed that we should stake them against each other after
having them unmounted and valued.

"When?" said I.

"Before going to the opera."

"Very good; but on two turns of the cards, and a deal to each."

"No, I never punt."

"Then we must equalise the game."

"How do you mean?"

"By leaving doubles and the last two cards out of account."

"Then you would have the advantage."

"If you can prove that I will pay you a hundred sequins. Indeed, I would
bet anything you like that the game would still be to the advantage of
the banker."

"Can you prove it?"

"Yes; and I will name the Marquis Triulzi as judge."

I was asked to prove my point without any question of a bet.

"The advantages of the banker," said I, "are two. The first and the
smaller is that all he has got to attend to is not to deal wrongly,
which is a very small matter to an habitual player; and all the time
the punter has to rack his brains on the chances of one card or another
coming out. The other advantage is one of time. The banker draws his
card at least a second before the punter, and this again gives him a
purchase."

No one replied; but after some thought the Marquis Triulzi said that
to make the chances perfectly equal the players would have to be equal,
which was almost out of the question.

"All that is too sublime for me," said Canano; "I don't understand it."
But, after all, there was not much to understand.

After dinner I went to the "Three Kings" to find out what Irene had to
say to me, and to enjoy her presence. When she saw me she ran up to me,
threw her arms round my neck, and kissed me, but with too much eagerness
for me to lay much value on the salute. However, I have always known
that if one wants to enjoy pleasure one must not philosophise about it,
or one runs a risk of losing half the enjoyment. If Irene had struck me
in dancing the 'forlana', why should not I have pleased her in spite of
my superiority in age? It was not impossible, and that should be enough
for me, as I did not intend to make her my wife.

The father and mother received me as their preserver, and they may have
been sincere. The count begged me to come out of the room for a moment
with him, and when we were on the other side of the door, said,--

"Forgive an old and unfortunate man, forgive a father, if I ask you
whether it is true that you promised Irene a hundred sequins if I would
let her go to the ball with you."

"It is quite true, but of course you know what the consequences will
be."

At these words the poor old rascal took hold of me in a way which would
have frightened me if I had not possessed twice his strength, but it was
only to embrace me.

We went back to the room, he in tears and I laughing. He ran and told
his wife, who had not been able to believe in such luck any more than
her husband, and Irene added a comic element to the scene by saying,--

"You must not think me a liar, or that my parents suspected that I was
imposing on them; they only thought you said fifty instead of a hundred,
as if I were not worth such a sum."

"You are worth a thousand, my dear Irene; your courage in barring the
way pleased me extremely. But you must come to the ball in a domino."

"Oh! you will be pleased with my dress."

"Are those the shoes and buckles you are going to wear? Have you no
other stockings? Where are your gloves?"

"Good heavens! I have nothing."

"Quick! Send for the tradesmen. We will choose what we want, and I will
pay."

Rinaldi went out to summon a jeweller, a shoemaker, a stocking-maker,
and a perfumer. I spent thirty sequins in what I considered necessary,
but then I noticed that there was no English point on her mask, and
burst out again. The father brought in a milliner, who adorned the mask
with an ell of lace for which I paid twelve sequins. Irene was in great
delight, but her father and mother would have preferred to have the
money in their pockets, and at bottom they were right.

When Irene put on her fine clothes I thought her delicious, and I saw
what an essential thing dress is to a woman.

"Be ready," said I, "before the time for the opera to-morrow, for before
going to the ball we will sup together in a room which belongs to me,
where we shall be quite at our ease. You know what to expect," I added,
embracing her. She answered me with an ardent kiss.

As I took leave of her father, he asked me where I was going after
leaving Milan.

"To Marseilles, then to Paris, and then to London, at which place I
intend stopping a year."

"Your flight from The Leads was wonderfully lucky."

"Yes, but I risked my life."

"You have certainly deserved all your good fortune."

"Do you think so? I have only used my fortune--in subservience to my
pleasures."

"I wonder you do not have a regular mistress:"

"The reason is, that I like to be my own master. A mistress at my
coat-tails would be more troublesome than a wife; she would be an
obstacle to the numerous pleasant adventures I encounter at every
town. For example, if I had a mistress I should not be able to take the
charming Irene to the ball to-morrow."

"You speak like a wise man."

"Yes, though my wisdom is by no means of the austere kind."

In the evening I went to the opera, and should no doubt have gone to the
card-table if I had not seen Cesarino in the pit. I spent two delightful
hours with him. He opened his heart to me, and begged me to plead for
him with his sister to get her consent to his going to sea, for which
he had a great longing. He said that he might make a large fortune by a
judicious course of trading. After a temperate supper with my dear boy,
I went to bed. The next morning the fine young officer, the Marchioness
of Q----'s brother, came and asked me to give him a breakfast. He said
he had communicated my proposal to his sister, and that she had replied
that I must be making a fool of him, as it was not likely that a man who
lived as I did would be thinking of marrying.

"I did not tell you that I aspired to the honour of marrying her."

"No, and I did not say anything about marriage; but that's what the
girls are always aiming at."

"I must go and disabuse her of the notion."

"That's a good idea; principals are always the best in these affairs.
Come at two o'clock, I shall be dining there, and as I have got to speak
to her cousin you will be at liberty to say what you like."

This arrangement suited me exactly. I noticed that my future
brother-in-law admired a little gold case on my night-table, so I begged
him to accept it as a souvenir of our friendship. He embraced me, and
put it in his pocket, saying he would keep it till his dying day.

"You mean till the day when it advances your suit with a lady," said I.

I was sure of having a good supper with Irene, so I resolved to take no
dinner. As the count had gone to St. Angelo, fifteen miles from Milan,
the day before, I felt obliged to wait on the countess in her room, to
beg her to excuse my presence at dinner. She was very polite, and told
me by no means to trouble myself. I suspected that she was trying to
impose on me, but I wanted her to think she was doing so successfully.
In my character of dupe I told her that in Lent I would make amends for
the dissipation which prevented me paying my court to her. "Happily," I
added, "Lent is not far off."

"I hope it will be so," said the deceitful woman with an enchanting
smile, of which only a woman with poison in her heart is capable. With
these words she took a pinch of snuff, and offered me her box.

"But what is this, my dear countess, it isn't snuff?"

"No," she replied, "it makes the nose bleed, and is an excellent thing
for the head-ache."

I was sorry that I had taken it, but said with a laugh, that I had not
got a head-ache, and did not like my nose to bleed.

"It won't bleed much," said she, with a smile, "and it is really
beneficial."

As she spoke, we both began to sneeze, and I should have felt very angry
if I had not seen her smile.

Knowing something about these sneezing powders, I did not think we
should bleed, but I was mistaken. Directly after, I felt a drop of
blood, and she took a silver basin from her night-table.

"Come here," said she, "I am beginning to bleed too."

There we were, bleeding into the same basin, facing each other in the
most ridiculous position. After about thirty drops had fallen from each
of us, the bleeding ceased. She was laughing all the time, and I
thought the best thing I could do was to imitate her example. We washed
ourselves in fair water in another basin.

"This admixture of our blood," said she, still smiling, "will create a
sweet sympathy between us, which will only end with the death of one or
the other."

I could make no sense of this, but the reader will soon see that the
wretched woman did not mean our friendship to last very long. I asked
her to give me some of the powder, but she refused; and on my enquiring
the name of it, she replied that she did not know, as a lady friend had
given it to her.

I was a good deal puzzled by the effects of this powder, never having
heard of the like before, and as soon as I left the countess I went to
an apothecary to enquire about it, but Mr. Drench was no wiser than
I. He certainly said that euphorbia sometimes produced bleeding of
the nose, but it was not a case of sometimes but always. This small
adventure made me think seriously. The lady was Spanish, and she must
hate me; and these two facts gave an importance to our blood-letting
which it would not otherwise possess.

I went to see the two charming cousins, and I found the young officer
with Mdlle. F---- in the room by the garden. The lady was writing, and
on the pretext of not disturbing her I went after Mdlle. Q----, who was
in the garden. I greeted her politely, and said I had come to apologize
for a stupid blunder which must have given her a very poor opinion of
me.

"I guess what you mean, but please to understand that my brother gave me
your message in perfect innocence. Let him believe what he likes. Do
you think I really believed you capable of taking such a step, when we
barely knew each other?"

"I am glad to hear you say so."

"I thought the best thing would be to give a matrimonial turn to your
gallantry. Otherwise my brother, who is quite a young man, might have
interpreted it in an unfavourable sense."

"That was cleverly done, and of course I have nothing more to say.
Nevertheless, I am 'grateful to your brother for having given you to
understand that your charms have produced a vivid impression on me. I
would do anything to convince you of my affection."

"That is all very well, but it would have been wiser to conceal your
feelings from my brother, and, allow me to add, from myself as well. You
might have loved me without telling me, and then, though I should have
perceived the state of your affections, I could have pretended not to do
so. Then I should have been at my ease, but as circumstances now stand I
shall have to be careful. Do you see?"

"Really, marchioness, you astonish me. I was never so clearly convinced
that I have done a foolish thing. And what is still more surprising, is
that I was aware of all you have told me. But you have made me lose my
head. I hope you will not punish me too severely?"

"Pray inform me how it lies in my power to punish you."

"By not loving me."

"Ah! loving and not loving; that is out of one's power. Of a sudden we
know that we are in love, and our fate is sealed."

I interpreted these last words to my own advantage, and turned the
conversation. I asked her if she was going to the ball.

"No."

"Perhaps you are going incognito?"

"We should like to, but it is an impossibility; there is always someone
who knows us."

"If you would take me into your service, I would wager anything that you
would not be recognized."

"You would not care to trouble yourself about us."

"I like you to be a little sceptical, but put me to the proof. If you
could manage to slip out unobserved, I would engage to disguise you in
such a manner that no one would know you."

"We could leave the house with my brother and a young lady with whom he
is in love. I am sure he would keep our counsel."

"I shall be delighted, but it must be for the ball on Sunday. I will
talk it over with your brother. Kindly warn him not to let Barbaro know
anything about it. You will be able to put on your disguise in a place
I know of. However, we can settle about that again. I shall carry the
matter through, you may be sure, with great secrecy. Permit me to kiss
your hand."

She gave it me, and after imprinting a gentle kiss I held it to my
heart, and had the happiness of feeling a soft pressure. I had no
particular disguise in my head, but feeling sure of hitting on something
I put off the consideration of it till the next day; the present
belonged to Irene. I put on my domino, and went to the "Three Kings,"
where I found Irene waiting for me at the door. She had run down as soon
as she had seen my carriage, and I was flattered by this mark of her
eagerness. We went to my rooms, and I ordered the confectioner to get me
a choice supper by midnight. We had six hours before us, but the reader
will excuse my describing the manner in which they were spent. The
opening was made with the usual fracture, which Irene bore with a smile,
for she was naturally voluptuous. We got up at midnight, pleasantly
surprised to find ourselves famishing with hunger, and a delicious
supper waiting for us.

Irene told me that her father had taught her to deal in such a manner
that she could not lose. I was curious to see how it was done, and on
my giving her a pack of cards she proceeded to distract my attention by
talking to me, and in a few minutes the thing was done. I gave her the
hundred sequins I had promised her, and told her to go on with her play.

"If you only play on a single card," said she, "you are sure to lose."

"Never mind; go ahead."

She did so, and I was forced to confess that if I had not been warned I
should never have detected the trick. I saw what a treasure she must
be to the old rascal Rinaldi. With her air of innocence and gaiety,
she would have imposed on the most experienced sharpers. She said in
a mortified manner that she never had any opportunity of turning her
talents to account, as their associates were always a beggarly lot.
She added tenderly that if I would take her with me she would leave her
parents there and win treasures for me.

"When I am not playing against sharpers," she said, "I can also punt
very well."

"Then you can come to Canano's bank and risk the hundred sequins I
have given you. Put twenty sequins on a card, and if you win go paroli,
seven, and the va, and leave the game when they turn up. If you
can't make the three cards come out second, you will lose, but I will
reimburse you."

At this she embraced me, and asked if I would take half the profits.

"No," said I, "you shall have it all."

I thought she would have gone mad with joy.

We went off in sedan-chairs, and the ball not having commenced we went
to the assembly-rooms. Canano had not yet done anything, and he opened
a pack of cards and pretended not to recognize me, but he smiled to see
the pretty masker, my companion, sit down and play instead of me. Irene
made him a profound bow as he made room for her by his side, and putting
the hundred sequins before her she began by winning a hundred and
twenty-five, as instead of going seven and the va, she only went the
paix de paroli. I was pleased to see her thus careful, and I let her
go on. In the following deal she lost on three cards in succession, and
then won another paix de paroli. She then bowed to the banker, pocketed
her winnings, and left the table, but just as we were going out I heard
somebody sobbing, and on my turning to her she said,

"I am sure it is my father weeping for joy."

She had three hundred and sixty sequins which she took to him after
amusing herself for a few hours. I only danced one minuet with her, for
my amorous exploits and the heavy supper I had taken had tired me, and I
longed for rest. I let Irene dance with whom she liked, and going into a
corner fell asleep. I woke up with a start and saw Irene standing before
me. I had been asleep for three hours. I took her back to the "Three
Kings," and left her in the charge of her father and mother. The poor
man was quite alarmed to see so much gold on the table, and told me to
wish him a pleasant journey, as he was starting in a few hours. I could
make no opposition and I did not wish to do so, but Irene was furious.

"I won't go," she cried; "I want to stay with my lover. You are the ruin
of my life. Whenever anybody takes a liking to me, you snatch me away. I
belong to this gentleman, and I won't leave him."

However, she saw that I did not back her up, and began to weep, then
kissed me again and again, and just as she was going to sit down,
worn out with fatigue and despair, I went off, wishing them a pleasant
journey, and telling Irene we should meet again. The reader will learn
in due time when and how I saw them again. After all the fatigue I had
gone through I was glad to go to bed.

It was eight o'clock when the young lieutenant awoke me.

"My sister has told me about the masquerade," said he, "but I have a
great secret to confide in you."

"Say on, and count on my keeping your secret."

"One of the finest noblemen of the town, my friend and my cousin's
lover, who has to be very careful of his actions on account of
his exalted position, would like to be of the party if you have no
objection. My sister and my cousin would like him to come very much."

"Of course he shall. I have been making my calculations for a party of
five, and now it will be a party of six, that is all."

"You really are a splendid fellow."

"On Sunday evening you must be at a certain place, of which I will tell
you. First of all we will have supper, then put on our disguises, and
then go to the ball. To-morrow at five o'clock we shall meet at your
sister's. All I want to know is what is the height of your mistress and
of the young nobleman."

"My sweetheart is two inches shorter than my sister, and a little
thinner; my friend is just about the same make as you are, and if you
were dressed alike you would be mistaken for each other."

"That will do. Let me think it over, and leave me alone now; there's a
Capuchin waiting for me, and I am curious to learn his business."

A Capuchin had called on me and I had told Clairmont to give him
an alms, but he had said he wanted to speak to me in private. I was
puzzled, for what could a Capuchin have to say to me?

He came in, and I was at once impressed by his grave and reverend
appearance. I made him a profound bow and offered him a seat, but he
remained standing, and said,

"Sir, listen attentively to what I am about to tell you, and beware of
despising my advice, for it might cost you your life. You would repent
when it was too late. After hearing me, follow my advice immediately;
but ask no questions, for I can answer none. You may guess, perhaps,
that what silences me is a reason incumbent on all Christians--the
sacred seal of the confessional. You may be sure that my word is above
suspicion; I have no interests of my own to serve. I am acting in
obedience to an inspiration; I think it must be your guardian angel
speaking with my voice. God will not abandon you to the malice of your
enemies. Tell me if I have touched your heart, and if you feel disposed
to follow the counsels I am going to give you."

"I have listened to you, father, with attention and respect. Speak
freely and advise me; what you have said has not only moved me, but has
almost frightened me. I promise to do as you tell me if it is nothing
against honour or the light of reason."

"Very good. A feeling of charity will prevent your doing anything to
compromise me, whatever may be the end of the affair. You will not speak
of me to anyone, or say either that you know me or do not know me?"

"I swear to you I will not on my faith as a Christian. But speak, I
entreat you. Your long preface has made me burn with impatience."

"This day, before noon, go by yourself to---- Square, No.---, on the
second floor, and ring at the bell on your left. Tell the person who
opens the door that you want to speak to Madame. You will be taken to
her room without any difficulty; I am sure your name will not be asked,
but if they do ask you, give an imaginary name. When you are face to
face with the woman, beg her to hear you, and ask her for her secret,
and to inspire confidence put a sequin or two in her hand. She is poor,
and I am sure that your generosity will make her your friend. She will
shut her door, and tell you to say on.

"You must then look grave, and tell her that you are not going to leave
her house before she gives you the little bottle that a servant brought
her yesterday with a note. If she resists, remain firm, but make no
noise; do not let her leave the room or call anybody. Finally, tell her
that you will give her double the money she may lose by giving you the
bottle and all that depends on it. Remember these words: and all that
depends on it. She will do whatever you want. It will not cost you much,
but even if it did, your life is worth more than all the gold of Peru.
I can say no more, but before I go, promise me that you will follow my
advice."

"Yes, reverend father, I will follow the inspiration of the angel who
led you here."

"May God give you His blessing."

When the good priest went out I did not feel at all disposed to
laugh. Reason, certainly, bade me despise the warning, but my inherent
superstition was too strong for reason. Besides, I liked the Capuchin.
He looked like a good man, and I felt bound by the promise I had given
him. He had persuaded me, and my reason told me that a man should never
go against his persuasion; in fine, I had made up my mind. I took the
piece of paper on which I had written the words I had to use, I put a
pair of pistols in my pocket, and I told Clairmont to wait for me in the
square. This latter, I thought, was a precaution that could do no harm.

Everything happened as the good Capuchin had said. The awful old
creature took courage at the sight of the two sequins, and bolted her
door. She began by laughing and saying that she knew I was amorous,
and that it was my fault if I were not happy, but that she would do my
business for me. I saw by these words that I had to do with a pretended
sorceress. The famous Mother Bontemps had spoken in the same way to me
at Paris. But when I told her that I was not going to leave the room
till I had got the mysterious bottle, and all that depended on it, her
face became fearful; she trembled, and would have escaped from the room;
but I stood before her with an open knife, and would not suffer her to
pass. But on my telling her that I would give her double the sum she was
to be paid for her witchcraft, and that thus she would be the gainer and
not a loser in complying with my demands, she became calm once more.

"I shall lose six sequins," said she, "but you will gladly pay double
when I shew you what I have got; I know who you are."

"Who am I?"

"Giacomo Casanova, the Venetian."

It was then I drew the ten sequins from my purse. The old woman was
softened at the sight of the money, and said,

"I would not have killed you outright, certainly, but I would have made
you amorous and wretched."

"Explain what you mean."

"Follow me."

I went after her into a closet, and was greatly amazed at sing numerous
articles about which my common sense could tell me nothing. There were
phials of all shapes and sizes, stones of different colours, metals,
minerals, big nails and small nails, pincers, crucibles, misshapen
images, and the like.

"Here is the bottle," said the old woman.

"What does it contain?"

"Your blood and the countess's, as you will see in this letter."

I understood everything then, and now I wonder I did not burst out
laughing. But as a matter of fact my hair stood on end, as I reflected
on the awful wickedness of which the Spaniard was capable. A cold sweat
burst out all over my body.

"What would you have done with this blood?"

"I should have plastered you with it."

"What do you mean by 'plastered'? I don't understand you."

"I will shew you."

As I trembled with fear the old woman opened a casket, a cubit long,
containing a waxen statue of a man lying on his back. My name was
written on it, and though it was badly moulded, my features were
recognizable. The image bore my cross of the Order of the Golden Spur,
and the generative organs were made of an enormous size. At this I burst
into a fit of hysterical laughter, and had to sit down in an arm-chair
till it was over.

As soon as I had got back my breath the sorceress said,

"You laugh, do you? Woe to you if I had bathed you in the bath of blood
mingled according to my art, and more woe still if, after I had bathed
you, I had thrown your image on a burning coal:"

"Is this all?"

"Yes."

"All the apparatus is to become mine for twelve sequins; here they are.
And now, quick! light me a fire that I may melt this monster, and as for
the blood I think I will throw it out of the window."

This was no sooner said than done.

The old woman had been afraid that I should take the bottle and the
image home with me, and use them to her ruin; and she was delighted to
see me melt the image. She told me that I was an angel of goodness, and
begged me not to tell anyone of what had passed between us. I swore I
would keep my own counsel, even with the countess.

I was astonished when she calmly offered to make the countess madly
in love with me for another twelve sequins, but I politely refused and
advised her to abandon her fearful trade if she did not want to be burnt
alive.

I found Clairmont at his post, and I sent him home. In spite of all I
had gone through, I was not sorry to have acquired the information, and
to have followed the advice of the good Capuchin who really believed me
to be in deadly peril. He had doubtless heard of it in the confessional
from the woman who had carried the blood to the witch. Auricular
confession often works miracles of this kind.

I was determined never to let the countess suspect that I had discovered
her criminal project, and I resolved to behave towards her so as to
appease her anger, and to make her forget the cruel insult to which I
had subjected her. It was lucky for me that she believed in sorcery;
otherwise she would have had me assassinated.

As soon as I got in, I chose the better of the two cloaks I had, and
presented her with it. She accepted the gift with exquisite grace, and
asked me why I gave it her.

"I dreamt," said I, "that you were so angry with me that you were going
to have me assassinated."

She blushed, and answered that she had not gone mad. I left her absorbed
in a sombre reverie. Nevertheless, whether she forgot and forgave, or
whether she could hit upon no other way of taking vengeance, she was
perfectly agreeable to me during the rest of my stay in Milan.

The count came back from his estate, and said that we must really go and
see the place at the beginning of Lent. I promised I would come, but
the countess said she could not be of the party. I pretended to be
mortified, but in reality her determination was an extremely pleasant
one to me.



CHAPTER XX


     The Masquerade--My Amour with the Fair Marchioness--The
     Deserted Girl; I Become Her Deliverer--My Departure for St.
     Angelo

As I had engaged myself to provide an absolutely impenetrable disguise,
I wanted to invent a costume remarkable at once for its originality and
its richness. I tortured my brains so to speak, and my readers shall see
if they think my invention was a good one.

I wanted someone on whom I could rely, and above all, a tailor. It may
be imagined that my worthy gossip was the tailor I immediately thought
of. Zenobia would be as serviceable as her husband; she could do some of
the work, and wait on the young ladies whom I was going to dress up.

I talked to my gossip, and told him to take me to the best second-hand
clothes dealer in Milan.

When we got to the shop I said to the man--

"I want to look at your very finest costumes, both for ladies and
gentlemen."

"Would you like something that has never been worn?"

"Certainly, if you have got such a thing."

"I have a very rich assortment of new clothes."

"Get me, then, in the first place, a handsome velvet suit, all in one
piece, which nobody in Milan will be able to recognize."

Instead of one he shewed me a dozen such suits, all in excellent
condition. I chose a blue velvet lined with white satin. The tailor
conducted the bargaining, and it was laid on one side; this was for the
pretty cousin's lover. Another suit, in smooth sulphur-coloured velvet
throughout, I put aside for the young officer. I also took two handsome
pairs of trousers in smooth velvet, and two superb silk vests.

I then chose two dresses, one flame-coloured and the other purple, and a
third dress in shot silk. This was for the officer's mistress. Then came
lace shirts, two for men, and three for women, then lace handkerchiefs,
and finally scraps of velvet, satin, shot silk, etc., all of different
colours.

I paid two hundred gold ducats for the lot, but on the condition that if
anybody came to know that I had bought them by any indiscretion of his
he should give me the money and take back the materials in whatever
condition they might be in. The agreement was written out and signed,
and I returned with the tailor, who carried the whole bundle to my rooms
over the pastrycook's.

When it was all spread out on the table I told the tailor that I would
blow out his brains if he told anybody about it, and then taking a
stiletto I proceeded to cut and slash the coats, vests, and trousers all
over, to the astonishment of the tailor, who thought I must be mad to
treat such beautiful clothes in this manner.

After this operation, which makes me laugh to this day when I remember
it, I took the scraps I had bought and said to the tailor,--

"Now, 'gossip, it is your turn; I want you to sew in these pieces into
the holes I have made, and I hope your tailoring genius will aid you to
produce some pretty contrasts. You see that you have got your work cut
out for you and no time to lose. I will see that your meals are properly
served in an adjoining chamber, but you must not leave the house till
the work is finished. I will go for your wife, who will help you, and
you can sleep together."

"For God's sake, sir! you don't want the ladies' dresses treated like
the coats and trousers?"

"Just the same."

"What a pity! it will make my wife cry."

"I will console her."

On my way to Zenobia's I bought five pairs of white silk stockings,
men's and women's gloves, two fine castor hats, two burlesque men's
masks, and three graceful-looking female masks. I also bought two pretty
china plates, and I carried them all to Zenobia's in a sedan-chair.

I found that charming woman engaged in her toilet. Her beautiful tresses
hung about her neck, and her full breast was concealed by no kerchief.
Such charms called for my homage, and to begin with I devoured her with
kisses. I spent half an hour with her, and my readers will guess that it
was well employed. I then helped her to finish her toilette, and we went
off in the sedan-chair.

We found the tailor engaged in picking out the scraps and cutting them
to fit the holes I had made. Zenobia looked on in a kind of stupor, and
when she saw me begin to slash the dresses she turned pale and made an
involuntary motion to stay my hand, for not knowing my intentions she
thought I must be beside myself. Her husband had got hardened, and
reassured her, and when she heard my explanation she became calm, though
the idea struck her as a very odd one.

When it is a question of an affair of the heart, of the passions, or of
pleasure, a woman's fancy moves much faster than a man's. When Zenobia
knew that these dresses were meant for three beautiful women, whom
I wished to make a centre of attraction to the whole assembly, she
improved on my cuts and slashes, and arranged the rents in such a manner
that they would inspire passion without wounding modesty. The dresses
were slashed especially at the breast, the shoulders, and the sleeves;
so that the lace shift could be seen, and in its turn the shift was cut
open here and there, and the sleeves were so arranged that half the arms
could be seen. I saw sure that she understood what I wanted, and that
she would keep her husband right; and I left them, encouraging them to
work their best and quickest. But I looked in three or four times in the
day, and was more satisfied every time with my idea and their execution.

The work was not finished till the Saturday afternoon. I gave the tailor
six sequins and dismissed him, but I kept Zenobia to attend on the
ladies. I took care to place powder, pomade, combs, pins, and everything
that a lady needs, on the table, not forgetting ribbons and pack-thread.

The next day I found play going on in a very spirited manner, but the
two cousins were not at the tables, so I went after them. They told me
they had given up playing as Barbaro always won.

"You have been losing, then?"

"Yes, but my brother has won something," said the amiable Q----.

"I hope luck will declare itself on your side also."

"No, we are not lucky."

When their aunt left the room, they asked me if the lieutenant had told
me that a lady friend of theirs was coming to the ball with them.

"I know all," I answered, "and I hope you will enjoy yourselves, but you
will not do so more than I. I want to speak to the gallant lieutenant
to-morrow morning."

"Tell us about our disguises."

"You will be disguised in such a manner that nobody will recognize you."

"But how shall we be dressed?"

"Very handsomely."

"But what costume have you given us?"

"That is my secret, ladies. However much I should like to please you, I
shall say nothing till the time for you to dress comes round. Don't
ask me anything more, as I have promised myself the enjoyment of your
surprise. I am very fond of dramatic situations. You shall know all
after supper."

"Are we to have supper, then?"

"Certainly, if you would like it. I am a great eater myself and I hope
you will not let me eat alone."

"Then we will have some supper to please you. We will take care not to
eat much dinner, so as to be able to vie with you in the evening. The
only thing I am sorry about," added Mdlle. Q----, "is that you should be
put to such expense."

"It is a pleasure; and when I leave Milan I shall console myself with
the thought that I have supped with the two handsomest ladies in the
town."

"How is fortune treating you?"

"Canano wins two hundred sequins from me every day."

"But you won two thousand from him in one night."

"You will break his bank on Sunday. We will bring you luck."

"Would you like to look on?"

"We should be delighted, but my brother says you don't want to go with
us."

"Quite so, the reason is that I should be recognized. But I believe the
gentleman who will accompany you is of the same figure as myself."

"Exactly the same," said the cousin; "except that he is fair."

"All the better," said I, "the fair always conquer the dark with ease."

"Not always," said the other. "But tell us, at any rate, whether we are
to wear men's dresses."

"Fie! fie! I should be angry with myself if I had entertained such a
thought."

"That's curious; why so?"

"I'll tell you. If the disguise is complete I am disgusted, for
the shape of a woman is much more marked than that of a man, and
consequently a woman in man's dress, who looks like a man, cannot have a
good figure."

"But when a woman skews her shape well?"

"Then I am angry with her for skewing too much, for I like to see the
face and the general outlines of the form and to guess the rest."

"But the imagination is often deceptive!"

"Yes, but it is with the face that I always fall in love, and that never
deceives me as far as it is concerned. Then if I have the good fortune
to see anything more I am always in a lenient mood and disposed to pass
over small faults. You are laughing?"

"I am smiling at your impassioned arguments."

"Would you like to be dressed like a man?"

"I was expecting something of the kind, but after you have said we can
make no more objections."

"I can imagine what you would say; I should certainly not take you for
men, but I will say no more."

They looked at each other, and blushed and smiled as they saw my gaze
fixed on two pre-eminences which one would never expect to see in any
man. We began to talk of other things, and for two hours I enjoyed their
lively and cultured conversation.

When I left them I went off to my apartments, then to the opera, where I
lost two hundred sequins, and finally supped with the countess, who had
become quite amiable. However, she soon fell back into her old ways
when she found that my politeness was merely external, and that I had no
intentions whatever of troubling her in her bedroom again.

On the Saturday morning the young officer came to see me, and I told him
that there was only one thing that I wanted him to do, but that it must
be done exactly according to my instructions. He promised to follow them
to the letter, and I proceeded,--

"You must get a carriage and four, and as soon as the five of you are
in it tell the coachman to drive as fast as his horses can gallop out of
Milan, and to bring you back again by another road to the house. There
you must get down, send the carriage away, after enjoining silence on
the coachman, and come in. After the ball you will undress in the same
house, and then go home in sedan-chairs. Thus we shall be able to baffle
the inquisitive, who will be pretty numerous, I warn you."

"My friend the marquis will see to all that," said he, "and I promise
you he will do it well, for he is longing to make your acquaintance."

"I shall expect you, then, at seven o'clock to-morrow.

"Warn your friend that it is important the coachman should not be known,
and do not let anybody bring a servant."

All these arrangements being made, I determined to disguise myself as
Pierrot. There's no disguise more perfect; for, besides concealing the
features and the shape of the body, it does not even let the colour of
the skin remain recognizable. My readers may remember what happened to
me in this disguise ten years before. I made the tailor get me a new
Pierrot costume, which I placed with the others, and with two new
purses, in each of which I placed five hundred sequins, I repaired to
the pastrycook's before seven o'clock. I found the table spread, and
the supper ready. I shut up Zenobia in the room where the ladies were to
make their toilette, and at five minutes past seven the joyous company
arrived.

The marquis was delighted to make my acquaintance, and I welcomed him
as he deserved. He was a perfect gentleman in every respect, handsome,
rich, and young, very much in love with the pretty cousin whom he
treated with great respect. The lieutenant's mistress was a delightful
little lady and madly fond of her lover.

As they were all aware that I did not want them to know their costumes
till after supper, nothing was said about it, and we sat down to table.
The supper was excellent; I had ordered it in accordance with my own
tastes; that is to say, everything was of the best, and there was plenty
of everything. When we had eaten and drunk well, I said,--

"As I am not going to appear with you, I may as well tell you the parts
you are to play. You are to be five beggars, two men and three women,
all rags and tatters."

The long faces they pulled at this announcement were a pleasant sight to
see.

"You will each carry a plate in your hands to solicit alms, and you
must walk together about the ball-room as a band of mendicants. But now
follow me and take possession of your ragged robes."

Although I had much ado to refrain from laughing at the vexation
and disappointment which appeared on all their faces, I succeeded in
preserving my serious air. They did not seem in any kind of hurry to get
their clothes, and I was obliged to tell them that they were keeping
me waiting. They rose from the table and I threw the door open, and all
were struck with Zenobia's beauty as she stood up by the table on which
the rich though tattered robes were displayed, bowing to the company
with much grace.

"Here, ladies," said I to the cousins, "are your dresses, and here
is yours, mademoiselle--a little smaller. Here are your shifts, your
handkerchiefs and your stockings, and I think you will find everything
you require on this table. Here are masks, the faces of which shew so
poorly beside your own, and here are three plates to crave alms. If
anybody looks as high as your garters, they will see how wretched you
are, and the holes in the stockings will let people know that you have
not the wherewithal to buy silk to mend them. This packthread must serve
you for buckles, and we must take care that there are holes in your
shoes and also in your gloves, and as everything must match, as soon as
you have put on your chemises you must tear the lace round the neck."

While I was going through this explanation I saw surprise and delight
efface the disappointment and vexation which had been there a moment
before. They saw what a rich disguise I had provided for them, and they
could not find it in their hearts to say, "What a pity!"

"Here, gentlemen, are your beggar-clothes. I forgot to lacerate your
beaver hats, but that is soon done. Well, what do you think of the
costume?"

"Now, ladies, we must leave you; shut the door fast, for it is a case of
changing your shifts. Now, gentlemen, leave the room."

The marquis was enthusiastic.

"What a sensation we shall create!" said he, "nothing could be better."

In half an hour we were ready. The stockings in holes, the worn-out
shoes, the lace in rags, the straggling hair, the sad masks, the notched
plates--all made a picture of sumptuous misery hard to be described.

The ladies took more time on account of their hair, which floated on
their shoulders in fine disorder. Mdlle. Q----'s hair was especially
fine, it extended almost to her knees.

When they were ready the door was opened, and we saw everything which
could excite desire without wounding decency. I admired Zenobia's
adroitness. The rents in dresses and chemises disclosed parts of their
shoulders, their breasts, and their arms, and their white legs shone
through the holes in the stockings.

I shewed them how to walk, and to sway their heads to and fro, to excite
compassion, and yet be graceful, and how to use their handkerchiefs to
shew people the tears in them and the fineness of the lace. They were
delighted, and longed to be at the ball, but I wanted to be there first
to have the pleasure of seeing them come in. I put on my mask, told
Zenobia to go to bed, as we would not be back till daybreak, and set out
on my way.

I entered the ball-room, and as there were a score of Pierrots nobody
noticed me. Five minutes after there was a rush to see some maskers who
were coming in, and I stood so as to have a good view. The marquis came
in first between the two cousins. Their slow, pitiful step matched
the part wonderfully. Mdlle. Q---- with her flame-coloured dress,
her splendid hair, and her fine shape, drew all eyes towards her. The
astonished and inquisitive crowd kept silence for a quarter of an
hour after they had come in, and then I heard on every side, "What a
disguise!" "It's wonderful!" "Who are they?" "Who can they be?" "I don't
know." "I'll find out."

I enjoyed the results of my inventiveness.

The music struck up, and three fine dominos went up to the three
beggar-girls to ask them to dance a minuet, but they excused themselves
by pointing to their dilapidated shoes. I was delighted; it shewed that
they had entered into the spirit of the part.

I followed them about for a quarter of an hour, and the curiosity about
them only increased, and then I paid a visit to Canano's table, where
play was running high. A masquer dressed in the Venetian style was
punting on a single card, going fifty sequins paroli and paix de paroli,
in my fashion. He lost three hundred sequins, and as he was a man of
about the same size as myself people said it was Casanova, but Canano
would not agree. In order that I might be able to stay at the table, I
took up the cards and punted three or four ducats like a beginner. The
next deal the Venetian masquer had a run of luck, and going paroli, paix
de paroli and the va, won back all the money he had lost.

The next deal was also in his favour, and he collected his winnings and
left the table.

I sat down in the chair he had occupied, and a lady said,--

"That's the Chevalier de Seingalt."

"No," said another. "I saw him a little while ago in the ball-room
disguised as a beggar, with four other masquers whom nobody knows."

"How do you mean, dressed as a beggar?" said Canano.

"Why, in rags, and the four others, too; but in spite of that the
dresses are splendid and the effect is very good. They are asking for
alms."

"They ought to be turned out," said another.

I was delighted to have attained my object, for the recognition of me
was a mere guess. I began putting sequins on one card, and I lost five
or six times running. Canano studied me, but I saw he could not make me
out. I heard whispers running round the table.

"It isn't Seingalt; he doesn't play like that; besides, he is at the
ball."

The luck turned; three deals were in my favour, and brought me back more
than I had lost. I continued playing with a heap of gold before me, and
on my putting a fistfull of sequins on a card it came out, and I went
paroli and pair de paroli. I won again, and seeing that the bank was at
a low ebb I stopped playing. Canano paid me, and told his cashier to get
a thousand sequins, and as he was shuffling the cards I heard a cry of,
"Here come the beggars."

The beggars came in and stood by the table, and Canano, catching
the marquis's eye, asked him for a pinch of snuff. My delight may be
imagined when I saw him modestly presenting a common horn snuffbox to
the banker. I had not thought of this detail, which made everybody
laugh immensely. Mdlle. Q---- stretched out her plate to ask an alms of
Canano, who said,--

"I don't pity you with that fine hair of yours, and if you like to put
it on a card I will allow you a thousand sequins for it."

She gave no answer to this polite speech, and held out her plate to me,
and I put a handful of sequins on it, treating the other beggars in the
same way.

"Pierrot seems to like beggars," said Canano, with a smile.

The three mendicants bowed gratefully to me and left the room.

The Marquis Triulzi who sat near Canano, said,--

"The beggar in the straw-coloured dress is certainly Casanova."

"I recognized him directly," replied the banker, "but who are the
others?"

"We shall find out in due time."

"A dearer costume could not be imagined; all the dresses are quite new."

The thousand sequins came in, and I carried them all off in two deals.

"Would you like to go on playing?" said Canano.

I shook my head, and indicating with a sign of my hand that I would take
a cheque, he weighed my winnings and gave me a cheque for twenty-nine
pounds of gold, amounting to two thousand, five hundred sequins. I put
away the cheque, and after shaking him by the hand, I got up and rolled
away in true Pierrot fashion, and after making the tour of the ball-room
I went to a box on the third tier of which I had given the key to the
young officer, and there I found my beggars.

We took off our masks and congratulated each other on our success, and
told our adventures. We had nothing to fear from inquisitive eyes, for
the boxes on each side of us were empty. I had taken them myself, and
the keys were in my pocket.

The fair beggars talked of returning me the alms I had given them, but I
replied in such a way that they said no more about it.

"I am taken for you, sir," said the marquis, "and it may cause some
annoyance to our fair friends here."

"I have foreseen that," I replied, "and I shall unmask before the end of
the ball. This will falsify all suppositions, and nobody will succeed in
identifying you."

"Our pockets are full of sweetmeats," said Mdlle. Q----. "Everybody
wanted to fill our plates."

"Yes," said the cousin, "everybody admired us; the ladies came down
from their boxes to have a closer view of us, and everyone said that no
richer disguise could be imagined."

"You have enjoyed yourselves, then?"

"Yes, indeed."

"And I too. I feel quite boastful at having invented a costume which has
drawn all eyes upon you, and yet has concealed your identity."

"You have made us all happy," said the lieutenant's little mistress. "I
never thought I should have such a pleasant evening."

"Finis coronat opus," I replied, "and I hope the end will be even better
than the beginning."

So saying I gave my sweetheart's hand a gentle pressure, and whether she
understood me or not I felt her hand tremble in mine.

"We will go down now," said she.

"So will I, for I want to dance, and I am sure I shall make you laugh as
Pierrot."

"Do you know how much money you gave each of us?"

"I cannot say precisely, but I believe I gave each an equal share."

"That is so. I think it is wonderful how you could do it."

"I have done it a thousand times. When I lose a paroli of ten sequins
I put three fingers into my purse, and am certain to bring up thirty
sequins. I would bet I gave you each from thirty-eight to forty
sequins."

"Forty exactly. It's wonderful. We shall remember this masqued ball."

"I don't think anybody will imitate us," said the marquis.

"No," said the cousin, "and we would not dare to wear the same dresses
again."

We put on our masks, and I was the first to go out. After numerous
little jocularities with the harlequins, especially the female ones, I
recognized Therese in a domino, and walking up to her as awkwardly as I
could I asked her to dance with me.

"You are the Pierrot who broke the bank?" she said.

I answered the question in the affirmative by a nod.

I danced like a madman, always on the point of falling to the ground and
never actually doing so.

When the dance was over, I offered her my arm and took her back to her
box, where Greppi was sitting by himself. She let me come in, and their
surprise was great when I took off my mask. They had thought I was one
of the beggars. I gave M. Greppi Canano's cheque, and as soon as he had
handed me an acknowledgment I went down to the ball-room again with my
mask off, much to the astonishment of the inquisitive, who had made sure
that the marquis was I.

Towards the end of the ball I went away in a sedan-chair, which I
stopped near the door of an hotel, and a little further on I took
another which brought me to the door of the pastry-cook's. I found
Zenobia in bed. She said she was sure I would come back by myself. I
undressed as quickly as I could, and got into bed with this Venus of a
woman. She was absolute perfection. I am sure that if Praxiteles had had
her for a model, he would not have required several Greek beauties from
which to compose his Venus. What a pity that such an exquisite figure
should be the property of a sorry tailor.

I stripped her naked, and after due contemplation I made her feel how
much I loved her. She was pleased with my admiration, and gave me back
as much as she got. I had her entirely to myself for the first time.
When we heard the trot of four horses we rose and put on our clothes in
a twinkling.

When the charming beggars came in, I told them that I should be able
to help in their toilette as they had not to change their chemises, and
they did not make many objections.

My gaze was fixed all the while on Mdlle. Q----. I admired her charms,
and I was delighted to see that she was not miserly in their display.
After Zenobia had done her hair she left her to me, and went to attend
on the others. She allowed me to put on her dress, and did not forbid
my eyes wandering towards a large rent in her chemise, which let me see
almost the whole of one of her beautiful breasts.

"What are you going to do with this chemise?"

"You will laugh at our silliness. We have determined to keep everything
as a memorial of the splendid evening we have had. My brother will bring
it all to the house. Are you coming to see us this evening?"

"If I were wise I should avoid you."

"And if I were wise I shouldn't ask you to come."

"That is fairly answered! Of course I will come; but before we part may
I ask one kiss?"

"Say two."

Her brother and the marquis left the room, and two sedan-chairs I had
summoned took off the cousins.

As soon as the marquis was alone with me he asked me very politely to
let him share in the expenses.

"I guessed you were going to humiliate me."

"Such was not my intention, and I do not insist; but then you know I
shall be humiliated."

"Not at all; I reckon on your good sense. It really costs me nothing.
Besides, I give you my word to let you pay for all the parties of
pleasure we enjoy together during the carnival. We will sup here when
you like; you shall invite the company, and I will leave you to pay the
bill."

"That arrangement will suit me admirably. We must be friends. I leave
you with this charming attendant. I did not think that such a beauty
could exist in Milan unknown to all but you."

"She is a townswoman, who knows how to keep a secret. Do you not?"

"I would rather die than tell anyone that this gentleman is the Marquis
of F----."

"That's right; always keep your word, and take this trifle as a souvenir
of me."

It was a pretty ring, which Zenobia received with much grace; it might
be worth about fifty sequins.

When the marquis was gone, Zenobia undressed me and did my hair for the
night, and as I got into bed I gave her twenty-four sequins, and told
her she might go and comfort her husband.

"He won't be uneasy," said she, "he is a philosopher."

"He need be with such a pretty wife. Kiss me again, Zenobia, and then we
must part."

She threw herself upon me, covering me with kisses, and calling me her
happiness and her providence. Her fiery kisses produced their natural
effect, and after I had given her a fresh proof of the power of her
charms, she left me and I went to sleep.

It was two o'clock when I awoke ravenously hungry. I had an excellent
dinner, and then I dressed to call on the charming Mdlle. Q----, whom
I did not expect to find too hard on me, after what she had said.
Everybody was playing cards with the exception of herself. She was
standing by a window reading so attentively that she did not hear me
come into the room, but when she saw me near her, she blushed, shut up
the book, and put it in her pocket.

"I will not betray you," said I, "or tell anyone that I surprised you
reading a prayer-book."

"No, don't; for my reputation would be gone if I were thought to be a
devotee."

"Has there been any talk of the masqued ball or of the mysterious
masquers?"

"People talk of nothing else, and condole with us for not having been
to the ball, but no one can guess who the beggars were. It seems that
an unknown carriage and four that sped like the wind took them as far
as the first stage, and where they went next God alone knows! It is said
that my hair was false, and I have longed to let it down and thus give
them the lie. It is also said that you must know who the beggars were,
as you loaded them with ducats."

"One must let people say and believe what they like and not betray
ourselves."

"You are right; and after all we had a delightful evening. If you acquit
yourself of all commissions in the same way, you must be a wonderful
man."

"But it is only you who could give me such a commission."

"I to-day, and another to-morrow."

"I see you think I am inconstant, but believe me if I find favour in
your eyes your face will ever dwell in my memory."

"I am certain you have told a thousand girls the same story, and after
they have admitted you to their favour you have despised them."

"Pray do not use the word 'despise,' or I shall suppose you think me a
monster. Beauty seduces me. I aspire to its possession, and it is only
when it is given me from other motives than love that I despise it.
How should I despise one who loved me? I should first be compelled
to despise myself. You are beautiful and I worship you, but you are
mistaken if you think that I should be content for you to surrender
yourself to me out of mere kindness."

"Ah! I see it is my heart you want."

"Exactly."

"To make me wretched at the end of a fortnight."

"To love you till death, and to obey your slightest wishes."

"My slightest wishes?"

"Yes, for to me they would be inviolable laws."

"Would you settle in Milan?"

"Certainly, if you made that a condition of my happiness."

"What amuses me in all this is that you are deceiving me without knowing
it, if indeed you really love me."

"Deceiving you without knowing it! That is something new. If I am not
aware of it, I am innocent of deceit."

"I am willing to admit your innocency, but you are deceiving me none the
less, for after you had ceased to love me no power of yours could bring
love back again."

"That, of course, might happen, but I don't choose to entertain such
unpleasant thoughts; I prefer to think of myself as loving you to all
eternity. It is certain at all events that no other woman in Milan has
attracted me."

"Not the pretty girl who waited on us, and whose arms you have possibly
left an hour or, two ago?"

"What are you saying? She is the wife of the tailor who made your
clothes. She left directly after you, and her husband would not have
allowed her to come at all if he was not aware that she would be wanted
to wait on the ladies whose dresses he had made."

"She is wonderfully pretty. Is it possible that you are not in love with
her?"

"How could one love a woman who is at the disposal of a low, ugly
fellow? The only pleasure she gave me was by talking of you this
morning."

"Of me?"

"Yes. You will excuse me if I confess to having asked her which of the
ladies she waited on looked handsomest without her chemise."

"That was a libertine's question. Well, what did she say?"

"That the lady with the beautiful hair was perfect in every respect."

"I don't believe a word of it. I have learnt how to change my chemise
with decency, and so as not to shew anything I might not shew a man. She
only wished to flatter your impertinent curiosity. If I had a maid like
that, she should soon go about her business."

"You are angry with me."

"No."

"It's no good saying no, your soul flashed forth in your denunciation. I
am sorry to have spoken."

"Oh! it's of no consequence. I know men ask chambermaids questions of
that kind, and they all give answers like your sweetheart, who perhaps
wanted to make you curious about herself."

"But how could she hope to do that by extolling your charms above those
of the other ladies? And, how could she know that I preferred you?"

"If she did not know it, I have made a mistake; but for all that, she
lied to you."

"She may have invented the tale, but I do not think she lied. You are
smiling again! I am delighted."

"I like to let you believe what pleases you."

"Then you will allow me to believe that you do not hate me."

"Hate you? What an ugly word! If I hated you, should I see you at all?
But let's talk of something else. I want you to do me a favour. Here are
two sequins; I want you to put them on an 'ambe' in the lottery. You can
bring me the ticket when you call again, or still better, you can send
it me, but don't tell anybody."

"You shall have the ticket without fail, but why should I not bring it?"

"Because, perhaps, you are tired of coming to see me."

"Do I look like that? If so I am very unfortunate. But what numbers will
you have?"

"Three and forty; you gave them me yourself."

"How did I give them you?"

"You put your hand three times on the board, and took up forty sequins
each time. I am superstitious, and you will laugh at me, I daresay, but
it seems to me that you must have come to Milan to make me happy."

"Now you make me happy indeed. You say you are superstitious, but if
these numbers don't win you mustn't draw the conclusion that I don't
love you; that would be a dreadful fallacy."

"I am not superstitious as all that, nor so vile a logician."

"Do you believe I love you?"

"Yes."

"May I tell you so a hundred times?"

"Yes."

"And prove it in every way?"

"I must enquire into your methods before I consent to that, for it is
possible that what you would call a very efficacious method might strike
me as quite useless."

"I see you are going to make me sigh after you for a long time."

"As long as I can."

"And when you have no strength left?"

"I will surrender. Does that satisfy you?"

"Certainly, but I shall exert all my strength to abate yours."

"Do so; I shall like it."

"And will you help me to succeed?"

"Perhaps."

"Ah, dear marchioness; you need only speak to make a man happy. You have
made me really so, and I am leaving you full of ardour."

On leaving this charming conversationalist I went to the theatre and
then to the faro-table, where I saw the masquer who had won three
hundred sequins the evening before. This night he was very unlucky. He
had lost two thousand sequins, and in the course of the next hour his
losses had doubled. Canano threw down his cards and rose, saying, "That
will do." The masquer left the table. He was a Genoese named Spinola.

"The bank is prosperous," I remarked to Canano.

"Yes," he replied, "but it is not always so. Pierrot was very lucky the
other night."

"You did not recognize me in the least?"

"No, I was so firmly persuaded that the beggar was you. You know who he
is?"

"I haven't an idea. I never saw him before that day." In this last
particular I did not lie.

"It is said that they are Venetians, and that they went to Bergamo."

"It may be so, but I know nothing about them. I left the ball before
they did."

In the evening I supped with the countess, her husband, and Triulzi.
They were of the same opinion as Canano. Triulzi said that I had let the
cat out of the bag by giving the beggars handfuls of sequins.

"That is a mistake," I answered. "When the luck is in my favour I never
refuse anyone who asks me for money, for I have a superstition that
I should lose if I did. I had won thirty pounds weight of gold, and I
could afford to let fools talk."

The next day I got the lottery ticket and took it to the marchioness.
I felt madly in love with her because I knew she was in love with me.
Neither of them were playing, and I spent two hours in their company,
talking of love all the while and enjoying their conversation immensely,
for they were exceedingly intelligent. I left them with the conviction
that if the cousin, and not Mdlle. Q----, had been thrown in my way, I
should have fallen in love with her in just the same manner.

Although the carnival is four days longer at Milan than at any other
town, it was now drawing to a close. There were three more balls. I
played every day, and every day I lost two or three hundred sequins. My
prudence caused even more surprise than my bad fortune. I went every day
to the fair cousins and made love, but I was still at the same point;
I hoped, but could get nothing tangible. The fair marchioness sometimes
gave me a kiss, but this was not enough for me. It is true that so far
I had not dared to ask her to meet me alone. As it was I felt my love
might die for want of food, and three days before the ball I asked her
if she, her two friends, the marquis, and the lieutenant, would come and
sup with me.

"My brother," she said, "will call on you to-morrow to see what can be
arranged."

This was a good omen. The next day the lieutenant came. I had just
received the drawings at the lottery, and what was my surprise and
delight to see the two numbers three and forty. I said nothing to the
young marquis, as his sister had forbidden me, but I foresaw that this
event would be favourable to my suit.

"The Marquis of F----," said the worthy ambassador, "asks you to supper
in your own rooms with all the band of beggars. He wishes to give us a
surprise, and would be obliged if you would lend him the room to have
a set of disguises made, and to ensure secrecy he wants you to let have
the same waiting-maid."

"With pleasure; tell the marquis that all shall be according to his
pleasure."

"Get the girl to come there at three o'clock to-day, and let the
pastry-cook know that the marquis has full powers to do what he likes in
the place."

"Everything shall be done as you suggest."

I guessed at once that the marquis wanted to have a taste of Zenobia;
but this seemed to me so natural that, far from being angry, I felt
disposed to do all in my power to favour his plans. Live and let live
has always been my maxim, and it will be so to my dying day, though now
I do but live a life of memories.

As soon as I was dressed I went out, and having told the pastrycook to
consider the gentleman who was coming as myself, I called on the tailor,
who was delighted at my getting his wife work. He knew by experience
that she was none the worse for these little absences.

"I don't want you," said I to the tailor, "as it is only women's dresses
that have to be done. My good gossip here will be sufficient."

"At three o'clock she may go, and I shall not expect to see her again
for three days."

After I had dined I called as usual on the fair marchioness, and found
her in a transport of delight. Her lottery ticket had got her five
hundred sequins.

"And that makes you happy, does it?" said I.

"It does, not because of the gain in money, though I am by no means
rich, but for the beauty of the idea and for the thought that I owe it
all to you. These two things speak volumes in your favour."

"What do they say?"

"That you deserve to be loved."

"And also that you love me?"

"No, but my heart tells me as much."

"You make me happy, but does not your heart also tell you that you
should prove your love?"

"Dearest, can you doubt it?"

With these words she gave me her hand to kiss for the first time.

"My first idea," she added, "was to put the whole forty sequins on the
'ambe'."

"You hadn't sufficient courage?"

"It wasn't that, I felt ashamed to do it. I was afraid that you might
have a thought you would not tell me of--namely, that if I gave you the
forty sequins to risk on the lottery, you would think I despised your
present. This would have been wrong, and if you had encouraged me I
should have risked all the money."

"I am so sorry not to have thought of it. You would have had ten
thousand sequins, and I should be a happy man."

"We will say no more about it."

"Your brother tells me that we are going to the masqued ball under the
direction of the marquis, and I leave you to imagine how glad I feel at
the thought of spending a whole night with you. But one thought troubles
me."

"What is that?"

"I am afraid it will not go off so well as before."

"Don't be afraid, the marquis is a man of much ingenuity, and loves my
cousin's honour as herself. He is sure to get us disguises in which we
shall not be recognized."

"I hope so. He wants to pay for everything, including the supper."

"He cannot do better than imitate your example in that respect."

On the evening of the ball I went at an early hour to the pastry-cook's,
where I found the marquis well pleased with the progress that had been
made. The dressing room was shut. I asked him in a suggestive manner if
he was satisfied with Zenobia.

"Yes, with her work," he answered; "I did not ask her to do anything
else for me."

"Oh! of course I believe it, but I am afraid your sweetheart will be
rather sceptical."

"She knows that I cannot love anyone besides herself."

"Well, well, we will say no more about it."

When the guests came the marquis said that as the costumes would amuse
us we had better put them on before supper.

We followed him into the next room, and he pointed out two thick
bundles.

"Here, ladies, are your disguises," said he; "and here is your maid who
will help you while we dress in another room."

He took the larger of the two bundles, and when we were shut up in our
room he undid the string, and gave us our dresses, saying,--

"Let us be as quick as we can."

We burst out laughing to see a set of women's clothes. Nothing was
wanting, chemises, embroidered shoes with high heels, superb garters,
and, to relieve us of the trouble of having our hair done, exquisite
caps with rich lace coming over the forehead. I was surprised to find
that my shoes fitted me perfectly, but I heard afterwards that he
employed the same bootmaker as I did. Corsets, petticoats, gowns,
kerchief, fans, work-bags, rouge-boxes, masks, gloves-all were there.
We only helped each other with our hair, but when it was done we looked
intensely stupid, with the exception of the young officer, who
really might have been taken for a pretty woman; he had concealed his
deficiency in feminine characteristics by false breasts and a bustle.

We took off our breeches one after the other.

"Your fine garters," said I, to the marquis, "make me want to wear some
too."

"Exactly," said the marquis; "but the worst of it is nobody will take
the trouble to find out whether we have garters or not, for two young
ladies five feet ten in height will not inspire very ardent desires."

I had guessed that the girls would be dressed like men, and I was not
mistaken. They were ready before us, and when we opened the door we saw
them standing with their backs to the fireplace.

They looked three young pages minus their impudence, for though they
endeavoured to seem quite at their ease they were rather confused.

We advanced with the modesty of the fair sex, and imitating the air
of shy reserve which the part demanded. The girls of course thought
themselves obliged to mimic the airs of men, and they did not accost us
like young men accustomed to behave respectfully to ladies. They
were dressed as running footmen, with tight breeches, well-fitting
waistcoats, open throats, garters with a silver fringe, laced
waistbands, and pretty caps trimmed with silver lace, and a coat of arms
emblazoned in gold. Their lace shirts were ornamented with an immense
frill of Alencon point. In this dress, which displayed their beautiful
shapes under a veil which was almost transparent, they would have
stirred the sense of a paralytic, and we had no symptoms of that
disease. However, we loved them too well to frighten them.

After the silly remarks usual on such occasions had been passed, we
began to talk naturally while we were waiting for supper. The ladies
said that as this was the first time they had dressed as men they were
afraid of being recognized.

"Supposing somebody knew us," cried the cousin, "we should be undone!"

They were right; but our part was to reassure them, though I at any rate
would have preferred to stay where we were. We sat down to supper, each
next to his sweetheart, and to my surprise the lieutenant's mistress was
the first to begin the fun. Thinking that she could not pretend to be a
man without being impudent, she began to toy with the lady-lieutenant,
who defended himself like a prudish miss. The two cousins, not to be
outdone, began to caress us in a manner that was rather free. Zenobia,
who was waiting on us at table could not help laughing when Mdlle.
Q---reproached her for having made my dress too tight in the neck. She
stretched out her hand as if to toy with me, whereupon I gave her a
slight box on the ear, and imitating the manner of a repentant cavalier
she kissed my hand and begged my pardon.

The marquis said he felt cold, and his mistress asked him if he had his
breeches on, and put her hand under his dress to see, but she speedily
drew it back with a blush. We all burst out laughing, and she joined in,
and proceeded with her part of hardy lover.

The supper was admirable; everything was choice and abundant. Warm
with love and wine, we rose from the table at which we had been for two
hours, but as we got up sadness disfigured the faces of the two pretty
cousins. They did not dare to go to the ball in a costume that would put
them at the mercy of all the libertines there. The marquis and I felt
that they were right.

"We must make up our minds," said the lieutenant, "shall we go to the
ball or go home?"

"Neither," said the marquis, "we will dance here."

"Where are the violins" asked his mistress, "you could not get them
to-night for their weight in gold."

"Well," said I, "we will do without them. We will have some punch,
laugh, and be merry, and we shall enjoy ourselves better than at the
ball, and when we are tired we can go to sleep. We have three beds
here."

"Two would be enough," said the cousin.

"True, but we can't have too much of a good thing."

Zenobia had gone to sup with the pastrycook's wife, but she was ready to
come up again when she should be summoned.

After two hours spent in amorous trifling, the lieutenant's mistress,
feeling a little dizzy, went into an adjoining room and lay down on the
bed. Her lover was soon beside her.

Mdlle. Q----, who was in the same case, told me that she would like to
rest, so I took her into a room where she could sleep the night, and
advised her to do so.

"I don't think I need fear its going any farther," I said, "we will
leave the marquis with your cousin then, and I will watch over you while
you sleep."

"No, no, you shall sleep too." So saying, she went into the
dressing-room, and asked me to get her cloak. I brought it to her, and
when she came in she said,--

"I breathe again. Those dreadful trousers were too tight; they hurt me."
She threw herself on the bed, with nothing on besides her cloak.

"Where did the breeches hurt you?" said I.

"I can't tell you, but I should think you must find them dreadfully
uncomfortable."

"But, dearest, our anatomy is different, and breeches do not trouble us
at all where they hurt you."

As I spoke I held her to my breast and let myself fall gently beside her
on the bed. We remained thus a quarter of an hour without speaking, our
lips glued together in one long kiss. I left her a moment by herself,
and when I returned she was between the sheets. She said she had
undressed to be able to sleep better, and, shutting her eyes, turned
away. I knew that the happy hour had come, and taking off my woman's
clothes in a twinkling, I gently glided into the bed beside her, for the
last struggles of modesty must be tenderly respected. I clasped her in
my arms and a gentle pressure soon aroused her passions, and turning
towards me she surrendered to me all her charms.

After the first sacrifice I proposed a wash, for though I could not
exactly flatter myself that I had been the first to break open the lock,
the victim had left some traces on the bed, which looked as if it were
so. The offer was received with delight, and when the operation was over
she allowed me to gaze on all her charms, which I covered with kisses.
Growing bolder, she made me grant her the same privilege.

"What a difference there is," said she, "between nature and art!"

"But of course you think that art is the better?"

"No, certainly not."

"But there may be imperfections in nature, whereas art is perfect."

"I do not know whether there be any imperfection in what I behold, but I
do know that I have never seen anything so beautiful."

In fact she had the instrument of love before her eyes in all its
majesty, and I soon made her feel its power. She did not remain still
a moment, and I have known few women so ardent and flexible in their
movements.

"If we were wise," said she, "instead of going to the ball again we
would come here and enjoy ourselves."

I kissed the mouth which told me so plainly that I was to be happy, and
I convinced her by my transports that no man could love her as ardently
as I did. I had no need to keep her awake, she shewed no inclination for
sleep. We were either in action or contemplation, or engaged in amorous
discourse, the whole time. I cheated her now and then, but to her own
advantage, for a young woman is always more vigorous than a man, and
we did not stop till the day began to break. There was no need for
concealment, for each had enjoyed his sweetheart in peace and happiness,
and it was only modesty which silenced our congratulations. By this
silence we did not proclaim our happiness, but neither did we deny it.

When we were ready I thanked the marquis, and asked him to supper for
the next ball night without any pretence of our going to the masquerade,
if the ladies had no objection. The lieutenant answered for them in the
affirmative, and his mistress threw her arms round his neck, reproaching
him for having slept all night. The marquis confessed to the same fault,
and I repeated the words like an article of faith, while the ladies
kissed us, and thanked us for our kindness to them. We parted in the
same way as before, except that this time the marquis remained with
Zenobia.

I went to bed as soon as I got home, and slept till three o'clock.
When I got up I found the house was empty, so I went to dine at the
pastry-cook's, where I found Zenobia and her husband, who had come
to enjoy the leavings of our supper. He told me that I had made his
fortune, as the marquis had given his wife twenty-four sequins and the
woman's dress he had worn. I gave her mine as well. I told my gossip
that I should like some dinner, and the tailor went away in a grateful
mood.

As soon as I was alone with Zenobia I asked her if she were satisfied
with the marquis.

"He paid me well," she answered, a slight blush mounting on her cheeks.

"That is enough," said I, "no one can see you without loving you, or
love you without desiring to possess your charms."

"The marquis did not go so far as that."

"It may be so, but I am surprised to hear it."

When I had dined, I hastened to call on the fair marchioness, whom
I loved more than ever after the delicious night she had given me.
I wanted to see what effect she would have on me, after making me so
happy. She looked prettier than ever. She received me in a way becoming
in a mistress who is glad to have acquired some rights over her lover.

"I was sure," said she, "that you would come and see me;" and though her
cousin was there she kissed me so often and so ardently that there
was no room for doubt as to the manner in which we had spent our night
together. I passed five hours with her, which went by all too quickly,
for we talked of love, and love is an inexhaustible subject. This five
hours' visit on the day after our bridal shewed me that I was madly in
love with my new conquest, while it must have convinced her that I was
worthy of her affection.

Countess A---- B---- had sent me a note asking me to sup with her, her
husband, and the Marquis Triulzi, and other friends. This engagement
prevented my paying a visit to Canano, who had won a thousand sequins of
me since my great victory as Pierrot. I knew that he boasted that he was
sure of me, but in my own mind I had determined to gain the mastery. At
supper the countess waged war on me. I slept out at night. I was rarely
visible. She tried hard to steal my secret from me, and to get some
information as to my amorous adventures. It was known that I sometimes
supped at Therese's with Greppi, who was laughed at because he had been
silly enough to say that he had nothing to dread from my power. The
better to conceal my game, I said he was quite right.

The next day Barbaro, who was as honest as most professional sharpers
are, brought me the two hundred sequins I had lent him, with a profit
of two hundred more. He told me that he had had a slight difference with
the lieutenant, and was not going to play any more. I thanked him for
having presented me to the fair marchioness, telling him that I was
quite in love with her and in hopes of overcoming her scruples. He
smiled, and praised my discretion, letting me understand that I did not
take him in; but it was enough for me not to confess to anything.

About three o'clock I called on my sweetheart, and spent five hours with
her as before. As Barbaro was not playing, the servants had been ordered
to say that no one was at home. As I was the declared lover of the
marchioness, her cousin treated me as an intimate friend. She begged me
to stay at Milan as long as possible, not only to make her cousin happy,
but for her sake as well, since without me she could not enjoy the
marquis's society in private, and while her father was alive he would
never dare to come openly to the house. She thought she would certainly
become his wife as soon as her old father was dead, but she hoped
vainly, for soon after the marquis fell into evil ways and was ruined.

Next evening we all assembled at supper, and instead of going to the
ball gave ourselves up to pleasure. We spent a delicious night, but it
was saddened by the reflection that the carnival was drawing to a close,
and with it our mutual pleasures would be over.

On the eve of Shrove Tuesday as there was no ball I sat down to play,
and not being able once to hit on three winning cards, I lost all the
gold I had about me. I should have left the table as usual if a woman
disguised as a man had not given me a card, and urged me by signs
to play it. I risked a hundred sequins on it, giving my word for the
payment. I lost, and in my endeavours to get back my money I lost a
thousand sequins, which I paid the next day.

I was just going out to console myself with the company of my dear
marchioness, when I saw the evil-omened masquer approaching, accompanied
by a man, also in disguise, who shook me by the hand and begged me to
come at ten o'clock to the "Three Kings" at such a number, if the honour
of an old friend was dear to me.

"What friend is that?"

"Myself."

"What is your name?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Then you need not tell me to come, for if you were a true friend of
mine you would tell me your name."

I went out and he followed me, begging me to come with him to the end
of the arcades. When we got there he took off his mask, and I recognized
Croce, whom my readers may remember.

I knew he was banished from Milan, and understood why he did not care to
give his name in public, but I was exceedingly glad I had refused to go
to his inn.

"I am surprised to see you here," said I.

"I dare say your are. I have come here in this carnival season, when one
can wear a mask, to compel my relations to give me what they owe me;
but they put me off from one day to another, as they are sure I shall be
obliged to go when Lent begins."

"And will you do so?"

"I shall be obliged to, but as you will not come and see me, give me
twenty sequins, which will enable me to leave Milan. My cousin owes me
ten thousand livres, and will not pay me a tenth even. I will kill him
before I go."

"I haven't a farthing, and that mask of yours has made me lose a
thousand sequins, which I do not know how to pay.

"I know. I am an unlucky man, and bring bad luck to all my friends. It
was I who told her to give you a card, in the hope that it would change
the run against you."

"Is she a Milanese girl?"

"No, she comes from Marseilles, and is the daughter of a rich agent.
I fell in love with her, seduced her, and carried her off to her
unhappiness. I had plenty of money then, but, wretch that I am, I lost
it all at Genoa, where I had to sell all my possessions to enable me to
come here. I have been a week in Milan. Pray give me the wherewithal to
escape."

I was touched with compassion, and I borrowed twenty sequins from
Canano, and gave them to the poor wretch, telling him to write to me.

This alms-giving did me good; it made me forget my losses, and I spent a
delightful evening with the marchioness.

The next day we supped together at my rooms, and spent the rest of the
night in amorous pleasures. It was the Saturday, the last day of the
carnival at Milan, and I spent the whole of the Sunday in bed, for the
marchioness had exhausted me, and I knew that a long sleep would restore
my strength.

Early on Monday morning Clairmont brought me a letter which had been
left by a servant. It had no signature, and ran as follows:

"Have compassion, sir, on the most wretched creature breathing. M. de la
Croix has gone away in despair. He has left me here in the inn, where he
has paid for nothing. Good God! what will become of me? I conjure you to
come and see me, be it only to give me your advice."

I did not hesitate for a moment, and it was not from any impulses of
love or profligacy that I went, but from pure compassion. I put on my
great coat, and in the same room in which I had seen Irene I saw a young
and pretty girl, about whose face there was something peculiarly
noble and attractive. I saw in her innocence and modesty oppressed and
persecuted. As soon as I came in she humbly apologized for having dared
to trouble me, and she asked me to tell a woman who was in the room to
leave it, as she did not speak Italian.

"She has been tiring me for more than an hour. I cannot understand what
she says, but I can make out that she wants to do me a service. However,
I do not feel inclined to accept her assistance."

"Who told you to come and see this young lady?" said I, to the woman.

"One of the servants of the inn told me that a young lady from foreign
parts had been left alone here, and that she was much to be pitied. My
feelings of humanity made me come and see if I could be useful to her;
but I see she is in good hands, and I am very glad of it for her sake,
poor dear!"

I saw that the woman was a procuress, and I only replied with a smile of
contempt.

The poor girl then told me briefly what I had already heard, and
added that Croce, who called himself De St. Croix, had gone to the
gaming-table as soon as he had got my twenty sequins, and that he had
then taken her back to the inn, where he had spent the next day in
a state of despair, as he did not dare to shew himself abroad in the
daytime. In the evening he put on his mask and went out, not returning
till the next morning.

"Soon after he put on his great coat and got ready to go out, telling
me that if he did not return he would communicate with me by you, at the
same time giving me your address, of which I have made use as you know.
He has not come back, and if you have not seen him I am sure he has
gone off on foot without a penny in his pocket. The landlord wants to
be paid, and by selling all I have I could satisfy his claims; but, good
God! what is to become of me, then?"

"Dare you return to your father?"

"Yes, sir, I dare return to him. He will forgive me when on my knees
and with tears in my eyes I tell him that I am ready to bury myself in a
nunnery."

"Very good! then I will take you to Marseilles myself, and in the
meanwhile I will find you a lodging with some honest people. Till then,
shut yourself up in your room, do not admit anyone to see you, and be
sure I will have a care for you."

I summoned the landlord and paid the bill, which was a very small one,
and I told him to take care of the lady till my return. The poor girl
was dumb with surprise and gratitude. I said good-bye kindly and left
her without even taking her hand. It was not altogether a case of the
devil turning monk; I always had a respect for distress.

I had already thought of Zenobia in connection with the poor girl's
lodging, and I went to see her on the spot. In her husband's presence I
told her what I wanted, and asked if she could find a corner for my new
friend.

"She shall have my place," cried the worthy tailor, "if she won't mind
sleeping with my wife. I will hire a small room hard bye, and will sleep
there as long as the young lady stays."

"That's a good idea, gossip, but your wife will lose by the exchange."

"Not much," said Zenobia; and the tailor burst out laughing.

"As for her meals," he added, "she must arrange that herself."

"That's a very simple matter," said I, "Zenobia will get them and I will
pay for them."

I wrote the girl a short note, telling her of the arrangements I had
made, and charged Zenobia to take her the letter. The next day I found
her in the poor lodging with these worthy folks, looking pleased and
ravishingly pretty. I felt that I could behave well for the present, but
I sighed at the thought of the journey. I should have to put a strong
restraint on myself.

I had nothing more to do at Milan, but the count had made me promise to
spend a fortnight at St. Angelo. This was an estate belonging to him,
fifteen miles from Milan, and the count spoke most enthusiastically of
it. If I had gone away without seeing St. Angelo, he would have been
exceedingly mortified. A married brother of his lived there, and the
count often said that his brother was longing to know me. When we
returned he would no doubt let me depart in peace.

I had made up my mind to shew my gratitude to the worthy man for his
hospitality, so on the fourth day of Lent I took leave of Therese,
Greppi, and the affectionate marchioness, for two weeks, and we set out
on our way.

To my great delight the countess did not care to come. She much
preferred staying in Milan with Triulzi, who did not let her lack for
anything.

We got to St. Angelo at three o'clock, and found that we were expected
to dinner.



CHAPTER XXI


     An Ancient Castle--Clementine--The Fair Penitent--Lodi--
     A Mutual Passion

The manorial castle of the little town of St. Angelo is a vast and
ancient building, dating back at least eight centuries, but devoid of
regularity, and not indicating the date of its erection by the style of
its architecture. The ground floor consists of innumerable small rooms,
a few large and lofty apartments, and an immense hall. The walls, which
are full of chinks and crannies, are of that immense thickness which
proves that our ancestors built for their remote descendants, and not in
our modern fashion; for we are beginning to build in the English style,
that is, barely for one generation. The stone stairs had been trodden
by so many feet that one had to be very careful in going up or down. The
floor was all of bricks, and as it had been renewed at various epochs
with bricks of divers colours it formed a kind of mosaic, not very
pleasant to look upon. The windows were of a piece with the rest; they
had no glass in them, and the sashes having in many instances given way
they were always open; shutters were utterly unknown there. Happily the
want of glass was not much felt in the genial climate of the country.
The ceilings were conspicuous by their absence, but there were heavy
beams, the haunts of bats, owls, and other birds, and light ornament was
supplied by the numerous spiders' webs.

In this great Gothic palace--for palace it was rather than castle, for
it had no towers or other attributes of feudalism, except the enormous
coat-of-arms which crowned the gateway--in this palace, I say, the
memorial of the ancient glories of the Counts A---- B----, which they
loved better than the finest modern house, there were three sets of
rooms better kept than the rest. Here dwelt the masters, of whom there
were three; the Count A---- B----, my friend, Count Ambrose, who always
lived there, and a third, an officer in the Spanish Walloon Guards.
I occupied the apartment of the last named. But I must describe the
welcome I received.

Count Ambrose received me at the gate of the castle as if I had been
some high and puissant prince. The door stood wide open on both sides,
but I did not take too much pride to myself on this account, as they
were so old that it was impossible to shut them.

The noble count who held his cap in his hand, and was decently but
negligently dressed, though he was only forty years old, told me with
high-born modesty that his brother had done wrong to bring me here to
see their miserable place, where I should find none of those luxuries
to which I had been accustomed, but he promised me a good old-fashioned
Milanese welcome instead. This is a phrase of which the Milanese are
very fond, but as they put it into practice it becomes them well. They
are generally most worthy and hospitable people, and contrast favourably
with the Piedmontese and Genoese.

The worthy Ambrose introduced me to his countess and his two
sisters-in-law, one of whom was an exquisite beauty, rather deficient in
manner, but this was no doubt due to the fact that they saw no polished
company whatever. The other was a thoroughly ordinary woman, neither
pretty nor ugly, of a type which is plentiful all the world over. The
countess looked like a Madonna; her features had something angelic about
them in their dignity and openness. She came from Lodi, and had only
been married two years. The three sisters were very young, very noble,
and very poor. While we were at dinner Count Ambrose told me that he had
married a poor woman because he thought more of goodness than riches.

"She makes me happy," he added; "and though she brought me no dower, I
seem to be a richer man, for she has taught me to look on everything we
don't possess as a superfluity."

"There, indeed," said I, "you have the true philosophy of an honest
man."

The countess, delighted at her husband's praise and my approval, smiled
lovingly at him, and took a pretty baby from the nurse's arms and
offered it her alabaster breast. This is the privilege of a nursing
mother; nature tells her that by doing so she does nothing against
modesty. Her bosom, feeding the helpless, arouses no other feelings than
those of respect. I confess, however, that the sight might have produced
a tenderer sentiment in me; it was exquisitely beautiful, and I am sure
that if Raphael had beheld it his Madonna would have been still more
lovely.

The dinner was excellent, with the exception of the made dishes, which
were detestable. Soup, beef, fresh salted pork, sausages, mortadella,
milk dishes, vegetables, game, mascarpon cheese, preserved fruits--all
were delicious; but the count having told his brother that I was a
great gourmand, the worthy Ambrose had felt it his duty to give me some
ragouts, which were as bad as can well be imagined. I had to taste them,
out of politeness; but I made up my mind that I would do so no more.
After dinner I took my host apart, and spewed him that with ten plain
courses his table would be delicate and excellent, and that he had no
need of introducing any ragouts. From that time I had a choice dinner
every day.

There were six of us at table, and we all talked and laughed with the
exception of the fair Clementine. This was the young countess who had
already made an impression on me. She only spoke when she was obliged to
do so, and her words were always accompanied with a blush; but as I had
no other way of getting a sight of her beautiful eyes, I asked her a
good many questions. However, she blushed so terribly that I thought
I must be distressing her, and I left her in peace, hoping to become
better acquainted with her.

At last I was taken to my apartment and left there. The windows were
glazed and curtained as in the diningroom, but Clairmont came and told
me that he could not unpack my trunks as there were no locks to anything
and should not care to take the responsibility. I thought he was right,
and I went to ask my friend about it.

"There's not a lock or a key," said he, "in the whole castle, except in
the cellar, but everything is safe for all that. There are no robbers at
St. Angelo, and if there were they would not dare to come here."

"I daresay, my dear count, but you know' it is my business to suppose
robbers everywhere. My own valet might take the opportunity of robbing
me, and you see I should have to keep silence if I were robbed."

"Quite so, I feel the force of your argument. Tomorrow morning a
locksmith shall put locks and keys to your doors, and you will be the
only person in the castle who is proof against thieves."

I might have replied in the words of Juvenal, 'Cantabit vacuus coram
latrone viator', but I should have mortified him. I told Clairmont to
leave my trunks alone till next day, and I went out with Count A----
B---- and his sisters-in-law to take a walk in the town.

Count Ambrose and his better-half stayed in the castle; the good mother
would never leave her nursling. Clementine was eighteen, her married
sister being four years older. She took my arm, and my friend offered
his to Eleanore.

"We will go and see the beautiful penitent," said the count.

I asked him who the beautiful penitent was, and he answered, without
troubling himself about his sisters-in-law,

"She was once a Lais of Milan, and enjoyed such a reputation for beauty
that not only all the flower of Milan but people from the neighbouring
towns were at her feet. Her hall-door was opened and shut a hundred
times in a day, and even then she was not able to satisfy the desires
aroused. At last an end came to what the old and the devout called a
scandal. Count Firmian, a man of learning and wit, went to Vienna, and
on his departure received orders to have her shut up in a convent. Our
august Marie Therese cannot pardon mercenary beauty, and the count had
no choice but to have the fair sinner imprisoned. She was told that she
had done amiss, and dealt wickedly; she was obliged to make a general
confession, and was condemned to a life-long penance in this convent.
She was absolved by Cardinal Pozzobonelli, Archbishop of Milan, and he
then confirmed her, changing the name of Therese, which she had received
at the baptismal font, to Mary Magdalen, thus shewing her how she should
save her soul by following the example of her new patroness, whose
wantonness had hitherto been her pattern.

"Our family are the patrons of this convent, which is devoted to
penitents. It is situated in an inaccessible spot, and the inmates are
in the charge of a kind mother-superior, who does her best to soften the
manifold austerities of their existences. They only work and pray, and
see no one besides their confessor, who says mass every day. We are the
only persons whom the superioress would admit, as long as some of our
family are present she always let them bring whom they like."

This story touched me and brought tears to my eyes. Poor Mary Magdalen!
Cruel empress! I think I have noted in another passage the source of her
austere virtue.

When we were announced the mother-superior came to meet us, and took
us into a large hall, where I soon made out the famous penitent amongst
five or six other girls, who were penitents like herself, but I presume
for trifling offences, as they were all ugly. As soon as the poor women
saw us they ceased working, and stood up respectfully. In spite of the
severe simplicity of her dress, Therese made a great impression on me.
What beauty! What majesty brought low! With my profane eyes, instead of
looking to the enormity of the offences for which she was suffering so
cruelly, I saw before me a picture of innocence--a humbled Venus. Her
fine eyes were fixed on the ground, but what was my surprise, when,
suddenly looking at me, she exclaimed,--

"O my God! what do I see? Holy Mary, come to my aid! Begone, dreadful
sinner, though thou deservest to be here more than I. Scoundrel!"

I did not feel inclined to laugh. Her unfortunate position, and the
singular apostrophe she had addressed to me, pierced me to the heart.
The mother-superior hastened to say,--

"Do not be offended, sir, the poor girl has become mad, and unless she
really has recognized you . . . ."

"That is impossible, madam, I have never seen her before."

"Of course not, but you must forgive her, as she has lost the use of her
reason."

"Maybe the Lord has made her thus in mercy."

As a matter of fact, I saw more sense than madness in this outburst, for
it must have been very grievous for the poor girl to have to encounter
my idle curiosity, in the place of her penitence. I was deeply moved,
and in spite of myself a big tear rolled down my face. The count, who
had known her, laughed, but I begged him to restrain himself.

A moment after, the poor wretch began again. She raved against me madly,
and begged the mother-superior to send me away, as I had come there to
damn her.

The good lady chid her with all a true mother's gentleness, and told her
to leave the room, adding that all who came there only desired that she
should be saved eternally. She was stern enough, however, to add, that
no one had been a greater sinner than she, and the poor Magdalen went
out weeping bitterly.

If it had been my fortune to enter Milan at the head of a victorious
army, the first thing I should have done would be he setting free of
this poor captive, and if the abbess had resisted she would have felt
the weight of my whip.

When Magdalen was gone, the mother-superior told us that the poor girl
had many good qualities, and if God willed that she should keep some
particle of sense she did not doubt her becoming a saint like her
patroness.

"She has begged me," she added, "to take down the pictures of St. Louis
de Gonzaga and St. Antony from the chapel wall because she says they
distract her fearfully. I have thought it my duty to yield to her
request, in spite of our confessor, who says it's all nonsense."

The confessor was a rude churl. I did not exactly tell the abbess that,
but I said enough for a clever woman as she was to grasp my meaning.

We left the sorrowful place in sadness and silence, cursing the
sovereign who had made such ill use of her power.

If, as our holy religion maintains, there is a future life before us
all, Marie Therese certainly deserves damnation, if only the oppressions
she has used towards those poor women whose life is wretched enough at
the best. Poor Mary Magdalen had gone mad and suffered the torments of
the damned because nature had given her two of her best gifts--beauty,
and an excellent heart. You will say she had abused them, but for a
fault which is only a crime before God, should a fellow-creature and
a greater sinner have condemned her to such a fearful doom? I defy any
reasonable man to answer in the affirmative.

On our way back to the castle Clementine, who was on my arm, laughed to
herself once or twice. I felt curious to know what she was laughing at,
and said,--

"May I ask you, fair countess, why you laugh thus to yourself?"

"Forgive me; I was not amused at the poor girl's recognizing you, for
that must have been a mistake, but I cannot help laughing when I think
of your face at her wordy 'You are more deserving of imprisonment than
I.'"

"Perhaps you think she was right."

"I? Not at all. But how is it that she attacked you and not my
brother-in-law?"

"Probably because she thought I looked a greater sinner than he."

"That, I suppose, must have been the reason. One should never heed the
talk of mad people."

"You are sarcastic, but I take it all in good part. Perhaps I am as
great a sinner as I look; but beauty should be merciful to me, for it is
by beauty that I am led astray."

"I wonder the empress does not shut up men as well as women."

"Perhaps she hopes to see them all at her feet when there are no more
girls left to amuse them."

"That is a jest. You should rather say that she cannot forgive her own
sex the lack of a virtue which she exercises so eminently, and which is
so easily observed."

"I have nothing to allege against the empress's virtue, but with your
leave I beg to entertain very strong doubts as to the possibility of the
general exercise of that virtue which we call continence."

"No doubt everyone thinks by his own standard. A man may be praised for
temperance in whom temperance is no merit. What is easy to you may be
hard to me, and 'vice versa'. Both of us may be right."

This interesting conversation made me compare Clementine to the fair
marchioness at Milan, but there was this difference between them: Mdlle.
Q---- spoke with an air of gravity and importance, whereas Clementine
expounded her system with great simplicity and an utter indifference of
manner. I thought her observations so acute and her utterance so perfect
and artistic, that I felt ashamed of having misjudged her at dinner. Her
silence, and the blush which mounted to her face when anyone asked her
a question, had made me suspect both confusion and poverty in her ideas,
for timidity is often another word for stupidity; but the conversation
I have just reported made me feel that I had made a great mistake. The
marchioness, being older and having seen more of the world, was more
skilled in argument; but Clementine had twice eluded my questions with
the utmost skill, and I felt obliged to award her the palm.

When we got back to the castle we found a lady with her son and
daughter, and another relation of the count's, a young abbe, whom I
found most objectionable.

He was a pitiless talker, and on the pretence of having seen me at
Milan he took the opportunity of flattering me in a disgusting manner.
Besides, he made sheep's eyes at Clementine, and I did not like the idea
of having a fellow like that for a rival. I said very dryly that I did
not remember him at all; but he was not a man of delicate feeling, and
this did not disconcert him in the least. He sat down beside Clementine,
and taking her hand told her that she must add me to the long catalogue
of her victims. She could do nothing else but laugh at silly talk of
this kind; I knew it, but that laugh of hers displeased me. I would have
had her say--I do not know what, but something biting and sarcastic. Not
at all; the impertinent fellow whispered something in her ear, and she
answered in the same way. This was more than I could bear. Some question
or other was being discussed, and the abbe asked for my opinion. I do
not remember what I answered, but I know that I gave him a bitter reply
in the hope of putting him in a bad temper and reducing him to silence.
But he was a battle charger, and used to trumpet, fife, and gun; nothing
put him out. He appealed to Clementine, and I had the mortification of
hearing her opinion given, though with a blush, in his favour. The
fop was satisfied, and kissed the young countess's hand with an air
of fatuous happiness. This was too much; and I cursed the abbe and
Clementine, too. I rose from my seat and went to the window.

The window is a great blessing to an impatient man, whom the rules of
politeness in some degree constrain. He can turn his back on bores,
without their being able to charge him witch direct rudeness; but people
know what he means, and that soothes his feelings.

I have noted this trifling circumstance only to point out how bad temper
blinds its victims. The poor abbe vexed me because he made himself
agreeable to Clementine, with whom I was already in love without knowing
it. I saw in him a rival, but far from endeavouring to offend me, he had
done his best to please me; and I should have taken account of his good
will. But under such circumstances I always gave way to ill humour, and
now I am too old to begin curing myself. I don't think I need do so, for
if I am ill tempered the company politely pass me over. My misfortune
obliges me to submit.

Clementine had conquered me in the space of a few hours. True, I was an
inflammable subject, but hitherto no beauty had committed such ravages
upon me in so short a time. I did not doubt of success, and I confess
that there was a certain amount of vanity in this assurance; but at
the same time I was modest, for I knew that at the slightest slip the
enterprise would miscarry. Thus I regarded the abbe as a wasp to be
crushed as speedily as possible. I was also a victim to that most
horrible of passions, jealousy; it seemed to me that if Clementine was
not in love with this man-monkey, she was extremely indulgent to him;
and with this idea I conceived a horrible plan of revenging my wrongs
on her. Love is the god of nature, but this god is, after all, only a
spoilt child. We know all his follies and frailties, but we still adore
him.

My friend the count, who was surprised, I suppose, to see me
contemplating the prospect for such a long time, came up to me and asked
me if I wanted anything.

"I am thinking some matter over," said I, "and I must go and write one
or two letters in my room till it is time for supper."

"You won't leave us surely?" said he.

"Clementine, help me to keep M. de Seingalt; you must make him postpone
his letter-writing."

"But my dear brother," said the charming girl, "if M. de Seingalt has
business to do, it would be rude of me to try and prevent his doing it."

Though what she said was perfectly reasonable, it stung me to the quick;
when one is in an ill humour, everything is fuel for the fire. But the
abbe said pleasantly that I had much better come and make a bank at
faro, and as everything echoed this suggestion I had to give in.

The cards were brought in, and various coloured counters handed round,
and I sat down putting thirty ducats before me. This was a very large
sum for a company who only played for amusement's sake; fifteen counters
were valued only at a sequin. Countess Ambrose sat at my right hand,
and the abbe at my left. As if they had laid a plot to vex and annoy me,
Clementine had made room for him. I took a mere accident for a studied
impertinence, and told the poor man that I never dealt unless I had a
lady on each side of me, and never by any chance with a priest beside
me.

"Do you think it would bring you ill luck?"

"I don't like birds of ill omen."

At this he got up, and Clementine took his place.

At the end of three hours, supper was announced. Everybody had won from
me except the abbe; the poor devil had lost counters to the extent of
twenty sequins.

As a relation the abbe stayed to supper, but the lady and her children
were asked in vain to do so.

The abbe looked wretched, which made me in a good temper, and inclined
me to be pleasant. I proceeded to flirt with Clementine, and by making
her reply to the numerous questions I asked, I gave her an opportunity
of displaying her wit, and I could see that she was grateful. I was once
more myself, and I took pity of the abbe, and spoke to him politely,
asking him his opinion on some topic.

"I was not listening," said he, "but I hope you will give me my revenge
after supper."

"After supper I shall be going to bed, but you shall have your revenge,
and as much as you like of it, tomorrow, provided that our charming
hostesses like playing. I hope the luck will be in your favour."

After supper the poor abbe went sadly away, and the count took me to
my room, telling me that I could sleep securely in spite of the lack of
keys for his sisters-in-law who were lodged close by were no better off.

I was astonished and delighted at the trust he put in me, and at the
really magnificent hospitality (it must be remembered all things are
relative) with which I had been treated in the castle.

I told Clairmont to be quick about putting my hair in curl-papers, for
I was tired and in need of rest, but he was only half-way through
the operation when I was agreeably surprised by the apparition of
Clementine.

"Sir," said she, "as we haven't got a maid to look after your linen, I
have come to beg you to let me undertake that office."

"You! my dear countess?"

"Yes, I, sir, and I hope you will make no objection. It will be a
pleasure to me, and I hope to you as well. Let me have the shirt you are
going to wear to-morrow, and say no more about it."

"Very good, it shall be as you please."

I helped Clairmont to carry my linen trunk into her room, and added,--

"Every day I want a shirt, a collar, a front, a pair of drawers, a pair
of stocking, and two handkerchiefs; but I don't mind which you take, and
leave the choice to you as the mistress, as I wish you were in deed and
truth. I shall sleep a happier sleep than Jove himself. Farewell, dear
Hebe!"

Her sister Eleanore was already in bed, and begged pardon for her
position. I told Clairmont to go to the count directly, and inform him
that I had changed my mind about the locks. Should I be afraid for
my poor properties when these living treasures were confined to me so
frankly? I should have been afraid of offending them.

I had an excellent bed, and I slept wonderfully. Clairmont was doing my
hair when my youthful Hebe presented herself with a basket in her hands.
She wished me good day and said she hoped I would be contented with her
handiwork. I gazed at her delightedly, no trace of false shame appeared
on her features. The blush on her cheeks was a witness of the pleasure
she experienced in being useful--a pleasure which is unknown to those
whose curse is their pride, the characteristic of fools and upstarts. I
kissed her hand and told her that I had never seen linen so nicely done.

Just then the count came in and thanked Clementine for attending on me.
I approved of that, but he accompanied his thanks with a kiss which was
well received, and this I did not approve of at all. But you will say
they were brother-in-law and sister-in-law? Just so, but I was jealous
all the same. Nature is all-wise, and it was nature that made me
jealous. When one loves and has not as yet gained possession, jealousy
is inevitable; the heart must fear lest that which it longs for so be
carried away by another.

The count took a note from his pocket and begged me to read it. It came
from his cousin the abbe, who begged the count to apologize to me for
him if he was unable to pay the twenty sequins he had lost to me in the
proper time, but that he would discharge his debt in the course of the
week.

"Very good! Tell him that he can pay when he likes, but warn him not to
play this evening. I will not take his bets."

"But you would have no objection to his punting with ready money."

"Certainly I should, unless he pays me first, otherwise he would be
punting with my money. Of course it's a mere trifle, and I hope he won't
trouble himself in the least or put himself to any inconvenience to pay
it."

"I am afraid he will be mortified."

"So much the better," said Clementine; "what did he play for, when he
knew that he could not pay his debts if he incurred any? It will be a
lesson to him."

This outburst was balm to my heart. Such is man--a mere selfish egotist,
when passion moves him.

The count made no reply, but left us alone.

"My dear Clementine, tell me frankly whether the rather uncivil way in
which I have treated the abbe has pained you. I am going to give you
twenty sequins, do you send them to him, and to-night he can pay me
honourably, and make a good figure. I promise you no one shall know
about it."

"Thank you, but the honour of the abbe is not dear enough to me for me
to accept your offer. The lesson will do him good. A little shame will
teach him that he must mend his ways."

"You will see he won't come this evening."

"That may be, but do you think I shall care?"

"Well--yes, I did think so."

"Because we joked together, I suppose. He is a hare-brained fellow, to
whom I do not give two thoughts in the year."

"I pity him, as heartily as I congratulate anyone of whom you do think."

"Maybe there is no such person"

"What! You have not yet met a man worthy of your regard?"

"Many worthy of regard, but none of love."

"Then you have never been in love?"

"Never."

"Your heart is empty?"

"You make me laugh. Is it happiness, is it unhappiness? Who can say. If
it be happiness, I am glad, and if it be unhappiness, I do not care, for
I do not feel it to be so."

"Nevertheless, it is a misfortune, and you will know it to have been so
on the day in which you love."

"And if I become unhappy through love, shall I not pronounce my
emptiness of heart to have been happiness."

"I confess you would be right, but I am sure love would make you happy."

"I do not know. To be happy one must live in perfect agreement; that
is no easy matter, and I believe it to be harder still when the bond is
lifelong."

"I agree, but God sent us into the world that we might run the risk"

"To a man it may be a necessity and a delight, but a girl is bound by
stricter laws."

"In nature the necessity is the same though the results are different,
and the laws you speak of are laid down by society."

The count came in at this point and was astonished to see us both
together.

"I wish you would fall in love with one another," said he.

"You wish to see us unhappy, do you?" said she.

"What do you mean by that?" I cried.

"I should be unhappy with an inconstant lover, and you would be unhappy
too, for you would feel bitter remorse for having destroyed my peace of
mind."

After this she discreetly fled.

I remained still as if she had petrified me, but the count who never
wearied himself with too much thinking, exclaimed,

"Clementine is rather too romantic; she will get over it, however; she
is young yet."

We went to bid good day to the countess, whom we found suckling her
baby.

"Do you know, my dear sister," said the count, "that the chevalier here
is in love with Clementine, and she seems inclined to pay him back in
his own coin?"

The countess smiled and said,--

"I hope a suitable match like that may make us relations."

There is something magical about the word "marriage."

What the countess said pleased me extremely, and I replied with a bow of
the most gracious character.

We went to pay a call on the lady who had come to the castle the day
before. There was a canon regular there, who after a great many polite
speeches in praise of my country, which he knew only from books, asked
me of what order was the cross I carried on my breast.

I replied, with a kind of boastful modesty, that it was a peculiar mark
of the favour of the Holy Father, the Pope, who had freely made me a
knight of the Order of St. John Lateran, and a prothonotary-apostolic.

This monk had stayed at home far from the world, or else he would
not have asked me such a question. However, far from thinking he was
offending me, he thought he was honouring me by giving me an opportunity
of talking of my own merit.

At London, the greatest possible rudeness is to ask anyone what his
religion is, and it is something the same in Germany; an Anabaptist is
by no means ready to confess his creed. And in fact the best plan is
never to ask any questions whatever, not even if a man has change for a
louis.

Clementine was delightful at dinner. She replied wittily and gracefully
to all the questions which were addressed to her. True, what she said
was lost on the majority of her auditors--for wit cannot stand before
stupidity--but I enjoyed her talk immensely. As she kept filling up
my glass I reproached her, and this gave rise to the following little
dialogue which completed my conquest.

"You have no right to complain," said she, "Hebe's duty is to keep the
cup of the chief of the gods always full."

"Very good; but you know Jupiter sent her away."

"Yes, but I know why. I will take care not to stumble in the same way;
and no Ganymede shall take my place for a like cause."

"You are very wise. Jupiter was wrong, and henceforth I will be
Hercules. Will that please you, fair Hebe?"

"No; because he did not marry her till after her death."

"True, again. I will be Iolas then, for . . ."

"Be quiet. Iolas was old."

"True; but so was I yesterday. You have made me young again."

"I am very glad, dear Iolas; but remember what I did when he left me."

"And what did you do? I do not remember."

"I did not believe a word he said."

"You can believe."

"I took away the gift I had made."

At these words this charming girl's face was suffered with blushes. If
I had touched her with my hand, sure it would have been on fire; but the
rays that darted from her eyes froze my heart.

Philosophers, be not angry if I talk of freezing rays. It is no miracle,
but a very natural phenomenon, which is happening every day. A great
love, which elevates a man's whole nature, is a strong flame born out of
a great cold, such as I then felt for a moment; it would have killed me
if it had lasted longer.

The superior manner in which Clementine had applied the story of Hebe
convinced me not only that she had a profound knowledge of mythology,
but also that she had a keen and far-reaching intellect. She had given
me more than a glimpse of her learning; she had let me guess that I
interested her, and that she thought of me.

These ideas, entering a heart which is already warm, speedily set all
the senses in flames. In a moment all doubt was laid to rest; Clementine
loved me, and I was sure that we should be happy.

Clementine slipped away from the table to calm herself, and thus I had
time to escape from my astonishment.

"Pray where was that young lady educated?" I said to the countess.

"In the country. She was always present when my brother had his lessons,
but the tutor, Sardini, never took any notice of her, and it was only
she who gained anything; my brother only yawned. Clementine used to make
my mother laugh, and puzzle the old tutor sadly sometimes."

"Sardini wrote and published some poems which are not bad; but nobody
reads them, because they are so full of mythology."

"Quite so. Clementine possesses a manuscript with which he presented
her, containing a number of mythological tales verified. Try and make
her shew you her books and the verses she used to write; she won't shew
them to any of us."

I was in a great state of admiration. When she returned I complimented
her upon her acquirements, and said that as I was a great lover of
literature myself I should be delighted if she would shew me her verses.

"I should be ashamed. I had to give over my studies two years ago, when
my sister married and we came to live here, where we only see honest
folks who talk about the stable, the harvest, and the weather. You are
the first person I have seen who has talked to me about literature. If
our old Sardini had come with us I should have gone on learning, but my
sister did not care to have him here."

"But my dear Clementine," said the countess, "what do you think
my husband could have done with an old man of eighty whose sole
accomplishments are weighing the wind, writing verses, and talking
mythology?"

"He would have been useful enough," said the husband, "if he could
have managed the estate, but the honest old man will not believe in the
existence of rascals. He is so learned that he is quite stupid."

"Good heavens!" cried Clementine. "Sardini stupid? It is certainly easy
to deceive him, but that is because he is so noble. I love a man who is
easily deceived, but they call me silly."

"Not at all, my dear sister," said the countess. "On the contrary, there
is wisdom in all you say, but it is wisdom out of place in a woman; the
mistress of a household does not want to know anything about literature,
poetry, or philosophy, and when it comes to marrying you I am very much
afraid that your taste for this kind of thing will stand in your way."

"I know it, and I am expecting to die a maid; not that it is much
compliment to the men."

To know all that such a dialogue meant for me, the reader must imagine
himself most passionately in love. I thought myself unfortunate. I could
have given her a hundred thousand crowns, and I would have married her
that moment. She told me that Sardini was at Milan, very old and ill.

"Have you been to see him?" I asked.

"I have never been to Milan."

"Is it possible? It is not far from here."

"Distance is relative, you know."

This was beautifully expressed. It told me without any false shame that
she could not afford to go, and I was pleased by her frankness. But in
the state of mind I was in I should have been pleased with anything she
chose to do. There are moments in a man's life when the woman he loves
can make anything of him.

I spoke to her in a manner that affected her so that she took me into a
closet next to her room to shew me her books. There were only thirty in
all, but they were chosen, although somewhat elementary. A woman like
Clementine needed something more.

"Do you know, my dear Hebe, that you want more books?"

"I have often suspected it, dear Iolas, without being able to say
exactly what I want."

After spending an hour in glancing over Sardini's works, I begged her to
spew me her own.

"No," said she, "they are too bad."

"I expect so; but the good will outweigh the bad."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, yes! you needn't be afraid. I will forgive the bad grammar, bad
style, absurd images, faulty method, and even the verses that won't
scan."

"That's too much, Iolas; Hebe doesn't need so vast a pardon as all that.
Here, sir, these are my scribblings; sift the faults and the defaults.
Read what you will."

I was delighted that my scheme of wounding her vanity had succeeded, and
I began by reading aloud an anacreontic, adding to its beauties by the
modulation of my voice, and keenly enjoying her pleasure at finding her
work so fair. When I improved a line by some trifling change she noticed
it, for she followed me with her eyes; but far from being humiliated,
she was pleased with my corrections. The picture was still hers, she
thought, though with my skilled brush I brought out the lights and
darkened the shadows, and she was charmed to see that my pleasure was as
great or greater than hers. The reading continued for two hours. It was
a spiritual and pure, but a most intensely voluptuous, enjoyment. Happy,
and thrice happy, if we had gone no farther; but love is a traitor who
laughs at us when we think to play with him without falling into his
nets. Shall a man touch hot coals and escape the burning?

The countess interrupted us, and begged us to join the company.
Clementine hastened to put everything back, and thanked me for the
happiness I had given her. The pleasure she felt shewed itself in her
blushes, and when she came into the drawing-room she was asked if she
had been fighting, which made her blush still more.

The faro-table was ready, but before sitting down I told Clairmont to
get me four good horses for the following day. I wanted to go to Lodi
and back by dinnertime.

Everybody played as before, the abbe excepted, and he, to my huge
delight, did not put in an appearance at all, but his place was supplied
by a canon, who punted a ducat at a time and had a pile of ducats before
him. This made me increase my bank, and when the game was over, I was
glad to see that everybody had won except the canon, but his losses had
not spoilt his temper.

Next day I started for Lodi at day-break without telling anybody where
I was going, and bought all the books I judged necessary for Clementine,
who only knew Italian. I bought numerous translation, which I was
surprised to find at Lodi, which hitherto had been only famous in my
mind for its cheese, usually called Parmesan. This cheese is made at
Lodi and not at Parma, and I did not fail to make an entry to that
effect under the article "Parmesan" in my "Dictionary of Cheeses," a
work which I was obliged to abandon as beyond my powers, as Rousseau was
obliged to abandon his "Dictionary of Botany." This great but eccentric
individual was then known under the pseudonym of Renaud, the Botanist.
'Quisque histrioniam exercet'. But Rousseau, great man though he was,
was totally deficient in humour.

I conceived the idea of giving a banquet at Lodi the day after next,
and a project of this kind not calling for much deliberation I went
forthwith to the best hotel to make the necessary arrangements. I
ordered a choice dinner for twelve, paid the earnest money, and made the
host promise that everything should be of the best.

When I got back to St. Angelo, I had a sackfull of books carried into
Clementine's room. She was petrified. There were more than one
hundred volumes, poets, historians, geographers, philosophers,
scientists--nothing was forgotten. I had also selected some good novels,
translated from the Spanish, English, and French, for we have no good
novels in Italian.

This admission does not prove by any means that Italian literature is
surpassed by that of any other country. Italy has little to envy in
other literatures, and has numerous masterpieces, which are unequalled
the whole world over. Where will you find a worthy companion to the
Orlando Furioso? There is none, and this great work is incapable of
transalation. The finest and truest panegyric of Ariosto was written by
Voltaire when he was sixty. If he had not made this apology for the rash
judgement of his youthful days, he would not have enjoyed, in Italy
at all events, that immortality which is so justly his due. Thirty-six
years ago I told him as much, and he took me at my word. He was afraid,
and he acted wisely.

If I have any readers, I ask their pardon for these digressions. They
must remember that these Memoirs were written in my old age, and the
old are always garrulous. The time will come to them also, and then they
will understand that if the aged repeat themselves, it is because they
live in a world of memories, without a present and without a future.

I will now return to my narrative, which I have kept steadily in view.

Clementine gazed from me to the books, and from the books to me. She
wondered and admired, and could scarcely believe this treasure belonged
to her. At last she collected herself, and said in a tone full of
gratitude,--

"You have come to St. Angelo to make me happy."

Such a saying makes a man into a god. He is sure that she who speaks
thus will do all in her power to make a return for the happiness which
she has been given.

There is something supremely lovely in the expression of gratefulness
on the face of the being one loves. If you have not experienced the
feelings I describe, dear reader, I pity you, and am forced to conclude
that you must have been either awkward or miserly, and therefore
unworthy of love.

Clementine ate scarcely anything at dinner, and afterwards retired to
her room where I soon joined her. We amused ourselves by putting the
books in order, and she sent for a carpenter to make a bookcase with a
lock and key.

"It will be my pleasure to read these books," said she, "when you have
left us."

In the evening she was lucky with the cards, and in delightful spirits.
I asked them all to dine with me at Lodi, but as the dinner was for
twelve the Countess Ambrose said she would be able to find the two
guests who were wanted at Lodi, and the canon said he would take the
lady friend with her two children.

The next day was one of happy quiet, and I spent it without leaving
the castle, being engaged in instructing my Hebe on the nature of the
sphere, and in preparing her for the beauties of Wolf. I presented
her with my case of mathematical instruments, which seemed to her
invaluable.

I burned with passion for this charming girl; but would I have done so
in her taste for literature and science had not been backed up by her
personal charms? I suspect not. I like a dish pleasing to the palate,
but if it is not pleasing to the eye as well, I do not taste it but
put down as bad. The surface is always the first to interest,
close examination comes afterwards. The man who confines himself to
superficial charms, is superficial himself, but with them all love
begins, except that which rises in the realm of fancy, and this nearly
always falls before the reality.

When I went to bed, still thinking of Clementine, I began to reflect
seriously, and I was astonished to find that during all the hours we had
spent together she had not caused the slightest sensual feeling to
arise in me. Nevertheless, I could not assign the reason to fear, nor
to shyness which is unknown to me, nor to false shame, nor to what is
called a feeling of duty. It was certainly not virtue, for I do not
carry virtue so far as that. Then what was it? I did not tire myself by
pursuing the question. I felt quite sure that the Platonic stage must
soon come to an end, and I was sorry, but my sorrow was virtue in
extremis. The fine things we read together interested us so strongly
that we did not think of love, nor of the pleasure we took in each
other's company; but as the saying goes, the devil lost nothing by
us. When intellect enters on the field, the heart has to yield; virtue
triumphs, but the battle must not last for long. Our conquests made us
too sure, but this feeling of security was a Colossus whose feet were of
clay; we knew that we loved but were not sure that we were beloved. But
when this became manifest the Colossus must fall to the ground.

This dangerous trust made me go to her room to tell her something about
our journey to Lodi, the carriages were already waiting. She was still
asleep, but my step on the floor made her awake with a start. I did not
even think it necessary to apologize. She told me that Tasso's Aminta
had interested her to such an extent that she had read it till she fell
asleep.

"The Pastor Fido will please you still more."

"Is it more beautiful?"

"Not exactly."

"Then why do you say it will please me more?"

"Because it charms the heart. It appeals to our softest feelings, and
seduces us--and we love seduction."

"It is a seducer, then?"

"No, not a seducer; but seductive, like you."

"That's a good distinction. I will read it this evening. Now I am going
to dress."

She put on her clothes in seeming oblivion that I was a man, but without
shewing any sights that could be called indecent. Nevertheless it struck
me that if she had thought I was in love with her, she would have been
more reserved, for as she put on her chemise, laced her corset, fastened
her garters above her knee, and drew on her boots, I saw glimpses of
beauty which affected me so strongly that I was obliged to go out before
she was ready to quench the flames she had kindled in my senses.

I took the countess and Clementine in my carriage, and sat on the
bracket seat holding the baby on my knee. My two fair companions laughed
merrily, for I held the child as if to the manner born. When we had
traversed half the distance the baby demanded nourishment, and the
charming mother hastened to uncover a sphere over which my eyes roved
with delight, not at all to her displeasure. The child left its
mother's bosom satisfied, and at the sight of the liquor which flowed so
abundantly I exclaimed,--

"It must not be lost, madam; allow me to sip nectar which will elevate
me to the rank of the gods. Do not be afraid of my teeth." I had some
teeth in those days.

The smiling countess made no opposition, and I proceeded to carry out my
design, while the ladies laughed that magic laugh which not painter
can portray. The divine Homer is the only poet who has succeeded in
delineating it in those lines in which he describes Andromache with the
young Astyanax in her arms, when Hector is leaving her to return to the
battle.

I asked Clementine if she had the courage to grant me a similar favour.

"Certainly," said she, "if I had any milk."

"You have the source of the milk; I will see to the rest."

At this the girl's face suffused with such a violent blush that I was
sorry I had spoken; however, I changed the conversation, and it soon
passed away. Our spirits were so high that when the time came for us to
get down at the inn at Lodi, we could scarcely believe it possible, so
swiftly had the time gone by.

The countess sent a message to a lady friend of hers, begging her to
dine with us, and to bring her sister; while I dispatched Clairmont to
a stationer's, where he bought me a beautiful morocco case with lock and
key, containing paper, pens, sealing-wax, ink-well, paper knife, seal,
and in fact, everything necessary for writing. It was a present I
meant to give Clementine before dinner. It was delightful to watch her
surprise and pleasure, and to read gratitude so legibly written in her
beautiful eyes. There is not a woman in the world who cannot be overcome
by being made grateful. It is the best and surest way to get on, but
it must be skilfully used. The countess's friend came and brought her
sister, a girl who was dazzlingly beautiful. I was greatly struck with
her, but just then Venus herself could not have dethroned Clementine
from her place in my affections. After the friends had kissed each
other, and expressed their joy at meeting, I was introduced, and in so
complimentary a manner that I felt obliged to turn it off with a jest.

The dinner was sumptuous and delicious. At dessert two self-invited
guests came in, the lady's husband and the sister's lover, but they were
welcome, for it was a case of the more the merrier. After the meal, in
accordance with the request of the company, I made a bank at faro, and
after three hours' play I was delighted to find myself a loser to the
extent of forty sequins. It was these little losses at the right time
which gave me the reputation of being the finest gamester in Europe.

The lady's lover was named Vigi, and I asked him if he was descended
from the author of the thirteenth book of the "AEneid." He said he
was, and that in honour of his ancestor he had translated the poem into
Italian verse. I expressed myself curious as to his version, and
he promised to bring it me in two days' time. I complimented him on
belonging to such a noble and ancient family; Maffeo Vigi flourished at
the beginning of the fifteenth century.

We started in the evening, and less than two hours we got home. The
moon which shone brightly upon us prevented me making any attempts on
Clementine, who had put up her feet in order that she might be able to
hold her little nephew with more ease. The pretty mother could not help
thanking me warmly for the pleasure I had given them; I was a universal
favourite with them all.

We did not feel inclined to eat any supper, and therefore retired to
our apartments; and I accompanied Clementine, who told me that she was
ashamed at not knowing anything about the "AEneid."

"Vigi will bring his translation of the thirteenth book, and I shall not
know a word about it."

I comforted her by telling her that we would read the fine translation
by Annibale Caro that very night. It was amongst her books, as also the
version by Anguilara, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Marchetti's Lucreece.

"But I wanted to read the Pastor Fido."

"We are in a hurry; we must read that another time."

"I will follow your advice in all things, my dear Iolas."

"That will make me happy, dearest Hebe."

We spent the night in reading that magnificent translation in Italian
blank verse, but the reading was often interrupted by my pupil's
laughter when we came to some rather ticklish passage. She was highly
amused by the account of the chance which gave 'AEneas an opportunity of
proving his love for Dido in a very inconvenient place, and still more,
when Dido, complaining of the son of Priam's treachery, says,--

"I might still pardon you if, before abandoning me, you had left me a
little AEneas to play about these halls."

Clementine had cause to be amused, for the reproach has something
laughable in it; but how is it that one does not feel inclined to smile
in reading the Latin--'Si quis mihi parvulus aula luderet AEneas?'. The
reason must be sought for in the grave and dignified nature of the Latin
tongue.

We did not finish our reading till day-break.

"What a night!" exclaimed Clementine, with a sigh.

"It has been one of great pleasure to me, has it not to you?"

"I have enjoyed it because you have."

"And if you had been reading by yourself?"

"It would have still been a pleasure, but a much smaller one. I love
your intellect to distraction, Clementine, but tell me, do you think it
possible to love the intellect without loving that which contains it?"

"No, for without the body the spirit would vanish away."

"I conclude from that that I am deeply in love with you, and that I
cannot pass six or seven hours in your company without longing to kiss
you."

"Certainly, but we resist these desires because we have duties to
perform, which would rise up against us if we left them undone."

"True again, but if your disposition at all resembles mine this
constraint must be very painful to you."

"Perhaps I feel it as much as you do, but it is my belief that it
is only hard to withstand temptation at first. By degrees one gets
accustomed to loving without running any risk and without effort. Our
senses, at first so sharp set, end by becoming blunted, and when this is
the case we may spend hours and days in safety, untroubled by desire."

"I have my doubts as far as I am concerned, but we shall see. Good
night, fair Hebe."

"Good night, my good Iolas, may you sleep well!"

"My sleep will be haunted by visions of you."



CHAPTER XXII


     Our Excursion--Parting From Clementine--I Leave Milan With
     Croce's Mistress My Arrival At Genoa

The ancients, whose fancy was so fertile in allegory, used to figure
Innocence as playing with a serpent or with a sharp arrow. These old
sages had made a deep study of the human heart; and whatever discoveries
modern science may have made, the old symbols may still be profitably
studied by those who wish to gain a deep insight into the working of
man's mind.

I went to bed, and after having dismissed Clairmont I began to reflect
on my relations with Clementine, who seemed to have been made to shine
in a sphere from which, in spite of her high birth, her intelligence,
and her rare beauty, her want of fortune kept her apart. I smiled to
myself at her doctrines, which were as much as to say that the best way
of curing appetite was to place a series of appetising dishes before
a hungry man, forbidding him to touch them. Nevertheless I could
but approve the words which she had uttered with such an air of
innocence--that if one resists desires, there is no danger of one being
humiliated by giving way to them.

This humiliation would arise from a feeling of duty, and she honoured me
by supposing that I had as high principles as herself. But at the same
time the motive of self-esteem was also present, and I determined not to
do anything which would deprive me of her confidence.

As may be imagined, I did not awake till very late the next morning,
and when I rang my bell Clementine came in, looking very pleased, and
holding a copy of the Pastor Fido in her hand. She wished me good
day, and said she had read the first act, and that she thought it very
beautiful, and told me to get up that we might read the second together
before dinner.

"May I rise in your presence?"

"Why not? A man has need of very little care to observe the laws of
decency."

"Then please give me that shirt."

She proceeded to unfold it, and then put it over my head, smiling all
the time.

"I will do the same for you at the first opportunity," said I.

She blushed and answered, "It's not nearly so far from you to me as it
is from me to you."

"Divine Hebe, that is beyond my understanding. You speak like the
Cumaean sibyls, or as if you were rendering oracles at your temple in
Corinth."

"Had Hebe a temple at Corinth? Sardini never said so."

"But Apollodorus says so. It was an asylum as well as a temple. But come
back to the point, and pray do not elude it. What you said is opposed
to all the laws of geometry. The distance from you to me ought to be
precisely the same as from me to you."

"Perhaps, then, I have said a stupid thing."

"Not at all, Hebe, you have an idea which may be right or wrong, but I
want to bring it out. Come, tell me."

"Well, then, the two distances differ from each other with respect
to the ascent and descent, or fall, if you like. Are not all bodies
inclined to obey the laws of gravitation unless they are held back by a
superior force?"

"Certainly."

"And is it not the case that no bodies move in an upward direction
unless they are impelled?"

"Quite true."

"Then you must confess that since I am shorter than you I should have
to ascend to attain you, and ascension is always an effort; while if you
wish to attain me, you have only to let yourself go, which is no effort
whatever. Thus it is no risk at all for you to let me put on your shirt,
but it would be a great risk for me if I allowed you to do the same
service for me. I might be overwhelmed by your too rapid descent on me.
Are you persuaded?"

"Persuaded is not the word, fair Hebe. I am ravished in an ecstacy of
admiration. Never was paradox so finely maintained. I might cavil and
contest it, but I prefer to keep silence to admire and adore."

"Thank you, dear Iolas, but I want no favour. Tell me how you could
disprove my argument?"

"I should attack it on the point of height. You know you would not let
me change your chemise even if I were a dwarf."

"Ah, dear Iolas! we cannot deceive each other. Would that Heaven had
destined me to be married to a man like you!"

"Alas! why am I not worthy of aspiring to such a position?"

I do not know where the conversation would have landed us, but just then
the countess came to tell us that dinner was waiting, adding that she
was glad to see we loved one another.

"Madly," said Clementine, "but we are discreet."

"If you are discreet, you cannot love madly."

"True, countess," said I, "for the madness of love and wisdom cannot
dwell together. I should rather say we are reasonable, for the mind may
be grave while the heart's gay."

We dined merrily together, then we played at cards, and in the evening
we finished reading the Pastor Fido. When we were discussing the
beauties of this delightful work Clementine asked me if the thirteenth
book of the "AEneid" was fine.

"My dear countess, it is quite worthless; and I only praised it to
flatter the descendant of the author. However, the same writer made a
poem on the tricks of countryfolk, which is by no means devoid of merit.
But you are sleepy, and I am preventing you from undressing."

"Not at all."

She took off her clothes in a moment with the greatest coolness, and did
not indulge my licentious gaze in the least. She got into bed, and I sat
beside her; whereupon she sat up again, and her sister turned her back
upon us. The Pastor Fido was on her night-table, and opening the book I
proceeded to read the passage where Mirtillo describes the sweetness of
the kiss Amaryllis had given him, attuning my voice to the sentiment of
the lines. Clementine seemed as much affected as I was, and I fastened
my lips on hers. What happiness! She drew in the balm of my lips with
delight, and appeared to be free from alarm, so I was about to clasp her
in my arms when she pushed me away with the utmost gentleness, begging
me to spare her.

This was modesty at bay. I begged her pardon, and taking her hand
breathed out upon it all the ecstasy of my lips.

"You are trembling," said she, in a voice that did but increase the
amorous tumult of my heart.

"Yes, dearest countess, and I assure you I tremble for fear of you. Good
night, I am going; and my prayer must be that I may love you less."

"Why so? To love less is to begin to hate. Do as I do, and pray that
your love may grow and likewise the strength to resist it."

I went to bed ill pleased with myself. I did not know whether I had
gone too far or not far enough; but what did it matter? One thing was
certain, I was sorry for what I had done, and that was always a thought
which pained me.

In Clementine I saw a woman worthy of the deepest love and the greatest
respect, and I knew not how I could cease to love her, nor yet how I
could continue loving her without the reward which every faithful lover
hopes to win.

"If she loves me," I said to myself, "she cannot refuse me, but it is my
part to beg and pray, and even to push her to an extremity, that she may
find an excuse for her defeat. A lover's duty is to oblige the woman he
loves to surrender at discretion, and love always absolves him for so
doing."

According to this argument, which I coloured to suit my passions,
Clementine could not refuse me unless she did not love me, and I
determined to put her to the proof. I was strengthened in this resolve
by the wish to free myself from the state of excitement I was in, and I
was sure that if she continued obdurate I should soon get cured. But
at the same time I shuddered at the thought; the idea, of my no longer
loving Clementine seemed to me an impossibility and a cruelty.

After a troubled night I rose early and went to wish her good morning.
She was still asleep, but her sister Eleanore was dressing.

"My sister," said she, "read till three o'clock this morning. Now that
she has so many books, she is getting quite mad over them. Let us play a
trick on her; get into the bed beside her; it will be amusing to see her
surprise when she wakes up."

"But do you think she will take it as a joke?"

"She won't be able to help laughing; besides, you are dressed."

The opportunity was too tempting, and taking off my dressing-gown, I
gently crept into the bed, and Eleanore covered me up to my neck. She
laughed, but my heart was beating rapidly. I could not give the affair
the appearance of a joke, and I hoped Clementine would be some time
before she awoke that I might have time to compose myself.

I had been in this position for about five minutes, when Clementine,
half asleep and half awake, turned over, and stretching out her arm,
gave me a hasty kiss, thinking I was her sister. She then fell asleep
again in the same position. I should have stayed still long enough, for
her warm breath played on my face, and gave me a foretaste of ambrosia;
but Eleanore could restrain herself no longer, and, bursting into a peal
of laughter, forced Clementine to open her eyes. Nevertheless, she
did not discover that she held me in her arms till she saw her sister
standing laughing beside the bed.

"This is a fine trick," said she, "you are two charmers indeed!"

This quiet reception gave me back my self-composure, and I was able to
play my part properly.

"You see," said I, "I have had a kiss from my sweet Hebe."

"I thought I was giving it to my sister. 'Tis the kiss that Amaryllis
gave to Mistillo."

"It comes to the same thing. The kiss has produced its effects, and
Iolas is young again."

"Dear Eleanore, you have gone too far, for we love each other, and I was
dreaming of him."

"No, no," said her sister, "Iolas is dressed. Look!"

So saying, the little wanton with a swift movement uncovered me, but
at the same time she uncovered her sister, and Clementine with a little
scream veiled the charms which my eyes had devoured for a moment. I
had seen all, but as one sees lightning. I had seen the cornice and the
frieze of the altar of love.

Eleanore then went out, and I remained gazing at the treasure I desired
but did not dare to seize. At last I broke the silence.

"Dearest Hebe," said I, "you are certainly fairer than the cupbearer
of the gods. I have just seen what must have been seen when Hebe was
falling, and if I had been Jupiter I should have changed my mind."

"Sardini told me that Jupiter drove Hebe away, and now I ought to drive
Jupiter away out of revenge."

"Yes; but, my angel, I am Iolas, and not Jupiter. I adore you, and I
seek to quench the desires which torture me."

"This is a trick between you and Eleanore."

"My dearest, it was all pure chance. I thought I should find you
dressed, and I went in to wish you good day. You were asleep and your
sister was dressing. I gazed at you, and Eleanore suggested that I
should lie down beside you to enjoy your astonishment when you awoke.
I ought to be grateful to her for a pleasure which has turned out so
pleasantly. But the beauties she discovered to me surpass all the ideas
I had formed on the subject. My charming Hebe will not refuse to pardon
me."

"No, since all is the effect of chance. But it is curious that when one
loves passionately one always feels inquisitive concerning the person of
the beloved object."

"It is a very natural feeling, dearest. Love itself is a kind of
curiosity, if it be lawful to put curiosity in the rank of the passions;
but you have not that feeling about me?"

"No, for fear you might disappoint me, for I love you, and I want
everything to speak in your favour."

"I know you might be disappointed, and consequently I must do everything
in my power to preserve your good opinion."

"Then you are satisfied with me?"

"Surely. I am a good architect, and I think you are grandly built."

"Stay, Iolas, do not touch me; it is enough that you have seen me."

"Alas! it is by touching that one rectifies the mistakes of the eyes;
one judges thus of smoothness and solidity. Let me kiss these two fair
sources of life. I prefer them to the hundred breasts of Cybele, and I
am not jealous of Athys."

"You are wrong there; Sardini told me that it was Diana of Ephesus who
had the hundred breasts."

How could I help laughing to hear mythology issuing from Clementine's
mouth at such a moment! Could any lover foresee such an incident?

I pressed with my hand her alabaster breast, and yet the desire
of knowledge subdued love in the heart of Clementine. But far from
mistaking her condition I thought it a good omen. I told her that she
was perfectly right, and that I was wrong, and a feeling of literary
vanity prevented her opposing my pressing with my lips a rosy bud, which
stood out in relief against the alabaster sphere.

"You apply your lips in vain, my dear Iolas, the land is barren. But
what are you swallowing?"

"The quintessence of a kiss."

"I think you must have swallowed something of me, since you have given
me a pleasurable sensation I have never before experienced."

"Dear Hebe, you make me happy."

"I am glad to hear it, but I think the kiss on the lips is much better."

"Certainly, because the pleasure is reciprocal, and consequently
greater."

"You teach by precept and example too. Cruel teacher! Enough, this
pleasure is too sweet. Love must be looking at us and laughing."

"Why should we not let him enjoy a victory which would make us both
happier?"

"Because such happiness is not built on a sure foundation. No, no! put
your arms down. If we can kill each other with kisses, let us kiss on;
but let us use no other arms."

After our lips had clung to each other cruelly but sweetly, she paused,
and gazing at me with eyes full of passion she begged me to leave her
alone.

The situation in which I found myself is impossible to describe. I
deplored the prejudice which had constrained me, and I wept with rage.
I cooled myself by making a toilette which was extremely necessary, and
returned to her room.

She was writing.

"I am delighted to see you back," said she, "I am full of the poetic
frenzy and propose to tell the story of the victory we have gained in
verse."

"A sad victory, abhorred by love, hateful to nature."

"That will do nicely. Will each write a poem; I to celebrate the victory
and you to deplore it. But you look sad."

"I am in pain; but as the masculine anatomy is unknown to you, I cannot
explain matters."

Clementine did not reply, but I could see that she was affected. I
suffered a dull pain in that part which prejudice had made me hold a
prisoner while love and nature bade me give it perfect freedom. Sleep
was the only thing which would restore the balance of my constitution.

We went down to dinner, but I could not eat. I could not attend to the
reading of the translation which M. Vigi had brought with him, and I
even forgot to compliment him upon it. I begged the count to hold the
bank for me, and asked the company to allow me to lie down; nobody
could tell what was the matter with me, though Clementine might have her
suspicions.

At supper-time Clementine, accompanied by a servant, brought me a
delicate cold collation, and told me that the bank had won. It was the
first time it had done so, for I had always taken care to play a losing
game. I made a good supper, but remained still melancholy and silent.
When I had finished Clementine bade me good night, saying that she was
going to write her poem.

I, too, was in the vein: I finished my poem, and made a fair copy of it
before I went to bed. In the morning Clementine came to see me, and
gave me her piece, which I read with pleasure; though I suspect that the
delight my praises gave was equal to mine.

Then came the turn of my composition, and before long I noticed that the
picture of my sufferings was making a profound impression on her.
Big tears rolled down her cheeks, and from her eyes shot forth tender
glances. When I had finished, I had the happiness of hearing her say
that if she had known that part of physiology better, she would not have
behaved so.

We took a cup of chocolate together, and I then begged her to lie down
beside me in bed without undressing, and to treat me as I had treated
her the day before, that she might have some experience of the martyrdom
I had sung in my verses. She smiled and agreed, on the condition that I
should do nothing to her.

It was a cruel condition, but it was the beginning of victory, and I had
to submit. I had no reason to repent of my submission, for I enjoyed the
despotism she exercised on me, and the pain she must be in that I did
nothing to her, whilst I would not let her see the charms which she held
in her hands. In vain I excited her to satisfy herself, to refuse her
desires nothing, but she persisted in maintaining that she did not wish
to go any further.

"Your enjoyment cannot be so great as mine," said I. But her subtle wit
never left her without a reply.

"Then," said she, "you have no right to ask me to pity you."

The test, however, was too sharp for her. She left me in a state of
great excitement, giving me a kiss which took all doubts away, and
saying that in love we must be all or nothing.

We spent the day in reading, eating, and walking, and in converse grave
and gay. I could not see, however, that my suit had progressed, as far
as the events of the morning seemed to indicate. She wanted to reverse
the medal of Aristippus, who said, in speaking of Lois, "I possess her,
but she does not possess me." She wanted to be my mistress, without my
being her master. I ventured to bewail my fate a little, but that did
not seem to advance my cause.

Three or four days after, I asked Clementine in the presence of her
sister to let me lie in bed beside her. This is the test proposed to
a nun, a widow, a girl afraid of consequences, and it nearly always
succeeds. I took a packet of fine English letters and explained their
use to her. She took them examined them attentively, and after a burst
of laughter declared them to be scandalous, disgusting, horrible in
which anathema her sister joined. In vain I tried to plead their utility
in defence, but Clementine maintained that there was no trusting them,
and pushed her finger into one so strongly that it burst with a loud
crack. I had to give way, and put my specialties in my pocket, and her
final declaration was that such things made her shudder.

I wished them good night, and retired in some confusion. I pondered over
Clementine's strange resistance, which could only mean that I had not
inspired her with sufficient love. I resolved on overcoming her by an
almost infallible method. I would procure her pleasures that were new
to her without sparing expense. I could think of nothing better than to
take the whole family to Milan, and to give them a sumptuous banquet at
my pastry-cook's. "I will take them there," I said to myself, "without
saying a word about our destination till we are on our way, for if
I were to name Milan the count might feel bound to tell his Spanish
countess, that she might have an opportunity of making the acquaintance
of her sisters-in-law, and this would vex me to the last degree." The
party would be a great treat to the sisters, who had never been in
Milan, and I resolved to make the expedition as splendid as I possibly
could.

When I awoke the next morning I wrote to Zenobia to buy three dresses
of the finest Lyons silk for three young ladies of rank. I sent the
necessary measurements, and instructions as to the trimming. The
Countess Ambrose's dress was to be white satin with a rich border of
Valenciennes lace. I also wrote to M. Greppi, asking him to pay for
Zenobia's purchases. I told her to take the three dresses to my private
lodgings, and lay them upon the bed, and give the landlord a note I
enclosed. This note ordered him to provide a banquet for eight persons,
without sparing expense. On the day and hour appointed, Zengbia was to
be at the pastrycook's ready to wait on the three ladies. I sent the
letter by Clairmont, who returned before dinner, bearing a note from
Zenobia assuring me that all my wishes should be carried out. After
dessert I broached my plan to the countess, telling her that I wanted
to give a party like the one at Lodi, but on two conditions: the first,
that no one was to know our destination till we were in the carriages,
and the second, that after dinner we should return to St. Angelo.

Out of politeness the countess looked at her husband before accepting
the invitation, but he cried out, without ceremony, that he was ready to
go if I took the whole family.

"Very good," said I, "we will start at eight o'clock to-morrow, and
nobody need be at any trouble, the carriages are ordered."

I felt obliged to include the canon, because he was a great courtier of
the countess, and also because he lost money to me every day, and
thus it was he, in fact, who was going to pay for the expedition. That
evening he lost three hundred sequins, and was obliged to ask me to give
him three day's grace to pay the money. I replied by assuring him that
all I had was at his service.

When the company broke up I offered my hand to Hebe, and escorted
her and her sister to their room. We had begun to read Fontenelle's
"Plurality of Worlds," and I had thought we should finish it that night;
but Clementine said that as she had to get up early, she would want to
get to sleep early also.

"You are right, dearest Hebe, do you go to bed, and I will read to you."

She made no objection, so I took the Ariosto, and began to read the
history of the Spanish princess who fell in love with Bradamante. I
thought that by the time I had finished Clementine would be ardent, but
I was mistaken; both she and her sister seemed pensive.

"What is the matter with you, dearest? Has Ricciardetto displeased you?"

"Not at all, he has pleased me, and in the princess's place I should
have done the same; but we shall not sleep all night, and it is your
fault."

"What have I done, pray?"

"Nothing, but you can make us happy, and give us a great proof of your
friendship."

"Speak, then. What is it you want of me? I would do anything to please
you. My life is yours. You shall sleep soundly."

"Well, then, tell us where we are going to-morrow."

"Have I not already said that I would tell you just as we are going?"

"Yes, but that won't do. We want to know now, and if you won't tell us
we shan't sleep, all night, and we shall look frightful to-morrow."

"I should be so sorry, but I don't think that you could look frightful."

"You don't think we can keep a secret. It is nothing very important, is
it?"

"No, it is not very important, but all the same it is a secret."

"It would be dreadful if you refused me."

"Dearest Hebe! how can I refuse you anything? I confess freely that I
have been wrong in keeping you waiting so long. Here is my secret: you
are to dine with me to-morrow."

"With you? Where?"

"Milan."

In their immoderate joy they got out of bed, and without caring for
their state of undress, threw their arms round my neck, covered me with
kisses, clasped me to their breasts, and finally sat down on my knees.

"We have never seen Milan," they cried, "and it has been the dream of
our lives to see that splendid town. How often I have been put to the
blush when I have been forced to confess that I have never been to
Milan."

"It makes me very happy," said Hebe, "but my happiness is troubled by
the idea that we shall see nothing of the town, for we shall have to
return after dinner. It is cruel! Are we to go fifteen miles to
Milan only to dine and come back again? At least we must see our
sister-in-law."

"I have foreseen all your objections, and that was the reason I made a
mystery of it, but it has been arranged. You don't like it? Speak and
tell me your pleasure."

"Of course we like it, dear Iolas. The party will be charming, and
perhaps, if we knew all, the very conditions are all for the best."

"It may be so, but I may not tell you any more now."

"And we will not press you."

In an ecstasy of joy she began to embrace me again, and Eleanore said
that she would go to sleep so as to be more on the alert for the morrow.
This was the best thing she could have done. I knew the fortunate hour
was at hand, and exciting Clementine by my fiery kisses, and drawing
nearer and nearer, at last I was in full possession of the temple I had
so long desired to attain. Hebe's pleasure and delight kept her silent;
she shared my ecstasies, and mingled her happy tears with mine.

I spent two hours in this manner, and then went to bed, impatient to
renew the combat on the following day more at my ease and with greater
comfort.

At eight o'clock we were all assembled round the breakfast-table, but in
spite of my high spirits I could not make the rest of the company share
them. All were silent and pensive; curiosity shewed itself on every
face. Clementine and her sister pretended to partake the general
feeling, and were silent like the rest while I looked on and enjoyed
their expectancy.

Clairmont, who had fulfilled my instructions to the letter, came in and
told us that the carriages were at the door. I asked my guests to follow
me, and they did so in silence. I put the countess and Clementine in
my carriage, the latter holding the baby on her lap, her sister and the
three gentlemen being seated in the other carriage. I called out, with a
laugh,

"Drive to Milan."

"Milan! Milan!" they exclaimed with one voice. "Capital! capital!"

Clairmont galloped in front of us and went off. Clementine pretended to
be astonished, but her sister looked as if she had known something of
our destination before. All care, however, had disappeared, and the
highest spirits prevailed. We stopped at a village half-way between St.
Angelo and Milan to blow the horses, and everybody got down.

"What will my wife say?" asked the count.

"Nothing, for she will not know anything about it, and if she does I am
the only guilty party. You are to dine with me in a suite of rooms
which I have occupied incognito since I have been at Milan; for you will
understand that I could not have my wants attended to at your house,
where the place is already taken."

"And how about Zenobia?"

"Zenobia was a lucky chance, and is a very nice girl, but she would not
suffice for my daily fare."

"You are a lucky fellow!"

"I try to make myself comfortable."

"My dear husband," said the Countess Ambrose, "you proposed a visit to
Milan two years ago, and the chevalier proposed it a few hours ago, and
now we are on our way."

"Yes, sweetheart, but my idea was that we should spend a month there."

"If you want to do that," said I, "I will see to everything."

"Thank you, my dear sir; you are really a wonderful man."

"You do me too much honour, count, there is nothing wonderful about me,
except that I execute easily an easy task."

"Yes; but you will confess that a thing may be difficult from the way in
which we regard it, or from the position in which we find ourselves."

"You are quite right."

When we were again on our way the countess said,--

"You must confess, sir, that you are a very fortunate man."

"I do not deny it, my dear countess, but my happiness is due to the
company I find myself in; if you were to expel me from yours, I should
be miserable."

"You are not the kind of man to be expelled from any society."

"That is a very kindly compliment."

"Say, rather, a very true one."

"I am happy to hear you say so, but it would be both foolish and
presumptuous for me to say so myself."

Thus we made merry on our way, above all at the expense of the canon,
who had been begging the countess to intercede with me to give him leave
to absent himself half an hour.

"I want to call on a lady," said he; "I should lose her favour forever
if she came to know that I had been in Milan without paying her a
visit."

"You must submit to the conditions," replied the amiable countess, "so
don't count on my intercession."

We got to Milan exactly at noon, and stepped out at the pastry-cook's
door. The landlady begged the countess to confide her child to her care,
and shewed her a bosom which proved her fruitfulness. This offer was
made at the foot of the stairs, and the countess accepted it with
charming grace and dignity. It was a delightful episode, which chance
had willed should adorn the entertainment I had invented. Everybody
seemed happy, but I was the happiest of all. Happiness is purely a
creature of the imagination. If you wish to be happy fancy that you are
so, though I confess that circumstances favourable to this state are
often beyond our control. On the other hand, unfavourable circumstances
are mostly the result of our own mistakes.

The countess took my arm, and we led the way into my room which I found
exquisitely neat and clean. As I had expected, Zenobia was there, but I
was surprised to see Croce's mistress, looking very pretty; however, I
pretended not to know her. She was well dressed, and her face, free from
the sadness it had borne before, was so seductive in its beauty, that I
felt vexed at her appearance at that particular moment.

"Here are two pretty girls," said the countess. "Who are you, pray?"

"We are the chevalier's humble servants," said Zenobia, "and we are here
only to wait on you."

Zenobia had taken it on herself to bring her lodger, who began to speak
Italian, and looked at me in doubt, fearing that I was displeased at her
presence. I had to reassure her by saying I was very glad she had come
with Zenobia. These words were as balm to her heart; she smiled again,
and became more beautiful than ever. I felt certain that she would
not remain unhappy long; it was impossible to behold her without one's
interest being excited in her favour. A bill signed by the Graces can
never be protested; anyone with eyes and a heart honours it at sight.

My humble servants took the ladies' cloaks and followed them into the
bedroom, where the three dresses were laid out on a table. I only knew
the white satin and lace, for that was the only one I had designed. The
countess, who walked before her sisters, was the first to notice it, and
exclaimed,--

"What a lovely dress! To whom does it belong, M. de Seingalt? You ought
to know."

"Certainly. It belongs to your husband who can do what he likes with it,
and I hope, if he gives it you, you will take it. Take it, count; it is
yours; and if you refuse I will positively kill myself."

"We love you too well to drive you to an act of despair. The idea is
worthy of your nobility of heart. I take your beautiful present with one
hand, and with the other I deliver it to her to whom it really belongs."

"What, dear husband! is this beautiful dress really mine? Whom am I to
thank? I thank you both, and I must put it on for dinner."

The two others were not made of such rich materials, but they were more
showy, and I was delighted to see Clementine's longing gaze fixed upon
the one I had intended for her. Eleanore in her turn admired the dress
that had been made for her. The first was in shot satin, and ornamented
with lovely wreaths of flowers; the second was sky-blue satin, with a
thousand flowers scattered all over it. Zenobia took upon herself to say
that the first was for Clementine.

"How do you know?"

"It is the longer, and you are taller than your sister."

"That is true. It is really mine, then?" said she, turning to me.

"If I may hope that you will deign to accept it."

"Surely, dear Iolas, and I will put it on directly."

Eleanore maintained that her dress was the prettier, and said she was
dying to put it on.

"Very good, very good!" I exclaimed, in high glee, "we will leave you to
dress, and here are your maids."

I went out with the two brothers and the canon, and I remarked that they
looked quite confused. No doubt they were pondering the prodigality of
gamesters; light come, light go. I did not interrupt their thoughts, for
I loved to astonish people. I confess it was a feeling of vanity which
raised me above my fellow-men-at least, in my own eyes, but that was
enough for me. I should have despised anyone who told me that I was
laughed at, but I daresay it was only the truth.

I was in the highest spirits, and they soon proved infectious. I
embraced Count Ambrose affectionately, begging his pardon for having
presumed to make the family a few small presents, and I thanked his
brother for having introduced me to them. "You have all given me such
a warm welcome," I added, "that I felt obliged to give you some small
proof of my gratitude."

The fair countesses soon appeared, bedecked with smiles and their gay
attire.

"You must have contrived to take our measures," said they; "but we
cannot imagine how you did it."

"The funniest thing is," said the eldest, "that you have had my dress
made so that it can be let out when necessary without destroying the
shape. But what a beautiful piece of trimming! It is worth four times as
much as the dress itself."

Clementine could not keep away from the looking-glass. She fancied
that in the colours of her dress, rose and green, I had indicated the
characteristics of the youthful Hebe. Eleanore still maintained that her
dress was the prettiest of all.

I was delighted with the pleasure of my fair guests, and we sat down to
table with excellent appetites. The dinner was extremely choice; but the
finest dish of all was a dish of oysters, which the landlord had dressed
a la maitre d'hotel. We enjoyed them immensely. We finished off three
hundred of them, for the ladies relished them extremely, and the canon
seemed to have an insatiable appetite; and we washed down the dishes
with numerous bottles of champagne. We stayed at table for three hours,
drinking, singing, and jesting, while my humble servants, whose beauty
almost rivalled that of my guests, waited upon us.

Towards the end of the meal the pastry-cook's wife came in with the
countess's baby on her breast. This was a dramatic stroke. The mother
burst into a cry of joy, and the woman seemed quite proud of having
suckled the scion of so illustrious a house for nearly four hours. It is
well known that women, even more than men, are wholly under the sway of
the imagination. Who can say that this woman, simple and honest like
the majority of the lower classes, did not think that her own offspring
would be ennobled by being suckled at the breast which had nourished a
young count? Such an idea is, no doubt, foolish, but that is the very
reason why it is dear to the hearts of the people.

We spent another hour in taking coffee and punch, and then the ladies
went to change their clothes again. Zenobia took care that their new
ones should be carefully packed in cardboard boxes and placed under the
seat of my carriage.

Croce's abandoned mistress found an opportunity of telling me that she
was very happy with Zenobia. She asked me when we were to go.

"You will be at Marseilles," said I, pressing her hand, "a fortnight
after Easter at latest."

Zenobia had told me that the girl had an excellent heart, behaved very
discreetly, and that she should be very sorry to see her go. I gave
Zenobia twelve sequins for the trouble she had taken.

I was satisfied with everything and paid the worthy pastry-cook's bill.
I noticed we had emptied no less than twenty bottles of champagne,
though it is true that we drank very little of any other wine, as the
ladies preferred it.

I loved and was beloved, my health was good, I had plenty of money,
which I spent freely; in fine, I was happy. I loved to say so in
defiance of those sour moralists who pretend that there is no true
happiness on this earth. It is the expression on this earth which
makes me laugh; as if it were possible to go anywhere else in search of
happiness. 'Mors ultima linea rerum est'. Yes, death is the end of all,
for after death man has no senses; but I do not say that the soul shares
the fate of the body. No one should dogmatise on uncertainties, and
after death everything is doubtful.

It was seven o'clock when we began our journey home, which we reached
at midnight. The journey was so pleasant that it seemed to us but short.
The champagne, the punch, and the pleasure, had warmed my two fair
companions, and by favour of the darkness I was able to amuse myself
with them, though I loved Clementine too well to carry matters very far
with her sister.

When we alighted we wished each other good night, and everybody retired
to his or her room, myself excepted, for I spent several happy hours
with Clementine, which I can never forget.

"Do you think," said she, "that I shall be happy when you have left me
all alone?"

"Dearest Hebe, both of us will be unhappy for the first few days,
but then philosophy will step in and soften the bitterness of parting
without lessening our love."

"Soften the bitterness! I do not think any philosophy can work such a
miracle. I know that you, dear sophist, will soon console yourself with
other girls. Don't think me jealous; I should abhor myself if I thought
I was capable of so vile a passion, but I should despise myself if I was
capable of seeking consolation in your way."

"I shall be in despair if you entertain such ideas of me."

"They are natural, however."

"Possibly. What you call 'other girls' can never expel your image from
my breast. The chief of them is the wife of a tailor, and the other is
a respectable young woman, whom I am going to take back to Marseilles,
whence she has been decoyed by her wretched seducer.

"From henceforth to death, you and you alone will reign in my breast;
and if, led astray by my senses, I ever press another in these arms, I
shall soon be punished for an act of infidelity in which my mind will
have no share."

"I at all events will never need to repent in that fashion. But I cannot
understand how, with your love for me, and holding me in your arms, you
can even contemplate the possibility of becoming unfaithful to me."

"I don't contemplate it, dearest, I merely take it as an hypothesis."

"I don't see much difference."

What reply could I make? There was reason in what Clementine said,
though she was deceived, but her mistakes were due to her love. My love
was so ardent as to be blind to possible--nay, certain, infidelities.
The only circumstance which made me more correct in my estimate of the
future than she, was that this was by no means my first love affair. But
if my readers have been in the same position, as I suppose mast of them
have, they will understand how difficult it is to answer such arguments
coming from a woman one wishes to render happy. The keenest wit has to
remain silent and to take refuge in kisses.

"Would you like to take me away with you?" said she, "I am ready to
follow you, and it would make me happy. If you love me, you ought to be
enchanted for your own sake. Let us make each other happy, dearest."

"I could not dishonour your family."

"Do you not think me worthy of becoming your wife?"

"You are worthy of a crown, and it is I who am all unworthy of
possessing such a wife. You must know that I have nothing in the world
except my fortune, and that may leave me to-morrow. By myself I do
not dread the reverses of fortune, but I should be wretched if, after
linking your fate with mine, you were forced to undergo any privation."

"I think--I know not why--that you can never be unfortunate, and that
you cannot be happy without me. Your love is not so ardent as mine; you
have not so great a faith."

"My angel, if my fate is weaker than yours, that is the result of cruel
experience which makes me tremble for the future. Affrighted love loses
its strength but gains reason."

"Cruel reason! Must we, then, prepare to part?"

"We must indeed, dearest; it is a hard necessity, but my heart will
still be thine. I shall go away your fervent adorer, and if fortune
favours me in England you will see me again next year. I will buy an
estate wherever you like, and it shall be yours on your wedding day, our
children and literature will be our delights."

"What a happy prospect!--a golden vision indeed! I would that I might
fall asleep dreaming thus, and wake not till that blessed day, or wake
only to die if it is not to be. But what shall I do if you have left me
with child?"

"Divine Hebe, you need not fear. I have managed that."

"Managed? I did not think of that, but I see what you mean, and I am
very much obliged to you. Alas perhaps after all it would have been
better if you had not taken any precautions, for surely you are not born
for my misfortune, and you could never have abandoned the mother and the
child."

"You are right, sweetheart, and if before two months have elapsed you
find any signs of pregnancy in spite of my precautions, you have only
to write to me, and whatever my fortunes may be, I will give you my hand
and legitimise our offspring. You would certainly be marrying beneath
your station, but you would not be the less happy for that, would you?"

"No, no! to bear your name, and to win your hand would be the crowning
of all my hopes. I should never repent of giving myself wholly to you."

"You make me happy."

"All of us love you, all say that you are happy, and that you deserve
your happiness. What praise is this! You cannot tell how my heart beats
when I hear you lauded when you are away. When they say I love you, I
answer that I adore you, and you know that I do not lie."

It was with such dialogues that we passed away the interval between our
amorous transports on the last five or six nights of my stay. Her sister
slept, or pretended to sleep. When I left Clementine I went to bed and
did not rise till late, and then I spent the whole day with her either
in private or with the family. It was a happy time. How could I, as free
as the air, a perfect master of my movements, of my own free will put my
happiness away from me? I cannot understand it now.

My luck had made me win all the worthy canon's money, which in turn I
passed on to the family at the castle. Clementine alone would not profit
by my inattentive play, but the last two days I insisted on taking
her into partnership, and as the canon's bad luck still continued
she profited to the extent of a hundred louis. The worthy monk lost a
thousand sequins, of which seven hundred remained in the family. This
was paying well for the hospitality I had received, and as it was at the
expense of the monk, though a worthy one, the merit was all the greater.

The last night, which I spent entirely with the countess, was very sad;
we must have died of grief if we had not taken refuge in the transports
of love. Never was night better spent. Tears of grief and tears of love
followed one another in rapid succession, and nine times did I offer up
sacrifice on the altar of the god, who gave me fresh strength to replace
that which was exhausted. The sanctuary was full of blood and tears,
but the desires of the priest and victim still cried for more. We had at
last to make an effort and part. Eleanore had seized the opportunity of
our sleeping for a few moments, and had softly risen and left us
alone. We felt grateful to her, and agreed that she must either be very
insensitive or have suffered torments in listening to our voluptuous
combats. I left Clementine to her ablutions, of which she stood in great
need, while I went to my room to make my toilette.

When we appeared at the breakfast, table we looked as if we had been on
the rack, and Clementine's eyes betrayed her feelings, but our grief was
respected. I could not be gay in my usual manner, but no one asked me
the reason. I promised to write to them, and come and see them again the
following year. I did write to them, but I left off doing so at London,
because the misfortunes I experienced there made me lose all hope of
seeing them again. I never did see any of them again, but I have never
forgotten Clementine.

Six years later, when I came back from Spain, I heard to my great
delight that she was living happily with Count N----, whom she had
married three years after my departure. She had two sons, the younger,
who must now be twenty-seven, is in the Austrian army. How delighted I
should be to see him! When I heard of Clementine's happiness, it was, as
I have said, on my return from Spain, and my fortunes were at a low ebb.
I went to see what I could do at Leghorn, and as I went through Lombardy
I passed four miles from the estate where she and her husband resided,
but I had not the courage to go and see her; perhaps I was right. But I
must return to the thread of my story.

I felt grateful to Eleanore for her kindness to us, and I had resolved
to leave her some memorial of me. I took her apart for a moment, and
drawing a fine cameo, representing the god of Silence, off my finger, I
placed it on hers, and then rejoined the company, without giving her an
opportunity to thank me.

The carriage was ready to take me away, and everyone was waiting to see
me off, but my eyes filled with tears. I sought for Clementine in vain;
she had vanished. I pretended to have forgotten something in my room,
and going to my Hebe's chamber I found her in a terrible state, choking
with sobs. I pressed her to my breast, and mingled my tears with hers;
and then laying her gently in her bed, and snatching a last kiss from
her trembling lips, I tore myself away from a place full of such sweet
and agonizing memories.

I thanked and embraced everyone, the good canon amongst others, and
whispering to Eleanore to see to her sister I jumped into the carriage
beside the count. We remained perfectly silent, and slept nearly
the whole of the way. We found the Marquis Triulzi and the countess
together, and the former immediately sent for a dinner for four. I was
not much astonished to find that the countess had found out about our
being at Milan, and at first she seemed inclined to let us feel the
weight of her anger; but the count, always fertile in expedients, told
her that it was delicacy on my part not to tell her, as I was afraid she
would be put out with such an incursion of visitors.

At dinner I said that I should soon be leaving for Genoa, and for my
sorrow the marquis gave me a letter of introduction to the notorious
Signora Isola-Bella, while the countess gave me a letter to her kinsman
the Bishop of Tortona.

My arrival at Milan was well-timed; Therese was on the point of going to
Palermo, and I just succeeded in seeing her before she left. I talked to
her of the wish of Cesarino to go to sea, and I did all in my power to
make her yield to his inclinations.

"I am leaving him at Milan," said she. "I know how he got this idea
into his head, but I will never give my consent. I hope I shall find him
wiser by the time I come back."

She was mistaken. My son never altered his mind, and in fifteen years my
readers will hear more of him.

I settled my accounts with Greppi and took two bills of exchange on
Marseilles, and one of ten thousand francs on Genoa, where I did not
think I would have to spend much money. In spite of my luck at play,
I was poorer by a thousand sequins when I left Milan than when I came
there; but my extravagant expenditure must be taken into account.

I spent all my afternoons with the fair Marchioness sometimes alone and
sometimes with her cousin, but with my mind full of grief for Clementine
she no longer charmed me as she had done three weeks ago.

I had no need to make any mystery about the young lady I was going to
take with me, so I sent Clairmont for her small trunk, and at eight
o'clock on the morning of my departure she waited on me at the count's.
I kissed the hand of the woman who had attempted my life, and thanked
her for her hospitality, to which I attributed the good reception I
had had at Milan. I then thanked the count, who said once more that he
should never cease to be grateful to me, and thus I left Milan on the
20th of March, 1763. I never re-visited that splendid capital.

The young lady, whom out of respect for her and her family I called
Crosin, was charming. There was an air of nobility and high-bred reserve
about her which bore witness to her excellent upbringing. As I sat next
to her, I congratulated myself on my immunity from love of her, but the
reader will guess that I was mistaken. I told Clairmont that she was to
be called my niece, and to be treated with the utmost respect.

I had had no opportunity of conversing with her, so the first thing I
did was to test her intelligence, and though I had not the slightest
intention of paying my court to her, I felt that it would be well to
inspire her with friendship and confidence as far as I was concerned.

The scar which my late amours had left was still bleeding, and I was
glad to think that I should be able to restore the young Marseillaise
to the paternal hearth without any painful partings or vain regrets. I
enjoyed in advance my meritorious action, and I was quite vain to see
my self-restraint come to such a pitch that I was able to live in
close intimacy with a pretty girl without any other desire than that of
rescuing her from the shame into which she might have fallen if she had
traveled alone. She felt my kindness to her, and said,--

"I am sure M. de la Croix would not have abandoned me if he had not met
you at Milan."

"You are very charitable, but I am unable to share in your good opinion.
To my mind Croce has behaved in a rascally manner, to say the least of
it, for in spite of your many charms he had no right to count on me in
the matter. I will not say that he openly scorned you, since he might
have acted from despair; but I am sure he must have ceased to love you,
or he could never have abandoned you thus."

"I am sure of the contrary. He saw that he had no means of providing for
me, and he had to choose between leaving me and killing himself."

"Not at all. He ought to have sold all he had and sent you back to
Marseilles. Your journey to Genoa would not have cost much, and thence
you could have gone to Marseilles by sea. Croce counted on my having
been interested in your pretty face, and he was right; but you must see
that he exposed you to a great risk. You must not be offended if I tell
you the plain truth. If your face had not inspired me with a lively
interest in you, I should have only felt ordinary compassion on reading
your appeal, and this would not have been enough to force me to great
sacrifices of time and trouble. But I have no business to be blaming
Croce. You are hurt; I see you are still in love with him."

"I confess it, and I pity him. As for myself, I only pity my cruel
destiny. I shall never see him again, but I shall never love anyone
else, for my mind is made up. I shall go into a convent and expiate my
sins. My father will pardon me, for he is a man of an excellent heart.
I have been the victim of love; my will was not my own. The seductive
influence of passion ravished my reason from me, and the only thing
that I blame myself for is for not having fortified my mind against it.
Otherwise I cannot see that I have sinned deeply, but I confess I have
done wrong."

"You would have gone with Croce from Milan if he had asked you, even on
foot."

"Of course; it would have been my duty; but he would not expose me to
the misery that he saw before us."

"Nay, you were miserable enough already. I am sure that if you meet him
at Marseilles you will go with him again."

"Never. I begin to get back my reason. I am free once more, and the day
will come when I shall thank God for having forgotten him."

Her sincerity pleased me, and as I knew too well the power of love I
pitied her from my heart. For two hours she told me the history of her
unfortunate amour, and as she told it well I began to take a liking for
her.

We reached Tortona in the evening, and with the intention of sleeping
there I told Clairmont to get us a supper to my taste. While we were
eating it I was astonished at my false niece's wit, and she made a good
match for me at the meal, for she had an excellent appetite, and drank
as well as any girl of her age. As we were leaving the table, she made
a jest which was so much to the point that I burst out laughing, and
her conquest was complete. I embraced her in the joy of my heart,
and finding my kiss ardently returned, I asked her without any,
circumlocution if she was willing that we should content ourselves with
one bed.

At this invitation her face fell, and she replied, with an air of
submission which kills desire,--

"Alas! you can do what you like. If liberty is a precious thing, it is
most precious of all in love."

"There is no need for this disobedience. You have inspired me with a
tender passion, but if you don't share my feelings my love for you shall
be stifled at its birth. There are two beds here, as you see; you can
choose which one you will sleep in."

"Then I will sleep in that one, but I shall be very sorry if you are not
so kind to me in the future as you have been in the past."

"Don't be afraid. You shall not find me un worthy of your esteem. Good
night; we shall be good friends."

Early the next morning I sent the countess's letter to the bishop, and
an hour afterwards, as I was at breakfast, an old priest came to ask me
and the lady with me to dine with my lord. The countess's letter did not
say anything about a lady, but the prelate, who was a true Spaniard and
very polite, felt that as I could not leave my real or false niece alone
in the inn I should not have accepted the invitation if she had not
been asked as well. Probably my lord had heard of the lady through his
footmen, who in Italy are a sort of spies, who entertain their masters
with the scandalous gossip of the place. A bishop wants something more
than his breviary to amuse him now that the apostolic virtues have grown
old-fashioned and out of date; in short, I accepted the invitation,
charging the priest to present my respects to his lordship.

My niece was delightful, and treated me as if I had no right to feel any
resentment for her having preferred her own bed to mine. I was pleased
with her behaviour, for now that my head was cool I felt that she would
have degraded herself if she had acted otherwise. My vanity was not
even wounded, which is so often the case under similar circumstances.
Self-love and prejudice prevent a woman yielding till she has been
assidiously courted, whereas I had asked her to share my bed in an
off-hand manner, as if it were a mere matter of form. However, I should
not have done it unless it had been for the fumes of the champagne and
the Somard, with which we had washed down the delicious supper mine host
had supplied us with. She had been flattered by the bishop's invitation,
but she did not know whether I had accepted for her as well as myself;
and when I told her that we were going out to dinner together, she was
wild with joy. She made a careful toilette, looking very well for a
traveller, and at noon my lord's carriage came to fetch us.

The prelate was a tall man, two inches taller than myself; and in spite
of the weight of his eighty years, he looked well and seemed quite
active, though grave as became a Spanish grandee. He received us with a
politeness which was almost French, and when my niece would have kissed
his hand, according to custom, he affectionately drew it back, and gave
her a magnificent cross of amethysts and brilliants to kiss. She kissed
it with devotion, saying,--

"This is what I love."

She looked at me as she said it, and the jest (which referred to her
lover La Croix or Croce) surprised me.

We sat down to dinner, and I found the bishop to be a pleasant and a
learned man. We were nine in all; four priests, and two young gentlemen
of the town, who behaved to my niece with great politeness, which she
received with all the manner of good society. I noticed that the bishop,
though he often spoke to her, never once looked at her face. My lord
knew what danger lurked in those bright eyes, and like a prudent
greybeard he took care not to fall into the snare. After coffee had been
served, we took leave, and in four hours we left Tortona, intending to
lie at Novi.

In the course of the afternoon my fair niece amused me with the wit and
wisdom of her conversation. While we were supping I led the conversation
up to the bishop, and then to religion, that I might see what her
principles were. Finding her to be a good Christian, I asked her how she
could allow herself to make a jest when she kissed the prelate's cross.

"It was a mere chance," she said. "The equivocation was innocent because
it was not premeditated, for if I had thought it over I should never
have said such a thing."

I pretended to believe her; she might possibly be sincere. She was
extremely clever, and my love for her was becoming more and more ardent,
but my vanity kept my passion in check. When she went to bed I did not
kiss her, but as her bed had no screen as at Tortona, she waited until
she thought I was asleep to undress herself. We got to Genoa by noon the
next day.

Pogomas had got me some rooms and had forwarded me the address. I
visited it, and found the apartment to consist of four well-furnished
rooms, thoroughly comfortable, as the English, who understand how to
take their ease, call it. I ordered a good dinner, and sent to tell
Pogomas of my arrival.





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