The Project Gutenberg Etext of Switzerland, by Jacques Casanova
#14 in our series by Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
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Title: Switzerland, Casanova, v14
Author: Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
Release Date: December, 2001 [Etext #2964]
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MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
THE ETERNAL QUEST, Volume 3d--SWITZERLAND
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR
MACHEN TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED
BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
THE ETERNAL QUEST
SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
I Resolve to Become a Monk--I go to Confession--Delay of a Fortnight
--Giustiniani, the Apostle Capuchin--I Alter my Mind; My Reasons--My
Pranks at the Inn--I Dine With the Abbot
The cool way in which the abbot told these cock-and-bull stories gave
me an inclination to laughter, which the holiness of the place and
the laws of politeness had much difficulty in restraining. All the
same I listened with such an attentive air that his reverence was
delighted with me and asked where I was staying.
"Nowhere," said I; "I came from Zurich on foot, and my first visit
was to your church."
I do not know whether I pronounced these words with an air of
compunction, but the abbot joined his hands and lifted them to
heaven, as if to thank God for touching my heart and bringing me
there to lay down the burden of my sins. I have no doubt that these
were his thoughts, as I have always had the look of a great sinner.
The abbot said it was near noon and that he hoped I would do him the
honour of dining with him, and I accepted with pleasure, for I had
had nothing to eat and I knew that there is usually good cheer in
such places. I did not know where I was and I did not care to ask,
being willing to leave him under the impression that I was a pilgrim
come to expiate my sins.
On our way from the church the abbot told me that his monks were
fasting, but that we should eat meat in virtue of a dispensation he
had received from Benedict XIV., which allowed him to eat meat all
the year round with his guests. I replied that I would join him all
the more willingly as the Holy Father had given me a similar
dispensation. This seemed to excite his curiosity about myself, and
when we got to his room, which did not look the cell of a penitent,
he hastened to shew me the brief, which he had framed and glazed and
hung up opposite the table so that the curious and scrupulous might
have it in full view.
As the table was only laid for two, a servant in full livery came in
and brought another cover; and the humble abbot then told me that he
usually had his chancellor with him at dinner, "for," said he, "I
have a chancery, since as abbot of Our Lady of Einsiedel I am a
prince of the Holy Roman Empire."
This was a relief to me, as I now knew where I was, and I no longer
ran the risk of shewing my ignorance in the course of conversation.
This monastery (of which I had heard before) was the Loretto of the
Mountains, and was famous for the number of pilgrims who resorted to
it.
In the course of dinner the prince--abbot asked me where I came from,
if I were married, if I intended to make a tour of Switzerland,
adding that he should be glad to give me letters of introduction.
I replied that I was a Venetian, a bachelor, and that I should be
glad to accept the letters of introduction he had kindly offered me,
after I had had a private conference with him, in which I desired to
take his advice on my conscience.
Thus, without premeditation, and scarcely knowing what I was saying,
I engaged to confess to the abbot.
This was my way. Whenever I obeyed a spontaneous impulse, whenever I
did anything of a sudden, I thought I was following the laws of my
destiny, and yielding to a supreme will. When I had thus plainly
intimated to him that he was to be my confessor, he felt obliged to
speak with religious fervour, and his discourses seemed tolerable
enough during a delicate and appetising repast, for we had snipe and
woodcock; which made me exclaim,--
"What! game like that at this time of year?"
"It's a secret," said he, with a pleased smile, "which I shall be
glad to communicate to you."
The abbot was a man of taste, for though he affected sobriety he had
the choicest wines and the most delicious dishes on the table. A
splendid salmon-trout was brought, which made him smile with
pleasure, and seasoning the good fare with a jest, he said in Latin
that we must taste it as it was fish, and that it was right to fast a
little.
While he was talking the abbot kept a keen eye on me, and as my fine
dress made him feel certain that I had nothing to ask of him he spoke
at ease.
When dinner was over the chancellor bowed respectfully and went out.
Soon after the abbot took me over the monastery, including the
library, which contained a portrait of the Elector of Cologne in
semi-ecclesiastical costume. I told him that the portrait was a good
though ugly likeness, and drew out of my pocket the gold snuffbox the
prince had given me, telling him that it was a speaking likeness. He
looked at it with interest, and thought his highness had done well to
be taken in the dress of a grand-master. But I perceived that the
elegance of the snuff-box did no harm to the opinion the abbot had
conceived of me. As for the library, if I had been alone it would
have made me weep. It contained nothing under the size of folio, the
newest books were a hundred years old, and the subject-matter of all
these huge books was solely theology and controversy. There were
Bibles, commentators, the Fathers, works on canon law in German,
volumes of annals, and Hoffman's dictionary.
"I suppose your monks have private libraries of their own," I said,
"which contain accounts of travels, with historical and scientific
works."
"Not at all," he replied; "my monks are honest folk, who are content
to do their duty, and to live in peace and sweet ignorance."
I do not know what happened to me at that moment, but a strange whim
came into my head--I would be a monk, too. I said nothing about it
at the moment, but I begged the abbot to take me to his private
chamber.
"I wish to make a general confession of all my sins," said I, "that I
may obtain the benefit of absolution, and receive the Holy Eucharist
on the morrow."
He made no answer, but led the way to a pretty little room, and
without requiring me to kneel down said he was ready to hear me.
I sat down before him and for three consecutive hours I narrated
scandalous histories unnumerable, which, however, I told simply and
not spicily, since I felt ascetically disposed and obliged myself to
speak with a contrition I did not feel, for when I recounted my
follies I was very far from finding the remembrance of them
disagreeable.
In spite of that, the serene or reverend abbot believed, at all
events, in my attrition, for he told me that since by the appointed
means I had once more placed myself in a state of grace, contrition
would be perfected in me.
According to the good abbot, and still more according to me, without
grace contrition is impossible.
After he had pronounced the sacramental words which take away the
sins of men, he advised me to retire to the chamber he had appointed
for me, to pass the rest of the day in prayer, and to go to bed at an
early hour, but he added that I could have supper if I was accustomed
to that meal. He told me that I might communicate at the first mass
next morning, and with that we parted.
I obeyed with a docility which has puzzled me ever since, but at the
time I thought nothing of it. I was left alone in a room which I did
not even examine, and there I pondered over the idea which had come
into my head before making my confession; and I quite made up my mind
that chance, or rather my good genius, had led me to that spot, where
happiness awaited me, and where I might shelter all my days from the
tempests of the world.
"Whether I stay here," said I, "depends on myself alone, as I am sure
the abbot will not refuse me the cowl if I give him ten thousand
crowns for my support."
All that was needed to secure my happiness seemed a library of my own
choosing, and I did not doubt but that the abbot would let me have
what books I pleased if I promised to leave them to the monastery
after my death.
As to the society of the monks, the discord, envy, and all the
bickerings inseparable from such a mode of life, I thought I had
nothing to pass in that way, since I had no ambitions which could
rouse the jealousy of the other monks. Nevertheless, despite my
fascination, I foresaw the possibility of repentance, and I shuddered
at the thought, but I had a cure for that also.
"When I ask for the habit," I said, "I will also ask that my
novitiate be extended for ten years, and if repentance do not come in
ten years it will not come at all. I shall declare that I do not
wish for any cure or any ecclesiastical dignity. All I want is peace
and leave to follow my own tastes, without scandalising anyone."
I thought: I could easily remove any objections which might be made
to the long term of my novitiate, by agreeing, in case I changed my
mind, to forfeit the ten thousand crowns which I would pay in
advance.
I put down this fine idea in writing before I went to bed; and in the
morning, finding myself unshaken in my resolve, after I had
communicated I gave my plan to the abbot, who was taking chocolate in
his room.
He immediately read my plan, and without saying anything put it on
the table, and after breakfast he walked up and down the room and
read it again, and finally told me that he would give me an answer
after dinner.
I waited till night with the impatience of a child who has been
promised toys on its birthday--so completely and suddenly can an
infatuation change one's nature. We had as good a dinner as on the
day before, and when we had risen from the table the good abbot said,
"My carriage is at the door to take you to Zurich. Go, and let me
have a fortnight to think it over. I will bring my answer in person.
In the meanwhile here are two sealed letters, which please deliver
yourself."
I replied that I would obey his instructions and that I would wait
for him at the "Sword," in the hope that be would deign to grant my
wishes. I took his hand, which he allowed me to kiss, and I then set
out for Zurich.
As soon as my Spaniard saw me the rascal began to laugh. I guessed
what he was thinking, and asked him what he was laughing at.
"I am amazed to see that no sooner do you arrive in Switzerland than
you contrive to find some amusement which keeps you away for two
whole days."
"Ah, I see; go and tell the landlord that I shall want the use of a
good carriage for the next fortnight, and also a guide on whom I can
rely."
My landlord, whose name was Ote, had been a captain, and was thought
a great deal of at Zurich. He told me that all the carriages in the
neighbourhood were uncovered. I said they would do, as there was
nothing better to be had, and he informed me I could trust the
servant he would provide me with.
Next morning I took the abbot's letters. One was for M. Orelli and
the other for a M. Pestalozzi, neither of whom I found at home; but
in the afternoon they both called on me, asked me to dinner, and made
me promise to come with them the same evening to a concert. This is
the only species of entertainment allowed at Zurich, and only members
of the musical society can be present, with the exception of
strangers, who have to be introduced by a member, and are then
admitted on the payment of a crown. The two gentlemen both spoke in
very high terms of the Abbot of Einsiedel.
I thought the concert a bad one, and got bored at it. The men sat on
the right hand and the women on the left. I was vexed with this
arrangement, for in spite of my recent conversation I saw three or
four ladies who pleased me, and whose eyes wandered a good deal in my
direction. I should have liked to make love to them, to make the
best of my time before I became a monk.
When the concert was over, men and women went out together, and the
two citizens presented me to their wives and daughters, who looked
pleasant, and were amongst those I had noticed.
Courtesy is necessarily cut short in the street, and, after I had
thanked the two gentlemen, I went home to the "Sword."
Next day I dined with M. Orelli, and I had an opportunity for doing
justice to his daughter's amiability without being able to let her
perceive how she had impressed me. The day after, I played the same
part with M. Pestalozzi, although his charming daughter was pretty
enough to excite my gallantry. But to my own great astonishment I
was a mirror of discretion, and in four days that was my character
all over the town. I was quite astonished to find myself accosted in
quite a respectful manner, to which I was not accustomed; but in the
pious state of mind I was in, this confirmed me in the belief that my
idea of taking the cowl had been a Divine inspiration. Nevertheless,
I felt listless and weary, but I looked upon that as the inevitable
consequence of so complete a change of life, and thought it would
disappear when I grew more accustomed to goodness.
In order to put myself, as soon as possible, on an equality with my
future brethren, I passed three hours every morning in learning
German. My master was an extraordinary man, a native of Genoa, and
an apostate Capuchin. His name was Giustiniani. The poor man, to
whom I gave six francs every morning, looked upon me as an angel from
heaven, although I, with the enthusiasm of a devotee, took him for a
devil of hell, for he lost no opportunity of throwing a stone at the
religious orders. Those orders which had the highest reputation,
were, according to him, the worst of all, since they led more people
astray. He styled monks in general as a vile rabble, the curse of
the human race.
"But," said I to him one day, "you will confess that Our Lady of
Einsiedel . . ."
"What!" replied the Genoese, without letting me finish my remark, "do
you think I should make an exception in favour of a set of forty
ignorant, lazy, vicious, idle, hypocritical scoundrels who live bad
lives under the cloak of humility, and eat up the houses of the poor
simpletons who provide for them, when they ought to be earning their
own bread?"
"But how about his reverend highness the abbot?"
"A stuck-up peasant who plays the part of a prince, and is fool
enough to think himself one."
"But he is a prince."
"As much a prince as I am. I look upon him as a mere buffoon."
"What has he done to you?"
"Nothing; but he is a monk."
"He is a friend of mine."
"I cannot retract what I have said, but I beg your pardon."
This Giustiniani had a great influence upon me, although I did not
know it, for I thought my vocation was sure. But my idea of becoming
a monk at Einsiedel came to an end as follows:
The day before the abbot was coming to see me, at about six o'clock
in the evening, I was sitting at my window, which looked out on the
bridge, and gazing at the passers-by, when all at once a carriage and
four came up at a good pace and stopped at the inn. There was no
footman on it, and consequently the waiter came out and opened the
door, and I saw four well-dressed women leave the carriage. In the
first three I saw nothing noticeable, but the fourth, who was dressed
in a riding-habit, struck me at once with her elegance and beauty.
She was a brunette with fine and well-set eyes, arched eyebrows, and
a complexion in which the hues of the lily and the rose were mingled.
Her bonnet was of blue satin with a silver fillet, which gave her an
air I could not resist. I stretched out from the window as far as I
could, and she lifted her eyes and looked at me as if I had bade her
do so. My position obliged me to look at her for half a minute; too
much for a modest woman, and more than was required to set me all
ablaze.
I ran and took up my position at the window of my ante-chamber, which
commanded a view of the staircase, and before long I saw her running
by to rejoin her three companions. When she got opposite to my
window she chanced to turn in that direction, and on seeing me cried
out as if she had seen a ghost; but she soon recollected herself and
ran away, laughing like a madcap, and rejoined the other ladies who
were already in their room.
Reader, put yourself in my place, and tell me how I could have
avoided this meeting. And you who would bury yourselves in monastic
shades, persevere, if you can, after you have seen what I saw at
Zurich on April 23rd.
I was in such a state of excitement that I had to lie down on my bed.
After resting a few minutes, I got up and almost unconsciously went
towards the passage window and saw the waiter coming out of the
ladies' room.
"Waiter," said I, "I will take supper in the dining-room with
everybody else."
"If you want to see those ladies, that won't do, as they have ordered
their supper to be brought up to them. They want to go to bed in
good time as they are to leave at day-break."
"Where are they going?"
"To Our Lady of Einsiedel to pay their vows."
"Where do they come from?"
"From Soleure."
"What are their names?"
"I don't know."
I went to lie down again, and thought how I could approach the fair
one of my thoughts. Should I go to Einsiedel, too? But what could I
do when I got there? These ladies are going to make their
confessions; I could not get into the confessional. What kind of a
figure should I cut among the monks? And if I were to meet the
abbot on the way, how could I help returning with him? If I had had
a trusty friend I would have arranged an ambuscade and carried off my
charmer. It would have been an easy task, as she had nobody to
defend her. What if I were to pluck up my heart and beg them to let
me sup in their company? I was afraid of the three devotees; I
should meet with a refusal. I judged that my charmer's devotion was
more a matter of form than any thing else, as her physiognomy
declared her to be a lover of pleasure, and I had long been
accustomed to read womens' characters by the play of their features.
I did not know which way to turn, when a happy idea came into my
head. I went to the passage window and stayed there till the waiter
went by. I had him into the room, and began my discourse by sliding
a piece of gold into his hand. I then asked him to lend me his green
apron, as I wished to wait upon the ladies at supper.
"What are you laughing at?"
"At your taking such a fancy, sir, though I think I know why."
"You are a sharp fellow."
"Yes, sir, as sharp as most of them; I will get you a new apron. The
pretty one asked me who you were."
"What did you tell her?"
"I said you were an Italian; that's all."
"If you will hold your tongue I will double that piece of gold."
"I have asked your Spaniard to help me, sir, as I am single-handed,
and supper has to be served at the same time both upstairs and
downstairs."
"Very good; but the rascal mustn't come into the room or he would be
sure to laugh. Let him go to the kitchen, bring up the dishes, and
leave them outside the door."
The waiter went out, and returned soon after with the apron and Le
Duc, to whom I explained in all seriousness what he had to do. He
laughed like a madman, but assured me he would follow my directions.
I procured a carving-knife, tied my hair in a queue, took off my
coat, and put on the apron over my scarlet waistcoat ornamented with
gold lace. I then looked at myself in the glass, and thought my
appearance mean enough for the modest part I was about to play. I
was delighted at the prospect, and thought to myself that as the
ladies came from Soleure they would speak French.
Le Duc came to tell me that the waiter was going upstairs. I went
into the ladies' room and said, "Supper is about to be served,
ladies."
"Make haste about it, then," said the ugliest of them, "as we have
got to rise before day-break."
I placed the chairs round the table and glanced at my fair one, who
looked petrified. The waiter came in, and I helped him to put the
dishes on the table, and he then said to me, "Do you stay here, as I
have to go downstairs."
I took a plate and stood behind a chair facing the lady, and without
appearing to look at her I saw her perfectly, or rather I saw nothing
else. She was astonished the others did not give me a glance, and
they could not have pleased me better. After the soup I hurried to
change her plate, and then did the same office for the rest: they
helped themselves to the boiled beef.
While they were eating, I took a boiled capon and cut it up in a
masterly manner.
"We have a waiter who knows his work," said the lady of my thoughts.
"Have you been long at this inn?"
"Only a few weeks, madam."
"You wait very well."
"Madam is very good."
I had tucked in my superb ruffles of English point lace, but my
frilled shirt front of the same material protruded slightly through
my vest, which I had not buttoned carefully. She saw it, and said,
"Come here a moment."
"What does madam require?"
"Let me see it. What beautiful lace!"
"So I have been told, madam, but it is very old. An Italian
gentleman who was staying here made me a present of it."
"You have ruffles of the same kind, I suppose?"
"Yes, madam;" and so saying I stretched out my hand, unbuttoning my
waistcoat. She gently drew out the ruffle, and seemed to place
herself in a position to intoxicate me with the sight of her charms,
although she was tightly laced. What an ecstatic moment! I knew she
had recognized me, and the thought that I could not carry the
masquerade beyond a certain point was a veritable torment to me.
When she had looked a long time, one of the others said,
"You are certainly very curious, my dear, one would think you had
never seen lace before."
At this she blushed.
When the supper was done, the three ugly ladies each went apart to
undress, while I took away the dishes, and my heroine began to write.
I confess that I was almost infatuated enough to think that she was
writing to me; however, I had too high an opinion of her to entertain
the idea.
As soon as I had taken away the dishes, I stood by the door in the
respectful manner becoming the occasion.
"What are you waiting for?" she said.
"For your orders, madam."
"Thank you, I don't want anything."
"Your boots, madam, you will like them removed before you retire."
"True, but still I don't like to give you so much trouble."
"I am here to attend on you, madam."
So saying, I knelt on one knee before her, and slowly unplaced her
boots while she continued writing. I went farther; I unbuckled her
garters, delighting in the contemplation and still more in the touch
of her delicately-shaped legs, but too soon for me she turned her
head, and said,
"That will do, thank you. I did not notice that you were giving
yourself so much trouble. We shall see you to-morrow evening."
"Then you will sup here, ladies?"
"Certainly."
I took her boots away, and asked if I should lock the door.
"No, my good fellow," said she, in the voice of a syren, "leave the
key inside."
Le Duc took the charmer's boots from me, and said, laughing,--
"She has caught you."
"What?"
"I saw it all, sir, you played your part as well as any actor in
Paris; and I am certain that she will give you a louis to-morrow, but
if you don't hand it over to me I will blow on the whole thing."
"That's enough, you rascal; get me my supper as quickly as possible."
Such are the pleasures which old age no longer allows me to enjoy,
except in my memory. There are monsters who preach repentance, and
philosophers who treat all pleasures as vanity. Let them talk on.
Repentance only befits crimes, and pleasures are realities, though
all too fleeting.
A happy dream made me pass the night with the fair lady; doubtless it
was a delusion, but a delusion full of bliss. What would I not give
now for such dreams, which made my nights so sweet!
Next morning at day-break I was at her door with her boots in my hand
just as their coachman came to call them. I asked them, as a matter
of form, if they would have breakfast, and they replied merrily that
they had made too good a supper to have any appetite at such an early
hour. I went out of the room to give them time to dress, but the
door was half open, and I saw reflected in the glass the snow-white
bosom of my fair one; it was an intoxicating sight. When she had
laced herself and put on her dress she called for her boots. I asked
if I should put them on, to which she consented with a good grace,
and as she had green velvet breeches, she seemed to consider herself
as almost a man. And, after all, a waiter is not worth putting one's
self out about. All the worst for him if he dare conceive any hopes
from the trifling concessions he receives. His punishment will be
severe, for who would have thought he could have presumed so far?
As for me, I am now, sad to say, grown old, and enjoy some few
privileges of this description, which I relish, though despising
myself, and still more those who thus indulge me.
After she had gone I went to sleep again, hoping to see her in the
evening. When I awoke I heard that the abbot of Einsiedel was at
Zurich, and my landlord told me that his reverend highness would dine
with me in my room. I told him that I wished to treat the abbot
well, and that he must set the best dinner he could for us.
At noon the worthy prelate was shewn up to my room, and began by
complimenting me on the good reputation I had at Zurich, saying that
this made him believe that my vocation was a real one.
"The following distich," he added, "should now become your motto:
"Inveni portum. Spes et fortuna valete;
Nil mihi vobiscum est: ludite nuns alios."
"That is a translation of two verses from Euripides," I answered;
"but, my lord, they will not serve me, as I have changed my mind
since yesterday."
"I congratulate you," said he, "and I hope you will accomplish all
your desires. I may tell you confidentially that it is much easier
to save one's soul in the world where one can do good to one's
neighbours, than in the convent, where a man does no good to himself
nor to anyone else."
This was not speaking like the hypocrite Guistiniani had described to
me; on the contrary, it was the language of a good and sensible man.
We had a princely dinner, as my landlord had made each of the three
courses a work of art. The repast was enlivened by an interesting
conversation, to which wit and humour were not lacking. After coffee
I thanked the abbot with the greatest respect, and accompanied him to
his carriage, where the reverend father reiterated his offers of
serving me, and thus, well pleased with one another, we parted.
The presence and the conversation of this worthy priest had not for a
moment distracted my thoughts from the pleasing object with which
they were occupied. So soon as the abbot had gone, I went to the
bridge to await the blessed angel, who seemed to have been sent from
Soleure with the express purpose of delivering me from the temptation
to become a monk, which the devil had put into my heart. Standing on
the bridge I built many a fine castle in Spain, and about six in the
evening I had the pleasure of seeing my fair traveller once more. I
hid myself so as to see without being seen. I was greatly surprised
to see them all four looking towards my window. Their curiosity
shewed me that the lady had told them of the secret, and with my
astonishment there was some admixture of anger. This was only
natural, as I not only saw myself deprived of the hope of making any
further advances, but I felt that I could no longer play my part of
waiter with any confidence. In spite of my love for the lady I would
not for the world become the laughing-stock of her three plain
companions. If I had interested her in my favour, she would
certainly not have divulged my secret, and I saw in her doing so
proof positive that she did not want the jest to go any further, or
rather of her want of that spirit so necessary to ensure the success
of an intrigue. If the three companions of my charmer had had
anything attractive about them, I might possibly have persevered and
defied misfortune; but in the same measure as beauty cheers my heart,
ugliness depresses it. Anticipating the melancholy which I foresaw
would result from this disappointment, I went out with the idea of
amusing myself, and happening to meet Giustiniani I told him of my
misfortune, saying that I should not be sorry to make up for it by a
couple of hours of the society of some mercenary beauty.
"I will take you to a house," said he, "where you will find what you
want. Go up to the second floor and you will be well received by an
old woman, if you whisper my name to her. I dare not accompany you,
as I am well known in the town and it might get me into trouble with
the police, who are ridiculously strict in these matters. Indeed I
advise you to take care that nobody sees you going in."
I followed the ex-Capuchin's advice and waited for the dusk of the
evening. I had a good reception, but the supper was poor, and the
hours that I spent with two young girls of the working class were
tedious. They were pretty enough, but my head was full of my
perfidious charmer, and besides, despite their neatness and
prettiness, they were wanting in that grace which adds so many charms
to pleasure. The liberality of my payment, to which they were not
accustomed, captivated the old woman, who said she would get me all
the best stuff in the town; but she warned me to take care that
nobody saw me going into her house.
When I got back Le Duc told me that I had been wise to slip away, as
my masquerade had become generally known, and the whole house,
including the landlord, had been eagerly waiting to see me play the
part of waiter. "I took your place," he added. "The lady who has
taken your fancy is Madame----, and I must confess she is vastly
fine."
"Did she ask where the other waiter was?"
"No, but the other ladies asked what had become of you several
times."
"And Madame said nothing?"
"She didn't open her mouth, but looked sad and seemed to care for
nothing, till I said you were away because you were ill."
"That was stupid of you. Why did you say that?"
"I had to say something."
"True. Did you untie her shoe?"
"No; she did not want me to do so."
"Good. Who told you her name?"
"Her coachman. She is just married to a man older than herself."
I went to bed, but could only think of the indiscretion and sadness
of my fair lady. I could not reconcile the two traits in her
character. Next day, knowing that she would be starting early, I
posted myself at the window to see her get into the carriage, but I
took care to arrange the curtain in such a way that I could not be
seen. Madame was the last to get in, and pretending that she wanted
to see if it rained, she took off her bonnet and lifted her head.
Drawing the curtain with one hand, and taking off my cap with the
other, I wafted her a kiss with the tips of my fingers. In her turn
she bowed graciously, returning my kiss with a good-natured smile.
CHAPTER XIV
I Leave Zurich--Comic Adventure at Baden--Soleure--M. De Chavigni--
M. and Madame * * * I Act in a Play--I Counterfeit Sickness to Attain
Happiness
M. Mote, my landlord, introduced his two sons to me. He had brought
them up like young princes. In Switzerland, an inn-keeper is not
always a man of no account. There are many who are as much respected
as people of far higher rank are in other countries. But each
country has its own manners. My landlord did the honours of the
table, and thought it no degradation to make his guests pay for the
meal. He was right; the only really degrading thing in the world is
vice. A Swiss landlord only takes the chief place at table to see
that everyone is properly attended to. If he have a son, he does not
sit down with his father, but waits on the guests, with napkin in
hand. At Schaffhaus, my landlord's son, who was a captain in the
Imperial army, stood behind my chair and changed my plate, while his
father sat at the head of the table. Anywhere else the son would
have been waited on, but in his father's house he thought, and
rightly, that it was an honour to wait.
Such are Swiss customs, of which persons of superficial understanding
very foolishly make a jest. All the same, the vaunted honour and
loyalty of the Swiss do not prevent them from fleecing strangers, at
least as much as the Dutch, but the greenhorns who let themselves be
cheated, learn thereby that it is well to bargain before-hand, and
then they treat one well and charge reasonably. In this way, when I
was at Bale, I baffled the celebrated Imhoff, the landlord of the
"Three Kings."
M. Ote complimented me on my waiter's disguise, and said he was sorry
not to have seen me officiating, nevertheless, he said he thought I
was wise not to repeat the jest. He thanked me for the honour I had
done his house, and begged me to do him the additional favour of
dining at his table some day before I left. I answered that I would
dine with him with pleasure that very day. I did so, and was treated
like a prince.
The reader will have guessed that the last look my charmer gave me
had not extinguished the fire which the first sight of her had
kindled in my breast. It had rather increased my flame by giving me
hopes of being better acquainted with her; in short, it inspired me
with the idea of going to Soleure in order to give a happy ending to
the adventure. I took a letter of credit on Geneva, and wrote to
Madame d'Urfe, begging her to give me a written introduction, couched
in strong terms to M. de Chavigni, the French ambassador, telling her
that the interests of our order were highly involved in my knowing
this diplomatist, and requesting her to address letters to me at the
post office at Soleure. I also wrote to the Duke of Wurtemburg, but
had no answer from him, and indeed he must have found my epistle very
unpleasant reading.
I visited the old woman whom Giustiniani had told me of several times
before I left Zurich, and although I ought to have been well
satisfied as far as physical beauty was concerned, my enjoyment was
very limited, as the nymphs I wooed only spoke Swiss dialect--a
rugged corruption of German. I have always found that love without
speech gives little enjoyment, and I cannot imagine a more
unsatisfactory mistress than a mute, were she as lovely as Venus
herself.
I had scarcely left Zurich when I was obliged to stop at Baden to
have the carriage M. Ote had got me mended. I might have started
again at eleven, but on hearing that a young Polish lady on her way
to Our Lady of Einseidel was to dine at the common table, I decided
to wait; but I had my trouble for nothing, as she turned out to be
quite unworthy of the delay.
After dinner, while my horses were being put in, the host's daughter,
a pretty girl enough, came into the room and made me waltz with her;
it chanced to be a Sunday. All at once her father came in, and the
girl fled.
"Sir," said the rascal, "you are condemned to pay a fine of one
louis."
"Why?"
"For having danced on a holy day."
"Get out; I won't pay."
"You will pay, though," said he, shewing me a great parchment covered
with writing I did not understand.
"I will appeal."
"To whom, sir?"
"To the judge of the place."
He left the room, and in a quarter of an hour I was told that the
judge was waiting for me in an adjoining chamber. I thought to
myself that the judges were very polite in that part of the world,
but when I got into the room I saw the rascally host buried in a wig
and gown.
"Sir," said he, "I am the judge."
"Judge and plaintiff too, as far as I can see."
He wrote in his book, confirming the sentence, and mulcting me in six
francs for the costs of the case.
"But if your daughter had not tempted me." said I, "I should not have
danced; she is therefore as guilty as I."
"Very true, sir; here is a Louis for her." So saying he took a Louis
out of his pocket, put it into a desk beside him, and said; "Now
yours."
I began to laugh, paid my fine, and put off my departure till the
morrow.
As I was going to Lucerne I saw the apostolic nuncio (who invited me
to dinner), and at Fribourg Comte d'Afri's young and charming wife;
but at ten leagues from Soleure I was a witness of the following
curious circumstances.
I was stopping the night in a village, and had made friends with the
surgeon, whom I had found at the inn, and while supper, which he was
to share with me, was getting ready, we walked about the village
together. It was in the dusk of the evening, and at a distance of a
hundred paces I saw a man climbing up the wall of a house, and
finally vanishing through a window on the first floor.
"That's a robber," said I, pointing him out to the surgeon. He
laughed and said,--
"The custom may astonish you, but it is a common one in many parts of
Switzerland. The man you have just seen is a young lover who is
going to pass the night with his future bride. Next morning he will
leave more ardent than before, as she will not allow him to go too
far. If she was weak enough to yield to his desires he would
probably decline to marry her, and she would find it difficult to get
married at all."
At Soleure I found a letter from Madame d'Urfe, with an enclosure
from the Duc de Choiseul to the ambassador, M. de Chavigni. It was
sealed, but the duke's name was written below the address.
I made a Court toilet, took a coach, and went to call on the
ambassador. His excellency was not at home, so I left my card and
the letter. It was a feast-day, and I went to high mass, not so
much, I confess, to seek for God as for my charmer, but she was not
there. After service I walked around the town, and on my return
found an officer who asked me to dinner at the ambassador's.
Madame d'Urfe said that on the receipt of my letter she had gone
straightway to Versailles, and that with the help of Madame de
Grammont she had got me an introduction of the kind I wanted. This
was good news for me, as I desired to cut an imposing figure at
Soleure. I had plenty of money, and I knew that this magic metal
glittered in the eyes of all. M. de Chavigni had been ambassador at
Venice thirty years before, and I knew a number of anecdotes about
his adventures there, and I was eager to see what I could make out of
him.
I went to his house at the time appointed, and found all his servants
in full livery, which I looked upon as a happy omen. My name was not
announced, and I remarked that when I came in both sides of the door
were opened for me by the page. A fine old man came forward to meet
me, and paying me many well-turned compliments introduced me to those
present. Then, with the delicate tact of the courtier, pretending
not to recollect my name, he drew the Duc de Choiseul's letter from
his pocket, and read aloud the paragraph in which the minister
desired him to treat me with the utmost consideration. He made me
sit on an easy chair at his right hand, and asked me questions to
which I could only answer that I was travelling for my pleasure, and
that I considered the Swiss nation to be in many respects superior to
all other nations whatsoever.
Dinner was served, and his excellency set me on his right hand in a
position of equal honour to his own. We were sixteen in company, and
behind every chair stood a magnificent lackey in the ambassador's
livery. In the course of conversation I got an opportunity of
telling the ambassador that he was still spoken of at Venice with the
utmost affection.
"I shall always remember," he said, "the kindness with which the
Venetians treated me; but tell me, I beg, the names of those
gentlemen who still remember me; they must be quite old now."
This was what I was waiting for. M. de Malipiero had told me of
certain events which had happened during the regency, and M. de
Bragadin had informed me of the ambassador's amours with the
celebrated Stringhetta.
His excellency's fare was perfect, but in the pleasure of conversing
I forgot that of eating. I told all my anecdotes so racily that his
features expressed the pleasure I was affording him, and when we rose
from the table he shook me by the hand, and told me he had not had so
agreeable a dinner since he had been at Soleure.
"The recollection of my Venetian gallantries," said the worthy old
man, "makes me recall many a happy moment; I feel quite young again."
He embraced me, and bade me consider myself as one of his family
during my stay at Soleure.
After dinner he talked a good deal about Venice, praising the
Government, and saying that there was not a town in the world where a
man could fare better, provided he took care to get good oil and
foreign wines. About five o'clock he asked me to come for a drive
with him, getting into the carriage first to give me the best place.
We got out at a pretty country house where ices were served to us.
On our way back he said that he had a large party every evening, and
that he hoped I would do him the honour to be present whenever it
suited my inclinations, assuring me that he would do his best to
amuse me. I was impatient to take part in the assembly, as I felt
certain I should see my charmer there. It was a vain hope, however,
for I saw several ladies, some old and ugly, some passable, but not
one pretty.
Cards were produced, and I soon found myself at a table with a young
lady of fair complexion and a plain-looking woman well advanced in
years, who seemed, however, not to be destitute of wit. Though I was
looed I played on, and I lost five or six hundred fish without
opening my lips. When it came to a profit and loss account, the
plain woman told me I owed three louis.
"Three louis, madam."
"Yes, sir; we have been playing at two sous the fish. You thought,
perhaps, we were playing for farthings."
"On the contrary, I thought it was for francs, as I never play
lower." She did not answer this boast of mine, but she seemed
annoyed. On rejoining the company after this wearisome game, I
proceeded to scrutinize all the ladies present rapidly but keenly,
but I could not see her for whom I looked, and was on the point of
leaving, when I happened to notice two ladies who were looking at me
attentively. I recognized them directly. They were two of my fair
one's companions, whom I had had the honour of waiting on at Zurich.
I hurried off, pretending not to recognize them.
Next day, a gentleman in the ambassador's suite came to tell me that
his excellency was going to call on me. I told him that I would not
go out till I had the honour of receiving his master, and I conceived
the idea of questioning him concerning that which lay next to my
heart. However, he spared me the trouble, as the reader will see for
himself.
I gave M. de Chavigni the best reception I could, and after we had
discussed the weather he told me, with a smile, that he had the most
ridiculous affair to broach to me, begging me to credit him when he
said that he did not believe it for a moment.
"Proceed, my lord."
"Two ladies who saw you at my house yesterday told me in confidence,
after you had gone, that I should do well to be on my guard, as you
were the waiter in an inn at Zurich where they had stayed. They
added that they had seen the other waiter by the Aar, and that in all
probability you had run away from the inn together; God alone knows
why! They said, furthermore, that you slipped away from my house
yesterday as soon as you saw them. I told them that even if you were
not the bearer of a letter from his grace the Duc de Choiseul I
should have been convinced that they were mistaken, and that they
should dine with you to-day, if they would accept my invitation. I
also hinted that you might have merely disguised yourself as a waiter
in the hopes of winning some favours from them, but they rejected the
hypothesis as absurd, and said that you could carve a capon and
change a plate dexterously enough, but were only a common waiter for
all that, adding that with my permission they would compliment you on
your skill to-day.
"'Do so, by all means, ladies,' said I, "M. Casanova and myself will
be highly amused.' And now do you mind telling me whether there be
any foundation of truth in the whole story?"
"Certainly, my lord, I will tell you all without reserve, but in
confidence, as this ridiculous report may injure the honour of one
who is dear to me, and whom I would not injure for the world."
"It is true, then? I am quite interested to hear all about it."
"It is true to a certain extent; I hope you don't take me for the
real waiter at the 'Sword.'"
"Certainly not, but I supposed you played the part of waiter?"
"Exactly. Did they tell you that they were four in company."
"Ah, I have got it! Pretty Madame was one of the party. That
explains the riddle; now I understand everything. But you were quite
right in saying that discretion was needful; she has a perfectly
blameless reputation."
"Ah! I did not know that. What happened was quite innocent, but it
might be so garbled in the telling as to become prejudicial to the
honour of a lady whose beauty struck me with admiration."
I told him all the details of the case, adding that I had only come
to Soleure in the hopes of succeeding in my suit.
"If that prove an impossibility," said I, "I shall leave Soleure in
three or four days; but I will first turn the three ugly companions
of my charmer into ridicule. They might have had sense enough to
guess that the waiter's apron was only a disguise. They can only
pretend to be ignorant of the fact in the hope of getting some
advantage over me, and injuring their friend, who was ill advised to
let them into the secret."
"Softly, softly, you go too fast and remind me of my own young days.
Permit me to embrace you, your story has delighted me. You shall not
go away, you shall stay here and court your charmer. To-day you can
turn two mischievous women into ridicule, but do it in an easy way.
The thing is so straightforward that M.---- will be the first to
laugh at it. His wife cannot be ignorant of your love for her, and I
know enough of women to pronounce that your disguise cannot have
displeased her. She does know of your love?"
"Undoubtedly."
He went away laughing, and at the door of his coach embraced me for
the third time.
I could not doubt that my charmer had told the whole story to her
three friends as they were returning from Einsiedel to Zurich, and
this made the part they had played all the more ill-natured; but I
felt that it was to my interest to let their malice pass for wit.
I went to the ambassador's at half-past one, and after making my bow
to him I proceeded to greet the company, and saw the two ladies.
Thereupon, with a frank and generous air, I went up to the more
malicious-looking of the two (she was lame, which may have made me
think her more ill-looking) and asked if she recognized me.
"You confess, then, that you are the waiter at the 'Sword'?"
"Well, not quite that, madam, but I confess that I was the waiter for
an hour, and that you cruelly disdained to address a single word to
me, though I was only a waiter, because I longed for the bliss of
seeing you. But I hope I shall be a little more fortunate here, and
that you will allow me to pay you my respectful homage."
"This is very wonderful! You played your part so well that the
sharpest eye would have been deceived. Now we shall see if you play
your new part as well. If you do me the honour to call on me I will
give you a good welcome."
After these complimentary speeches, the story became public property,
and the whole table was amusing itself with it, when I had the
happiness of seeing M.---- and Madame coming into the room.
"There is the good-natured waiter," said she to her husband.
The worthy man stepped forward, and politely thanked me for having
done his wife the honour of taking off her boots.
This told me that she had concealed nothing, and I was glad. Dinner
was served, M. de Chavigni made my charmer sit at his right hand, and
I was placed between my two calumniators. I was obliged to hide my
game, so, although I disliked them intensely, I made love to them,
hardly raising my eyes to glance at Madame, who looked ravishing. I
did not find her husband either as old or as jealous as I had
expected. The ambassador asked him and his wife to stay the evening
to an impromptu ball, and then said, that in order for me to be able
to tell the Duc de Choiseul that I was well amused at Soleure, he
would be delighted to have a play, if Madame would act the fair
'Ecossaise' again. She said she should be delighted, but two more
actors were wanted.
"That is all right," said the kind old gentleman, "I will play
Montrose."
"And I, Murray," I remarked.
My lame friend, angry at this arrangement, which only left her the
very bad part of Lady Alton, could not help lancing a shaft at me.
"Oh! why isn't there a waiter's part in the play?" said she, "you
would play it so well."
"That is well said, but I hope you will teach me to play Murray even
better."
Next morning, I got the words of my part, and the ambassador told me
that the ball would be given in my honour. After dinner I went to my
inn, and after making an elaborate toilette I returned to the
brilliant company.
The ambassador begged me to open the ball, and introduced me to the
highest born but not the most beautiful lady in the place. I then
danced with all the ladies present until the good-natured old man got
me the object of my vows as a partner in the quadrilles, which he did
so easily that no one could have made any remark. "Lord Murray,"
said he, "must dance with no one but Lindane."
At the first pause I took the opportunity of saying that I had only
come to Soleure for her sake, that it was for her sake that I had
disguised myself at Zurich, and that I hoped she would permit me to
pay my addresses to her.
"I cannot invite you to my house," said she, "for certain sufficient
reasons; but if you will stay here some time we shall be able to see
each other. But I entreat you not to shew me any marked attention in
public, for there are those who will spy upon our actions, and it is
not pleasant to be talked about."
I was quite satisfied with this, and told her that I would do all in
my power to please her, and that the most prying eyes should have
nothing to fix on. I felt that the pleasure I looked forward to
would be rendered all the sweeter by a tincture of mystery.
I had proclaimed myself as a novice in the mimic art, and had
entreated my lame friend to be kind enough to instruct me. I
therefore went to her in the morning, but she could only flatter
herself that hers was a reflected light, as I had opportunities for
paying my court to my charmer in her house, and however great her
vanity may have been, she must have had some suspicions of the truth.
This woman was a widow, aged between thirty and forty years, of a
jaundiced complexion, and a piercing and malicious aspect. In her
efforts to hide the inequality of her legs, she walked with a stiff
and awkward air; and, wishing to be thought a wit, she increased her
natural dullness by a ceaseless flow of small talk. I persisted in
behaving towards her with a great air of respect, and one day she
said that, having seen me in the disguise of a waiter, she would not
have thought I was a man of a timid nature.
"In what respect do you think me timid?" said I; to which she gave me
no answer, but I knew perfectly well what she meant. I was tired of
my part, and I had determined to play it no more when we had acted
L'Ecossaise.
All the best people at Soleure were present at our first performance.
The lame lady was delighted with the horror inspired by her acting;
but she might credit a great deal of it to her appearance. M. de
Chavigni drew forth the tears of the audience, his acting was said to
be better than the great Voltaire's. As for me, I remember how near
I was to fainting when, in the third scene of the fifth act, Lindane
said to me,
"What! You! You dare to love me?"
She pronounced these words with such fiery scorn that all the
spectators applauded vehemently. I was almost put out of
countenance, for I thought I detected in her voice an insult to my
honour. However, I collected myself in the minute's respite which
the loud applause gave me, and I replied,---
"Yes; I adore you! How should I not?"
So pathetically and tenderly did I pronounce these words that the
hall rang again with the applause, and the encores from four hundred
throats made me repeat the words which, indeed, came from my heart.
In spite of the pleasure we had given to the audience, we judged
ourselves not perfect in our parts, and M. de Chavigni advised us to
put off our second performance for a couple of days.
"We will have a rehearsal to-morrow at my country house," said he,
"and I beg the favour of all your companies to dinner there."
However, we all made each other compliments on our acting. My lame
friend told me I had played well, but not so well as in the part of
waiter, which really suited me admirably. This sarcasm got the laugh
on her side, but I returned it by telling her that my performance was
a work of art, while her playing of Lady Alton was pure nature.
M. de Chavigni told Madame that the spectators were wrong to applaud
when she expressed her wonder at my loving her, since she had spoken
the words disdainfully; and it was impossible that Lindane could have
despised Murray. The ambassador called for me the next day in his
carriage, and when we reached his country-house we found all the
actors assembled there. His excellency addressed himself in the
first place to M.----, telling him he thought his business was as
good as done, and that they would talk about it after dinner. We sat
down to table, and afterwards rehearsed the piece without any need of
the prompter's assistance.
Towards evening the ambassador told the company that he would expect
them to supper that evening at Soleure, and everyone left with the
exception of the ambassador, myself, and M.---- and Madame----. Just
as we were going I had an agreeable surprise.
"Will you come with me," said the Ambassador to M.---- , "we can talk
the matter over at our ease? M. Casanova will have the honour of
keeping your wife company in your carriage."
I gave the fair lady my hand respectfully, and she took it with an
air of indifference, but as I was helping her in she pressed my hand
with all her might. The reader can imagine how that pressure made my
blood circulate like fire in my veins.
Thus we were seated side by side, our knees pressed tenderly against
each other. Half an hour seemed like a minute, but it must not be
thought that we wasted the time. Our lips were glued together, and
were not set apart till we came within ten paces of the ambassador's
house, which I could have wished at ten leagues distance. She was
the first to get down, and I was alarmed to see the violent blush
which overspread her whole face. Such redness looked unnatural; it
might betray us; our spring of happiness would soon be dry. The
watchful eye of the envious Alton would be fixed upon us, and not in
vain; her triumph would outweigh her humiliation. I was at my wits'
end.
Love and luck, which have so favoured me throughout the course of my
life, came to my aid. I had about me a small box containing
hellebore. I opened it as if by instinct, and invited her to take a
small pinch. She did so, and I followed her example; but the dose
was too strong, and as we were going up the stairs we began to
sneeze, and for the next quarter of an hour we continued sneezing.
People were obliged to attribute her high colour to the sneezing, or
at least no one could give voice to any other suppositions. When the
sneezing fit was over, this woman, who was as clever as she was
pretty, said her headache was gone, but she would take care another
time not to take so strong a dose. I looked out of the corner of my
eye at the malicious widow, who said nothing but seemed deep in
thought.
This piece of good luck decided me on staying at Soleure till my love
was crowned with success, and I determined to take a country house.
I shall not have much opinion of my readers if they find themselves
in my position--rich, young, independent, full of fire, and having
only pleasure to seek for--and do not follow my example. A perfect
beauty was before me with whom I was madly in love, and who, I was
sure, shared that love. I had plenty of money, and I was my own
master. I thought this a much better plan than turning monk, and I
was above caring "what people would say." As soon as the ambassador
had returned, which he always did at an early hour on account of his
advanced age, I left the company and went to see him in his private
room. In truth I felt I must give him that confidence which he had
so well deserved.
As soon as he saw me he said,--
"Well, well, did you profit by the interview I got you?"
I embraced him, and said,--
"I may hope for everything."
When I was telling him about the hellebore he was lavish in his
compliments on my presence of mind, for, as he said, such an unusual
colour would have made people think there had been some kind of a
combat--a supposition which would not have tended towards my success.
After I had told him all, I imparted my plan.
"I shall do nothing in a hurry," said I, "as I have to take care that
the lady's honour does not suffer, and I trust to time to see the
accomplishment of my wishes. I shall want a pretty country house, a
good carriage, two lackeys, a good cook, and a housekeeper. All that
I leave to your excellency, as I look upon you as my refuge and
guardian angel."
"To-morrow, without fail, I will see what I can do, and I have good
hopes of doing you a considerable service and of rendering you well
content with the attractions of Soleure."
Next day our rehearsal went off admirably, and the day after the
ambassador spoke to me as follows:
"So far as I can see, what you are aiming at in this intrigue is the
satisfying of your desires without doing any harm to the lady's
reputation. I think I know the nature of your love for her well
enough to say that if she told you that your leaving Soleure was
necessary to her peace of mind you would leave her at once. You see
that I have sounded you well enough to be a competent adviser in this
delicate and important affair, to which the most famous events in the
annals of diplomacy are not to be compared."
"Your excellency does not do sufficient justice to a career which has
gained you such distinction."
"That's because I am an old man, my dear fellow, and have shaken off
the rust and dust of prejudices, and am able to see things as they
really are, and appreciate them at their true value. But let us
return to your love-affair. If you wish to keep it in the dark, you
must avoid with the greatest care any action which may awaken
suspicion in the minds of people who do not believe that anything is
indifferent. The most malicious and censorious will not be able to
get anything but the merest chance out of the interview I procured
you today, and the accident of the sneezing bout, defy the most ill-
natured to draw any deductions; for an eager lover does not begin his
suit by sending the beloved one into convulsions. Nobody can guess
that your hellebore was used to conceal the blush that your caresses
occasioned, since it does not often happen that an amorous combat
leaves such traces; and how can you be expected to have foreseen the
lady's blushes, and to have provided yourself with a specific against
them? In short, the events of to-day will not disclose your secret.
M.---- who, although he wishes to pass for a man devoid of jealousy,
is a little jealous; M.---- himself cannot have seen anything out of
the common in my asking him to return with me, as I had business of
importance with him, and he has certainly no reasons for supposing
that I should be likely to help you to intrigue with his wife.
Furthermore, the laws of politeness would have forbidden me, under
any circumstances, offering the lady the place I offered him, and as
he prides himself on his politeness he can raise no possible
objection to the arrangement which was made. To be sure I am old and
you are young--a distinction not unimportant in a husband's eyes.
"After this exordium," added the good-natured ambassador, with a
laugh, "an exordium which I have delivered in the official style of a
secretary of state, let us see where we are. Two things are
necessary for you to obtain your wished-for bliss. The first thing,
which concerns you more particularly, is to make M.---- your friend,
and to conceal from him that you have conceived a passion for his
wife, and here I will aid you to the best of my ability. The second
point concerns the lady's honour; all your relations with her must
appear open and above-board. Consider yourself under my protection;
you must not even take a country house before we have found out some
plan for throwing dust into the eyes of the observant. However, you
need not be anxious; I have hit upon a plan.
"You must pretend to be taken ill, but your illness must be of such a
kind that your doctor will be obliged to take your word for the
symptoms. Luckily, I know a doctor whose sole idea is to order
country air for all complaints. This physician, who is about as
clever as his brethren, and kills or cures as well as any of them,
will come and feel my pulse one of these days. You must take his
advice, and for a couple of louis he will write you a prescription
with country air as the chief item. He will then inform everybody
that your case is serious, but that he will answer for your cure."
"What is his name?"
"Doctor Herrenschwand."
"What is he doing here? I knew him at Paris; he was Madame du
Rumain's doctor."
"That is his brother. Now find out some polite complaint, which will
do you credit with the public. It will be easy enough to find a
house, and I will get you an excellent cook to make your gruel and
beef-tea."
The choice of a complaint cost me some thought; I had to give it a
good deal of attention. The same evening I managed to communicate my
plan to Madame who approved of it. I begged her to think of some way
of writing to me, and she said she would.
"My husband," said she, "has a very high opinion of you. He has
taken no offence at our coming in the same carriage. But tell me,
was it an accident or design that made M. de Chavigni take my husband
and leave us together?"
"It was the result of design, dearest." She raised her beautiful
eyes and bit her lips. "Are you sorry it was so?"
"Alas! no."
In three or four days, on the day on which we were going to act
L'Ecossaise, the doctor came to dine with the ambassador and stayed
till the evening to see the play. At dessert he complimented me on
my good health, on which I took the opportunity, and told him that
appearances were deceitful, and that I should be glad to consult him
the next day. No doubt he was delighted to be deceived in his
estimate of my health, and he said he should be glad if he could be
of any service. He called on me at the hour agreed upon, and I told
him such symptoms as my fancy dictated; amongst other things, that I
was subject to certain nocturnal irritations which made me extremely
weak, especially in the reins.
"Quite so, quite so; it's a troublesome thing, but we will see what
can be done. My first remedy, which you may possibly not care much
for, is for you to pass six weeks in the country, where you will not
see those objects which impress your brain, acting on the seventh
pair of nerves, and causing that lumbar discharge which no doubt
leaves you in a very depressed state."
"Yes, it certainly does."
"Quite so, quite so. My next remedy is cold bathing."
"Are the baths far from here?"
"They are wherever you like. I will write you a prescription, and
the druggist will make it up."
I thanked him, and after he had pouched the double-louis I slipped
politely into his hand, he went away assuring me that I should soon
experience an improvement in my health. By the evening the whole
town knew that I was ill and had to go into the country. M. de
Chavigni said pleasantly at dinner to the doctor, that he should have
forbidden me all feminine visitors; and my lame friend, refining on
the idea, added that I should above all be debarred access to certain
portraits, of which I had a box-full. I laughed approvingly, and
begged M. de Chavigni, in the presence of the company, to help me to
find a pretty house and a good cook, as I did not intend to take my
meals alone.
I was tired of playing a wearisome part, and had left off going to
see my lame friend, but she soon reproached me for my inconstancy,
telling me that I had made a tool of her. "I know all," said this
malicious woman, "and I will be avenged."
"You cannot be avenged for nothing," said I, "for I have never done
you an injury. However, if you intend to have me assassinated, I
shall apply for police protection."
"We don't assassinate here," said she, savagely. "We are not
Italians."
I was delighted to be relieved from the burden of her society, and
henceforth Madame was the sole object of my thoughts. M. de
Chavigni, who seemed to delight in serving me, made her husband
believe that I was the only person who could get the Duc de Choiseul
to pardon a cousin of his who was in the guards, and had had the
misfortune to kill his man in a duel. "This," said the kindly old
gentleman, "is the best way possible of gaining the friendship of
your rival. Do you think you can manage it?"
"I am not positive of success."
"Perhaps I have gone a little too far; but I told him that by means
of your acquaintance with the Duchesse de Grammont you could do
anything with the minister."
"I must make you a true prophet; I will do all I can."
The consequence was that M.---- informed me of the facts in the
ambassador's presence, and brought me all the papers relative to the
case.
I spent the night in writing to the Duchesse de Grammont. I made my
letter as pathetic as possible, with a view to touching her heart,
and then her father's; and I then wrote to the worthy Madame d'Urfe
telling her that the well-being of the sublime order of the Rosy
Cross was concerned in the pardon of a Swiss officer, who had been
obliged to leave the kingdom on account of a duel in which the order
was highly concerned.
In the morning, after resting for an hour, I went to the ambassador,
and shewed him the letter I had written to the duchess. He thought
it excellently expressed, and advised me to skew it to M.---- I
found him with his night-cap on; he was extremely grateful for the
interest I took in a matter which was so near to his heart. He told
me that his wife had not yet risen, and asked me to wait and take
breakfast with her. I should have much liked to accept the
invitation, but I begged him to make my excuses to his lady for my
absence, on the pretence that I had to finish my letters, and hand
them to the courier who was just leaving. I hoped in this way to
scatter any jealousy that might be hovering in his brain, by the
slight importance I attached to a meeting with his wife.
I went to dine with M. de Chavigni, who thought my conduct had been
very politic, and said that he was certain that henceforth M.----
would be my best friend. He then skewed me a letter from Voltaire
thanking him for playing Montrose in his Ecossaise; and another from
the Marquis de Chauvelin, who was then at Delices with the
philosopher of Ferney. He promised to come and see him after he had
been to Turin, where he had been appointed ambassador.
CHAPTER XV
My Country House--Madame Dubois--Malicious Trick Played on Me by My
Lame Enemy--My Vexation
There was a reception and a supper at the Court, as they styled the
hotel of M. de Chavigni, or rather of the ambassador of the King of
France in Switzerland. As I came in I saw my charmer sitting apart
reading a letter. I accosted her, apologizing for not having stayed
to breakfast, but she said I had done quite right, adding that if I
had not chosen a country house she hoped I would take one her husband
would probably mention to me that evening. She could not say any
more, as she was called away to a game at quadrille. For my part I
did not play, but wandered from one table to another.
At supper everybody talked to me about my health, and my approaching
stay in the country. This gave M.---- an opportunity to mention a
delightful house near the Aar; "but," he added, "it is not to be let
for less than six months."
"If I like it," I replied, "and am free to leave it when I please, I
will willingly pay the six months' rent in advance."
"There is a fine hall in it."
"All the better; I will give a ball as evidence of my gratitude to
the people of Soleure for the kind welcome I have received from
them."
"Would you like to come and see it to-morrow?"
"With pleasure."
"Very good, then I will call for you at eight o'clock, if that hour
will suit you."
"I shall expect you."
When I got back to my lodging I ordered a travelling carriage and
four, and the next morning, before eight o'clock, I called for M.
who was ready, and seemed flattered at my anticipating him.
"I made my wife promise to come with us; but she is a sluggard, who
prefers her bed to the fresh air."
In less than an hour we reached our journey's end, and I found the
house a beautiful one and large enough to lodge the whole court of a
prince of the Holy Roman Empire. Besides the hall, which I thought
magnificent, I noted with great pleasure a closet arranged as a
boudoir, and covered with the most exquisite pictures. A fine
garden, fountains, baths, several well-furnished rooms, a good
kitchen--in a word, everything pleased me, and I begged M.---- to
arrange for me to take up my abode there in two days' time.
When we got back to Soleure, Madame told me how pleased she was that
I liked the house; and seizing the opportunity, I said that I hoped
they would often do me the honour of dining with me. They promised
they would do so. I drew from my pocket a packet containing a
hundred louis, which I gave M.---- to pay the rent. I then embraced
him, and after imprinting a respectful kiss on the hand of his fair
mate I went to M. de Chavigni, who approved of my having taken the
house as it pleased my lady, and asked me if it was true that I was
going to give a ball.
"Yes, if I see any prospect of its being a brilliant one, and if I
have your approbation."
"You need have no doubts on that point, my dear fellow, and whatever
you can't find in the shops come to me for. Come, I see you are
going to spend a little money. It is a good plan, and overcomes many
difficulties. In the meanwhile you shall have two footmen, an
excellent cook, a housekeeper, and whatever other servants you
require. The head of my household will pay them, and you can settle
with him afterwards, he is a trustworthy man. I will come now and
then and take a spoonful of soup with you, and you shall reward me
for what services I may have done you by telling me how things are
getting on. I have a great esteem for your charming friend, her
discretion is beyond her years, and the pledges of love you will
obtain of her will doubtless increase your passion and your esteem.
Is she aware that I know all?"
"She knows that we are firm friends, and she is glad of it, as she is
sure that you will be discreet."
"She may count on my discretion. She is really a delicious woman; I
should have been tempted to seduce her myself thirty years ago."
A druggist, whom the doctor had recommended to me, set out the same
day to get ready the baths which were to cure me of my imaginary
complaint, and in two days I went myself, after having given Le Duc
orders to bring my baggage on.
I was extremely surprised, on entering the apartment I was to occupy,
to see a pretty young woman who came up to me in a modest way to kiss
my hand. I stopped her doing so, and my astonished air made her
blush.
"Do you belong to the household?" I said.
"The ambassador's steward has engaged me as your housekeeper."
"Pardon my surprise. Take me to my room."
She obeyed, and sitting down on the couch I begged her to sit beside
me.
"That is an honour," said she, in the most polite and modest way,
"I cannot allow myself. I am only your servant."
"Very good, but when I am alone I hope you will consent to take your
meals with me, as I don't like eating by myself."
"I will do so, sir."
"Where is your room?"
"This is the one the steward assigned to me, but you have only to
speak if you wish me to sleep in another."
"Not at all; it will do very well."
Her room was just behind the recess in which my bed stood. I went in
with her and was astonished to see a great display of dresses, and in
an adjoining closet all the array of the toilette, linen in
abundance, and a good stock of shoes and embroidered slippers. Dumb
with surprise I looked at her, and was thoroughly satisfied with what
I saw. Nevertheless I determined to subject her to a close
examination, as I thought her manners too interesting and her linen
too extensive for her to be a mere servant. All at once I was struck
with the idea that it might be a trick of the ambassador's, for a
fine woman, well educated, and aged twenty-four or at the most
twenty-five years, seemed to me more fitted to be my mistress than my
housekeeper. I therefore asked her if she knew the ambassador, and
what wages she was to receive. She replied that she only knew M. de
Chavigni by sight, and that the steward had promised her two louis a
month and her meals in her own room.
"Where do you come from? What's your name?"
"I come from Lyons; I am a widow, and my name is Dubois."
"I am delighted to have you in my service. I shall see you again."
She then left me, and I could not help thinking her a very
interesting woman, as her speech was as dignified as her appearance.
I went down to the kitchen and found the cook, an honest-looking
fellow, who told me his name was Rosier. I had known his brother in
the service of the French ambassador at Venice. He told me that
supper would be ready at nine o'clock.
"I never eat by myself," said I.
"So I hear, sir; and I will serve supper accordingly."
"What are your wages?"
"Four louis a month."
I then went to see the rest of my people. I found two sharp-looking
footmen, and the first of them told me he would see I had what wine I
wanted. Then I inspected my bath, which seemed convenient. An
apothecary was preparing certain matters for my imaginary cure.
Finally, I took a walk round my garden, and before going in I went
into the gate-keeper's, where I found a numerous family, and some
girls who were not to be despised. I was delighted to hear everybody
speak French, and I talked with them some time.
When I got back to my room, I found Le Duc occupied in unpacking my
mails; and telling him to give my linen to Madame Dubois, I went into
a pretty cabinet adjoining, where there was a desk and all materials
necessary for writing. This closet had only one window facing north,
but it commanded a view capable of inspiring the finest thoughts. I
was amusing myself with the contemplation of this sublime prospect,
when I heard a knock at my door. It was my pretty housekeeper, who
wore a modest and pleasant expression, and did not in the least
resemble a person who bears a complaint.
"What can I do for you, madam?"
"I hope you will be good enough to order your man to be polite to
me?"
"Certainly; how has he failed in politeness?"
"He might possibly tell you in no respect. He wanted to kiss me, and
as I refused he thought himself justified in being rather insolent."
"How?"
"By laughing at me. You will pardon me, sir, but I do not like
people who make game."
"You are right; they are sure to be either silly or malicious. Make
yourself easy; Le Duc shall understand that you are to be treated
with respect. You will please sup with me."
Le Duc came in soon after, and I told him to behave respectfully
towards Madame Dubois.
"She's a sly cat," said the rascal; "she wouldn't let me kiss her."
"I am afraid you are a bad fellow."
"Is she your servant or your mistress?"
"She might be my wife."
"Oh! well, that's different. That will do; Madame Dubois shall have
all respect, and I will try my luck somewhere else."
I had a delicious supper. I was contented with my cook, my butler,
my housekeeper, and even with my Spaniard, who waited capitally at
table.
After supper I sent out Le Duc and the other servant, and as soon as
I was alone with my too lovely housekeeper, who had behaved at table
like a woman of the world, I begged her to tell me her history.
"My history, sir, is short enough, and not very interesting. I was--
born at Lyons, and my relations took me to Lausanne, as I have been
told, for I was too young at the time to remember anything about it.
My father, who was in the service of Madame d'Ermance, left me an
orphan when I was fourteen. Madame d'Ermance was fond of me, and
knowing that my mother's means were small she took me to live with
her. I had attained my seventeenth year when I entered the service
of Lady Montagu as lady's maid, and some time after I was married to
Dubois, an old servant of the house. We went to England, and three
years after my marriage I lost my husband. The climate of England
affected my lungs, and I was obliged to beg my lady to allow me to
leave her service. The worthy lady saw how weak I was, and paid the
expenses of my journey and loaded me with rich presents. I returned
to my mother at Lausanne, where my health soon returned, and I went
into the service of an English lady who was very fond of me, and
would have taken me with her to Italy if she had not conceived some
suspicions about the young Duke of Rosebury, with whom she was in
love, and whom she thought in love with me. She suspected me, but
wrongfully, of being her rival in secret. She sent me away, after
giving me rich presents, and saying how sorry she was she could not
keep me. I went back to my mother, and for two years I have lived
with the toil of my hands. Four days ago M. Lebel, the ambassador's
steward, asked me if I would enter the service of an Italian
gentleman as housekeeper. I agreed, in the hope of seeing Italy, and
this hope is the cause of my stupidity. In short: here I am."
"What stupidity are you referring to?"
"The stupidity of having entered your service before I knew you."
"I like your freedom. You would not have come, then, if you had not
known me?"
"Certainly not, for no lady will ever take me after having been with
you."
"Why not? may I ask."
"Well, sir; do you think you are the kind of man to have a house-
keeper like myself without the public believing my situation to be of
quite a different nature?"
"No, you are too pretty, and I don't look like a fossil, certainly;
but after all, what matter does it make?"
"It is all very well for you to make light of it, and if I were in
your place I would do the same; but how am I, who am a woman and not
in an independent position, to set myself above the rules and
regulations of society?"
"You mean, Madame Dubois, that you would very much like to go back to
Lausanne?"
"Not exactly, as that would not be just to you."
"How so?"
"People would be sure to say that either your words or your deeds
were too free, and you might possibly pass a rather uncharitable
judgment on me."
"What judgment could I pass on you?"
"You might think I wanted to impose on you."
"That might be, as I should be very much hurt by so sudden and
uncalled-for a departure. All the same I am sorry for you, as with
your ideas you can neither go nor stay with any satisfaction.
Nevertheless, you must do one or the other."
"I have made up my mind. I shall stay, and I am almost certain I
shall not regret it."
"I am glad to hear that, but there is one point to which I wish to
call your attention."
"What is that?"
"I will tell you. Let us have no melancholy and no scruples."
"You shall not see me melancholy, I promise you; but kindly explain
what you mean by the word 'scruples.'"
"Certainly. In its ordinary acceptation, the word 'scruple'
signifies a malicious and superstitious whim, which pronounces an
action which may be innocent to be guilty."
"When a course of action seems doubtful to me, I never look upon the
worst side of it. Besides, it is my duty to look after myself and
not other people."
"I see you have read a good deal."
"Reading is my greatest luxury. Without books I should find life
unbearable."
"Have you any books?"
"A good many. Do you understand English?"
"Not a word."
"I am sorry for that, as the English books would amuse you."
"I do not care for romances."
"Nor do I. But you don't think that there are only romances in
English, do you? I like that. Why do you take me for such a lover
of the romantic, pray?"
"I like that, too. That pretty outburst is quite to my taste, and I
am delighted to be the first to make you laugh."
"Pardon me if I laugh, but . . ."
"But me no buts, my dear; laugh away just as you like, you will find
that the best way to get over me. I really think, though, that you
put your services at too cheap a rate."
"That makes me laugh again, as it is for you to increase my wages if
you like."
"I shall take care that it is done."
I rose from table, not taken, but surprised, with this young woman,
who seemed to be getting on my blind side. She reasoned well, and in
this first interview she had made a deep impression on me. She was
young, pretty, elegant, intellectual, and of distinguished manners; I
could not guess what would be the end of our connection. I longed to
speak to M. Lebel, to thank him for getting me such a marvel, and
still more, to ask him some questions about her.
After the supper had been taken away, she came to ask if I would have
my hair put in curl papers.
"It's Le Duc's business," I answered, "but if you like, it shall be
yours for the future."
She acquitted herself like an expert.
"I see," said I, "that you are going to serve me as you served Lady
Montagu."
"Not altogether; but as you do not like melancholy, allow me to ask a
favour."
"Do so, my dear."
"Please do not ask me to give you your bath."
"Upon my honour, I did not think of doing so. It would be
scandalous. That's Le Duc's business."
"Pardon me, and allow me to ask another favour."
"Tell me everything you want."
"Allow me to have one of the door-keeper's daughters to sleep with
me."
"If it had come into my head, I would have proposed it to you. Is
she in your room now?"
"No."
"Go and call her, then."
"Let us leave that till to-morrow, as if I went at this time of night
it might make people talk."
"I see you have a store of discretion, and you may be sure I will not
deprive you of any of it."
She helped me to undress, and must have found me very modest, but I
must say it was not from virtue. My heart was engaged elsewhere, and
Madame Dubois had impressed me; I was possibly duped by her, but I
did not trouble myself to think whether I was or not. I rang for Le
Duc in the morning, and on coming in he said he had not expected the
honour.
"You're a rascal," I said, "get two cups of chocolate ready directly
after I have had my bath."
After I had taken my first cold bath, which I greatly enjoyed, I went
to bed again. Madame Dubois came in smiling, dressed in a style of
careless elegance.
"You look in good spirits."
"I am, because I am happy with you. I have had a good night, and
there is now in my room a girl as lovely as an angel, who is to sleep
with me."
"Call her in."
She called her, and a monster of ugliness entered, who made me turn
my head away.
"You haven't given yourself a rival certainly, my dear, but if she
suits you it is all right. You shall have your breakfast with me,
and I hope you will take chocolate with me every morning."
"I shall be delighted, as I am very fond of it."
I had a pleasant afternoon. M. de Chavigni spent several hours with
me. He was pleased with everything, and above all with my fair
housekeeper, of whom Lebel had said nothing to him.
"She will be an excellent cure for your love for Madame," said he.
"There you are wrong," I answered, "she might make me fall in love
with her without any diminution of my affection for my charmer."
Next day, just as I was sitting down to table with my housekeeper, I
saw a carriage coming into the courtyard, and my detestable lame
widow getting out of it. I was terribly put out, but the rules of
politeness compelled me to go and receive her.
"I was far from anticipating that you would do me so great an honour,
madam."
"I daresay; I have come to dine with you, and to ask you to do me a
favour."
"Come in, then, dinner is just being served. I beg to introduce
Madame Dubois to you."
I turned towards my charming housekeeper, and told her that the lady
would dine with us.
Madame Dubois, in the character of mistress of the house, did the
honours admirably, and my lame friend, in spite of her pride, was
very polite to her. I did not speak a dozen words during the meal,
and paid no sort of attention to the detestable creature; but I was
anxious to know what she could want me to do for her. As soon as
Madame Dubois had left the room she told me straight out that she had
come to ask me to let her have a couple of rooms in my house for
three weeks or a month at the most.
I was astonished at such a piece of impudence, and told her she asked
more than I was at liberty to give.
"You can't refuse me, as everybody knows I have come on purpose to
ask you."
"Then everybody must know that I have refused you. I want to be
alone--absolutely alone, without any kind of restriction on my
liberty. The least suspicion of company would bore me."
"I shall not bore you in any way, and you will be at perfect liberty
to ignore my presence. I shall not be offended if you don't enquire
after me, and I shall not ask after you--even if you are ill. I
shall have my meals served to me by my own servant, and I shall take
care not to walk in the garden unless I am perfectly certain you are
not there. You must allow that if you have any claims to politeness
you cannot refuse me."
"If you were acquainted with the most ordinary rules of politeness,
madam, you would not persist in a request to which I have formally
declined to accede."
She did not answer, but my words had evidently produced no effect.
I was choking with rage. I strode up and down the room, and felt
inclined to send her away by force as a madwoman. However, I
reflected that she had relations in a good position whom I might
offend if I treated her roughly, and that I might make an enemy
capable of exacting a terrible revenge; and, finally, that Madame
might disapprove of my using violence to this hideous harpy....
"Well, madam," said I, "you shall have the apartment you have
solicited with so much importunity, and an hour after you come in I
shall be on my way back to Soleure."
"I accept the apartment, and I shall occupy it the day after to-
morrow. As for your threat of returning to Soleure, it is an idle
one, as you would thereby make yourself the laughing-stock of the
whole town."
With this final impertinence she rose and went away, without taking
any further notice of me. I let her go without moving from my seat.
I was stupefied. I repented of having given in; such impudence was
unparalleled. I called myself a fool, and vowed I deserved to be
publicly hooted. I ought to have taken the whole thing as a jest; to
have contrived to get her out of the house on some pretext, and then
to have sent her about her business as a madwoman, calling all my
servants as witnesses.
My dear Dubois came in, and I told my tale. She was thunderstruck.
"I can hardly credit her requesting, or your granting, such a thing,"
said she, "unless you have some motives of your own."
I saw the force of her argument, and not wishing to make a confidante
of her I held my tongue, and went out to work off my bile.
I came in tired, after taking a stiff walk. I took supper with
Madame Dubois, and we sat at table till midnight. Her conversation
pleased me more and more; her mind was well-furnished, her speech
elegant, and she told her stories and cracked her jokes with charming
grace. She was devoid of prejudices, but by no means devoid of
principle. Her discretion was rather the result of system than of
virtue; but if she had not a virtuous spirit, her system would not
have shielded her from the storms of passion or the seductions of
vice.
My encounter with the impudent widow had so affected me that I could
not resist going at an early hour on the following day to communicate
it to M. de Chavigni. I warned Madame Dubois that if I were not back
by dinner-time she was not to wait for me.
M. de Chavigni had been told by my enemy that she was going to pay me
a visit, but he roared with laughter on hearing the steps she had
taken to gain her ends.
"Your excellency may find it very funny," said I, "but I don't."
"So I see; but take my advice, and be the first to laugh at the
adventure. Behave as if you were unaware of her presence, and that
will be a sufficient punishment for her. People will soon say she is
smitten with you, and that you disdain her love. Go and tell the
story to M.----, and stay without ceremony to dinner. I have spoken
to Lebel about your pretty housekeeper: the worthy man had no
malicious intent in sending her to you. He happened to be going to
Lausanne, and just before, I had told him to find you a good
housekeeper; thinking it over on his way, he remembered his friend
Madame Dubois, and the matter was thus arranged without malice or
pretense. She is a regular find, a perfect jewel for you, and if you
get taken with her I don't think she will allow you to languish for
long."
"I don't know, she seems to be a woman of principle."
"I shouldn't have thought you would be taken in by that sort of
thing. I will ask you both to give me a dinner to-morrow, and shall
be glad to hear her chatter."
M---- welcomed me most kindly, and congratulated me on my conquest,
which would make my country house a paradise. I joined in the jest,
of course, with the more ease that his charming wife, though I could
see that she suspected the truth, added her congratulations to those
of her husband; but I soon changed the course of their friendly mirth
by telling them the circumstances of the case. They were indignant
enough then, and the husband said that if she had really quartered
herself on me in that fashion, all I had to do was to get an
injunction from the courts forbidding her to put her foot within my
doors.
"I don't want to do that," said I, "as besides publicly disgracing
her I should be skewing my own weakness, and proclaiming that I was
not the master in my own house, and that I could not prevent her
establishing herself with me."
"I think so, too," said the wife, "and I am glad you gave way to her.
That shews how polite you are, and I shall go and call on her to
congratulate her on the welcome she got, as she told me that her
plans had succeeded."
Here the matter ended, and I accepted their invitation to dine with
them. I behaved as a friend, but with that subtle politeness which
takes away all ground for suspicion; accordingly, the husband felt no
alarm. My charmer found the opportunity to tell me that I had done
wisely in yielding to the ill-timed demand of that harpy, and that as
soon as M. de Chauvelin, whom they were expecting, had gone away
again, I could ask her husband to spend a few days with me, and that
she would doubtless come too.
"Your door-keeper's wife," she added, "was my nurse. I have been
kind to her, and when necessary I can write to you by her without
running any risk."
After calling on two Italian Jesuits who were passing through
Soleure, and inviting them to dine with me on the following day, I
returned home where the good Dubois amused me till midnight by
philosophical discussions. She admired Locke; and maintained that
the faculty of thought was not a proof of the existence of spirit in
us, as it was in the power of God to endow matter with the capacity
for thought; I was unable to controvert this position. She made me
laugh by saying that there was a great difference between thinking
and reasoning, and I had the courage to say,--
"I think you would reason well if you let yourself be persuaded to
sleep with me, and you think you reason well in refusing to be so
persuaded."
"Trust me, sir," said she; "there is as much difference between the
reasoning powers of men and women as there is between their physical
characteristics."
Next morning at nine o'clock we were taking our chocolate, when my
enemy arrived. I heard her carriage, but I did not take the
slightest notice. The villainous woman sent away the carriage and
installed herself in her room with her maid.
I had sent Le Duc to Soleure for my letters, so I was obliged to beg
my housekeeper to do my hair; and she did it admirably, as I told her
we should have the ambassador and the two Jesuits to dinner. I
thanked her, and kissed her for the first time on the cheek, as she
would not allow me to touch her beautiful lips. I felt that we were
fast falling in love with one another, but we continued to keep
ourselves under control, a task which was much easier for her than
for me, as she was helped by that spirit of coquetry natural to the
fair sex, which often has greater power over them than love itself.
M. de Chavigni came at two; I had consulted him before asking the
Jesuits, and had sent my carriage for them. While we were waiting
for these gentlemen we took a turn in the garden, and M. de Chavigni
begged my fair housekeeper to join us as soon as she had discharged
certain petty duties in which she was then engaged.
M. de Chavigni was one of those men who were sent by France to such
powers as she wished to cajole and to win over to her interests.
M. de l'Hopital, who knew how to gain the heart of Elizabeth
Petrovna, was another; the Duc de Nivernois, who did what he liked
with the Court of St. James's in 1762, is a third instance.
Madame Dubois came out to us in due course, and entertained us very
agreeably; and M. de Chavigni told me that he considered she had all
the qualities which would make a man happy. At dinner she enchanted
him and captivated the two Jesuits by her delicate and subtle wit.
In the evening this delightful old nobleman told me he had spent a
most pleasant day, and after asking me to dine at his house while M.
de Chauvelin was there, he left me with an effusive embrace.
M. de Chauvelin, whom I had the honour to know at Versailles, at M.
de Choiseul's, was an extremely pleasant man. He arrived at Soleure
in the course of two days, and M. de Chavigni having advised me of
his presence I hastened to pay my court to him. He remembered me,
and introduced me to his wife, whom I had not the honour of knowing.
As chance placed me next to my charmer at table, my spirits rose, and
my numerous jests and stories put everybody in a good temper. On M.
de Chauvelin remarking that he knew some pleasant histories of which
I was the hero, M. de Chavigni told him that he did not know the best
of all, and recounted to him my adventure at Zurich. M. de Chauvelin
then told Madame that to serve her he would willingly transform
himself into a footman, on which M. ---- joined in and said that I
had a finer taste for beauty, as she, for whose sake I had made
myself into a waiter, was at that moment a guest of mine in my
country house.
"Ah, indeed!" said M. de Chauvelin, "then we must come and see your
quarters, M. Casanova."
I was going to reply, when M. de Chavigni anticipated me by saying,
"Yes, indeed! and I hope he will lend me his beautiful hall to give
you a ball next Sunday."
In this manner the good-natured courtier prevented me from promising
to give a ball myself, and relieved me of my foolish boast, which I
should have been wrong in carrying out, as it would have been an
encroachment on his privilege as ambassador of entertaining these
distinguished strangers during the five or six days they might stay
at Soleure. Besides, if I had kept to my word, it would have
involved me in a considerable expense, which would not have helped me
in my suit.
The conversation turning on Voltaire, the Ecossaise was mentioned,
and the acting of my neighbour was highly commended in words that
made her blush and shine in her beauty like a star, whereat her
praises were renewed.
After dinner the ambassador invited us to his ball on the day after
the morrow, and I went home more deeply in love than ever with my
dear charmer, whom Heaven had designed to inflict on me the greatest
grief I have had in my life, as the reader shall see.
I found that my housekeeper had gone to bed, and I was glad of it,
for the presence of my fair one had excited my passions to such an
extent that my reason might have failed to keep me within the bounds
of respect. Next morning she found me sad, and rallied me in such a
way that I soon recovered my spirits. While we were taking our
chocolate the lame creature's maid brought me a note, and I sent her
away, telling her that I would send the answer by my own servant.
This curious letter ran as follows:
"The ambassador has asked me to his ball on Sunday. I answered that
I was not well, but if I found myself better in the evening I would
come. I think that as I am staying in your house I ought to be
introduced by you or stay away altogether. So if you do not wish to
oblige me by taking me, I must beg of you to tell the ambassador that
I am ill. Pardon me if I have taken the liberty of infringing our
agreement in this peculiar instance, but it is a question of keeping
up some sort of appearance in public."
"Not so," I cried, mad with rage; and taking my pen I wrote thus:
"I think your idea is a beautiful one, madam. You will have to be
ill, as I mean to keep to the conditions you made yourself, and to
enjoy full liberty in all things, and I shall therefore deny myself
the honour of taking you to the ball which the ambassador is to give
in my hall."
I read her insolent letter and my reply to my housekeeper, who
thought the answer just what she deserved. I then sent it to her.
I passed the next two days quietly and agreeably without going out or
seeing any visitors, but the society of Madame Dubois was all-
sufficient for me. Early on Sunday morning the ambassador's people
came to make the necessary preparations for the ball and supper.
Lebel came to pay me his respects while I was at table. I made him
sit down, while I thanked him for procuring me a housekeeper who was
all perfection.
Lebel was a fine man, middle-aged, witty, and an excellent steward,
though perfectly honest.
"Which of you two," said he to me, "is the most taken in?"
"We are equally pleased with each other," answered my charming
housekeeper.
To my great delight the first pair to appear were M.---- and Madame.
She was extremely polite to Madame Dubois, and did not shew the
slightest astonishment when I introduced her as my housekeeper. She
told me that I must take her to see her lame friend, and to my great
disgust I had to go. We were received with a show of great
friendship, and she went out with us into the garden, taking M.----'s
arm, while his wife leant amorously on mine.
When we had made a few turns of the garden, Madame begged me to take
her to her nurse. As her husband was close by, I said,--
"Who is your nurse?"
"Your door-keeper's wife," said her husband, "we will wait for you in
this lady's apartment."
"Tell me, sweetheart," said she on the way, "does not your pretty
housekeeper sleep with you?"
"I swear she does not; I can only love you."
"I would like to believe you, but I find it hard to do so; however,
if you are speaking the truth it is wrong of you to keep her in the
house, as nobody will believe in your innocence."
"It is enough for me that you believe in it. I admire her, and at
any other time I expect we could not sleep under the same roof
without sleeping in the same bed; but now that you rule my heart I am
not capable of a passion for her."
"I am delighted to hear it; but I think she is very pretty."
We went in to see her nurse, who called her "my child," and kissed
her again and again, and then left us alone to prepare some lemonade
for us. As soon as we found ourselves alone our mouths were glued
together, and my hands touched a thousand beauties, covered only by a
dress of light sarcenet; but I could not enjoy her charms without
this cruel robe, which was all the worse because it did not conceal
the loveliness beneath it. I am sure that the good nurse would have
kept us waiting a long time if she had known how we longed to be left
alone for a few moments longer; but, alas! the celerity with which
she made those two glasses of lemonade was unexampled.
"It was made beforehand, was it?" said I, when I saw her coming in.
"Not at all, sir; but I am a quick hand."
"You are, indeed."
These words made my charmer go off into a peal of laughter, which she
accompanied with a significant glance in my direction. As we were
going away she said that as things seemed to be against us we must
wait till her husband came to spend a few days with me.
My terrible enemy gave us some sweets, which she praised very highly,
and above all some quince marmalade, which she insisted on our
testing. We begged to be excused, and Madame pressed my foot with
hers. When we had got away she told me I had been very wise not to
touch anything, as the widow was suspected of having poisoned her
husband.
The ball, the supper, the refreshments, and the guests were all of
the most exquisite and agreeable kind. I only danced one minuet with
Madame de Chauvelin, nearly all my evening being taken up with
talking to her husband. I made him a present of my translation of
his poem on the seven deadly sins, which he received with much
pleasure.
"I intend," said I, "to pay you a visit at Turin."
"Are you going to bring your housekeeper with you?"
"No."
"You are wrong, for she is a delightful person."
Everybody spoke of my dear Dubois in the same way. She had a perfect
knowledge of the rules of good breeding, and she knew how to make
herself respected without being guilty of the slightest presumption.
In vain she was urged to dance, and she afterwards told me that if
she had yielded she would have become an object of hatred to all the
ladies. She knew that she could dance exquisitely.
M. de Chauvelin went away in two days, and towards the end of the
week I heard from Madame d'Urfe, who told me that she had spent two
days at Versailles in furtherance of my desires. She sent me a copy
of the letters of pardon signed by the king in favour of the relation
of M.----, assuring me that the original had been sent to the colonel
of his regiment, where he would be reinstated in the rank which he
held before the duel.
I had my horses put into my carriage, and hastened to carry this good
news to M. de Chavigni. I was wild with joy, and I did not conceal
it from the ambassador, who congratulated me, since M.---- having
obtained by me, without the expenditure of a penny, a favour which
would have cost him dear if he had succeeded in purchasing it, would
henceforth be only too happy to treat me with the utmost confidence.
To make the matter still more important, I begged my noble friend to
announce the pardon to M.---- in person, and he immediately wrote a
note to that gentleman requesting his presence.
As soon as he made his appearance, the ambassador handed him the copy
of the pardon, telling him that he owed it all to me. The worthy man
was in an ecstasy, and asked what he owed me.
"Nothing, sir, unless you will give me your friendship, which I value
more than all the gold in the world; and if you would give me a proof
of your friendship, come and spend a few days with me; I am
positively dying of loneliness. The matter I have done for you is a
mere trifle; you see how quickly it has been arranged."
"A mere trifle! I have devoted a year's labour to it; I have moved
heaven and earth without succeeding, and in a fortnight you have
accomplished it. Sir, you may dispose of my life."
"Embrace me, and come and see me. I am the happiest of men when I am
enabled to serve persons of your merit."
"I will go and tell the good news to my wife, who will love you as
well as I do."
"Yes, do so," said the ambassador, "and bring her to dinner here to-
morrow."
When we were alone together, the Marquis de Chavigni, an old courtier
and a wit, began to make some very philosophical reflections on the,
state of a court where nothing can be said to be easy or difficult
per se, as the one at a moment's notice may become the other; a court
where justice often pleads in vain, while interest or even
importunity get a ready hearing. He had known Madame d'Urfe, had
even paid his court to her at the period when she was secretly
beloved by the regent. He it was who had given her the name of
Egeria, because she said she had a genius who directed her and passed
the nights with her when she slept by herself. The ambassador then
spoke of M.----, who had undoubtedly become a very great friend of
mine.
"The only way to blind a jealous husband," said he, "is to make him
your friend, for friendship will rarely admit jealousy."
The next day at dinner, at the ambassador's, Madame gave me a
thousand proofs of grateful friendship, which my heart interpreted as
pledges of love. The husband and wife promised to pay me a three
days' visit in the following week at my country house.
They kept their word without giving me any further warning, but I was
not taken by surprise as I had made all preparations for their
reception.
My heart leapt with joy on seeing my charmer getting down from the
carriage, but my joy was not unalloyed, as the husband told me that
they must absolutely return on the fourth day, and the wife insisted
on the horrible widow being present at all our conversation.
I took my guests to the suite of rooms I had prepared for them, and
which I judged most suitable for my designs. It was on the ground
floor, opposite to my room. The bedroom had a recess with two beds,
separated by a partition through which one passed by a door. I had
the key to all the doors, and the maid would sleep in a closet beyond
the ante-chamber.
In obedience to my divinity's commands we went and called on the
widow, who gave us a cordial welcome; but under the pretext of
leaving us in freedom refused to be of our company during the three
days. However, she gave in when I told her that our agreement was
only in force when I was alone.
My dear Dubois, with her knowledge of the rules of society, did not
need a hint to have her supper in her room, and we had an exquisite
meal as I had given orders that the fare should be of the best.
After supper I took my guests to their apartment, and felt obliged to
do the same by the widow. She wanted me to assist at her toilet, but
I excused myself with a bow. She said, maliciously, that after all
the pains I had taken I deserved to be successful. I gave her no
answer.
Next morning, as we were walking in the garden, I warned my charmer
that I had all the keys of the house, and that I could introduce
myself into her room at any moment.
"I am waiting," said she, "for my husband's embraces, which he has
prefaced with caresses, as is usual with him. We must therefore wait
till the night after next, which will take away all risk, as I have
never known him to embrace me for two nights in succession."
About noon we had a visit from M. de Chavigni, who came to ask for
dinner, and made a great to-do when he heard that my housekeeper
dined in her room. The ladies said he was quite right, so we all
went and made her sit down at table with us. She must have been
flattered, and the incident evidently increased her good humour, as
she amused us by her wit and her piquant stories about Lady Montagu.
When we had risen from table Madame said to me,--
"You really must be in love with that young woman; she is ravishing."
"If I could pass two hours in your company to-night, I would prove to
you that I am yours alone."
"It is still out of the question, as my husband has ascertained that
the moon changes to-day."
"He has to ask leave of the moon, has he, before discharging so sweet
a duty?"
"Exactly. According to his system of astrology, it is the only way
to keep his health and to have the son that Heaven wills to grant
him, and indeed without aid from above it is hardly likely that his
wishes will be accomplished."
"I hope to be the instrument of Heaven," said I, laughing.
"I only hope you may."
Thus I was obliged to wait. Next morning, as we were walking in the
garden, she said to me,--
"The sacrifice to the moon has been performed, and to make sure I
will cause him to renew his caresses tonight as soon as we go to bed;
and after that he is certain to sleep soundly. You can come at an
hour after midnight; love will await you."
Certain of my bliss, I gave myself up to the joy that such a
certainty kindles in a fiery heart. It was the only night remaining,
as M.---- had decided that on the next day they would return to
Soleure.
After supper I took the ladies to their apartments, and on returning
told my housekeeper that I had a good deal of writing to do, and that
she should go to bed.
Just before one o'clock I left my room, and the night being a dark
one I had to feel my way half round my house, and to my surprise
found the door open; but I did not pay any attention to this
circumstance. I opened the door of the second ante-chamber, and the
moment I shut it again a hand seized mine, whilst another closed my
lips. I only heard a whispered "hush!" which bade me silent. A sofa
was at hand; we made it our altar of sacrifice, and in a moment I was
within the temple of love. It was summer time and I had only two
hours before me, so I did not lose a moment, and thinking I held
between my arms the woman I had so long sighed for I renewed again
and again the pledges of my ardent love. In the fulness of my bliss
I thought her not awaiting me in her bed an admirable idea, as the
noise of our kisses and the liveliness of our motions might have
awakened the troublesome husband. Her tender ecstasies equalled
mine, and increased my bliss by making me believe (oh, fatal error!)
that of all my conquests this was the one of which I had most reason
to boast.
To my great grief the clock warned me that it was time for me to be
gone. I covered her with the tenderest kisses, and returning to my
room, in the greatest gladness, I resigned myself to sleep.
I was roused at nine o'clock by M.----, who seemed in a happy frame
of mind, and shewed me a letter he had just received, in which his
relative thanked me for restoring him to his regiment. In this
letter, which was dictated by gratitude, he spoke of me as if I had
been a divinity.
"I am delighted," I said, "to have been of service to you."
"And I," said he, "am equally pleased to assure you of my gratitude.
Come and breakfast with us, my wife is still at her toilette. Come
along."
I rose hastily, and just as I was leaving the room I saw the dreadful
widow, who seemed full of glee, and said,--
"I thank you, sir; I thank you with all my heart. I beg to leave you
at liberty again; I am going back to Soleure."
"Wait for a quarter of an hour, we are going to breakfast with
Madame."
"I can't stop a moment, I have just wished her good day, and now I
must be gone. Farewell, and remember me."
"Farewell, madam."
She had hardly gone before M.---- asked me if the woman was beside
herself.
"One might think so, certainly," I replied, "for she has received
nothing but politeness at my hands, and I think she might have waited
to go back with you in the evening."
We went to breakfast and to discuss this abrupt leave-taking, and
afterwards we took a turn in the garden where we found Madame Dubois.
M.---- took possession of her; and as I thought his wife looking
rather downcast I asked her if she had not slept well.
"I did not go to sleep till four o'clock this morning," she replied,
"after vainly sitting up in bed waiting for you till that time. What
unforeseen accident prevented your coming?"
I could not answer her question. I was petrified. I looked at her
fixedly without replying; I could not shake off my astonishment. At
last a dreadful suspicion came into my head that I had held within my
arms for two hours the horrible monster whom I had foolishly received
in my house. I was seized with a terrible tremor, which obliged me
to go and take shelter behind the arbour and hide my emotion. I felt
as though I should swoon away. I should certainly have fallen if I
had not rested my head against a tree.
My first idea had been a fearful thought, which I hastened to repel,
that Madame, having enjoyed me, wished to deny all knowledge of the
fact--a device which is in the power of any woman who gives up her
person in the dark to adopt, as it is impossible to convict her of
lying. However, I knew the divine creature I had thought I possessed
too well to believe her capable of such base deceit. I felt that she
would have been lacking in delicacy, if she had said she had waited
for me in vain by way of a jest; as in such a case as this the least
doubt is a degradation. I was forced, then, to the conclusion that
she had been supplanted by the infernal widow. How had she managed
it? How had she ascertained our arrangements? I could not
imagine, and I bewildered myself with painful surmises. Reason only
comes to the aid of the mind when the confusion produced by painful
thoughts has almost vanished. I concluded, then, that I had spent
two hours with this abominable monster; and what increased my
anguish, and made me loathe and despise myself still more, was that I
could not help confessing that I had been perfectly happy. It was an
unpardonable mistake, as the two women differed as much as white does
from black, and though the darkness forbade my seeing, and the
silence my hearing, my sense of touch should have enlightened me--
after the first set-to, at all events, but my imagination was in a
state of ecstasy. I cursed love, my nature, and above all the
inconceivable weakness which had allowed me to receive into my house
the serpent that had deprived me of an angel, and made me hate myself
at the thought of having defiled myself with her. I resolved to die,
after having torn to pieces with my own hands the monster who had
made me so unhappy.
While I was strengthening myself in this resolution M.---- came up to
me and asked me kindly if I were ill; he was alarmed to see me pale
and covered with drops of sweat. "My wife," said the worthy man,
"is uneasy about you, and sent me to look after you." I told him I
had to leave her on account of a sudden dizziness, but that I began
to feel better. "Let us rejoin her." Madame Dubois brought me a
flask of strong waters, saying pleasantly that she was sure it was
only the sudden departure of the widow that had put me out.
We continued our walk, and when we were far enough from the husband,
who was with my housekeeper, I said I had been overcome by what she
had said, but that it had doubtless been spoken jestingly.
"I was not jesting at all," said she, with a sigh, "tell me what
prevented your coming."
Again I was struck dumb. I could not make up my mind to tell her the
story, and I did not know what to say to justify myself. I was
silent and confused when my housekeeper's little servant came up and
gave me a letter which the wretched widow had sent her by an express.
She had opened it, and found an enclosure addressed to me inside. I
put it in my pocket, saying I would read it at my leisure. On Madame
saying in joke that it was a love-letter, I could not laugh, and made
no answer. The servant came to tell us that dinner was served, but I
could touch nothing. My abstinence was put down to my being unwell.
I longed to read the letter, but I wished to be alone to do so, and
that was a difficult matter to contrive.
Wishing to avoid the game of piquet which formed our usual
afternoon's amusement, I took a cup of coffee, and said that I
thought the fresh air would do me good. Madame seconded me, and
guessing what I wanted she asked me to walk up and down with her in a
sheltered alley in the garden. I offered her my arm, her husband
offered his to my housekeeper, and we went out.
As soon as my mistress saw that we were free from observation, she
spoke as follows,--
"I am sure that you spent the night with that malicious woman, and I
am afraid of being compromised in consequence. Tell me everything;
confide in me without reserve; 'tis my first intrigue, and if it is
to serve as a lesson you should conceal nothing from me. I am sure
you loved me once, tell me that you have not become my enemy."
"Good heavens! what are you saying? I your enemy!"
"Then tell me all, and before you read that wretched creature's
letter. I adjure you in the name of love to hide nothing from me."
"Well, divine creature, I will do as you bid me. I came to your
apartment at one o'clock, and as soon as I was in the second ante-
chamber, I was taken by the arm, and a hand was placed upon my lips
to impose silence; I thought I held you in my arms, and I laid you
gently on the sofa. You must remember that I felt absolutely certain
it was you; indeed, I can scarcely doubt it even now. I then passed
with you, without a word being spoken, two of the most delicious
hours I have ever experienced. Cursed hours! of which the
remembrance will torment me for the remainder of my days. I left you
at a quarter past three. The rest is known to you."
"Who can have told the monster that you were going to visit me at
that hour?"
"I can't make out, and that perplexes me."
"You must confess that I am the most to be pitied of us three, and
perhaps, alas! the only one who may have a just title to the name
'wretched.'"
"If you love me, in the name of Heaven do not say that; I have
resolved to stab her, and to kill myself after having inflicted on
her that punishment she so well deserves."
"Have you considered that the publicity of such an action would
render me the most unfortunate of women? Let us be more moderate,
sweetheart; you are not to blame for what has happened, and if
possible I love you all the more. Give me the letter she has written
to you. I will go away from you to read it, and you can read it
afterwards, as if we were seen reading it together we should have to
explain matters."
"Here it is."
I then rejoined her husband, whom my housekeeper was sending into
fits of laughter. The conversation I had just had had calmed me a
little, and the trustful way in which she had asked for the letter
had done me good. I was in a fever to know the contents, and yet I
dreaded to read it, as it could only increase my rage and I was
afraid of the results.
Madame rejoined us, and after we had separated again she gave me the
letter, telling me to keep it till I was alone. She asked me to give
her my word of honour to do nothing without consulting her, and to
communicate all my designs to her by means of her nurse.
"We need not fear the harpy saying anything about it," she remarked,
"as she would first have to proclaim her own prostitution, and as for
us, concealment is the best plan. And I would have you note that the
horrible creature gives you a piece of advice you would do well to
follow."
What completely tore my heart asunder during this interview was to
see great tears--tears of love and grief--falling from her beautiful
eyes; though to moderate my anguish she forced a smile. I knew too
well the importance she attached to her fair fame not to guess that
she was tormented with the idea that the terrible widow knew of the
understanding between us, and the thought added fresh poignancy to my
sorrow.
This amiable pair left me at seven in the evening, and I thanked the
husband in such a manner that he could not doubt my sincerity, and,
in truth, I said no more than I felt. There is no reason why the
love one feels for a woman should hinder one from being the true
friend of her husband--if she have a husband. The contrary view is a
hateful prejudice, repugnant both to nature and to philosophy. After
I had embraced him I was about to kiss the hand of his charming wife,
but he begged me to embrace her too, which I did respectfully but
feelingly.
I was impatient to read the terrible letter, and as soon as they were
gone I shut myself up in my room to prevent any interruptions. The
epistle was as follows:
"I leave your house, sir, well enough pleased, not that I have spent
a couple of hours with you, for you are no better than any other man,
but that I have revenged myself on the many open marks of contempt
you have given me; for your private scorn I care little, and I
willingly forgive you. I have avenged myself by unmasking your
designs and the hypocrisy of your pretty prude, who will no longer be
able to treat me with that irritating air of superiority which she,
affecting a virtue which she does not possess, has displayed towards
me. I have avenged myself in the fact that she must have been
waiting for you all the night, and I would have given worlds to have
heard the amusing conversation you must have had when she found out
that I had taken for vengeance's sake, and not for love, the
enjoyment which was meant for her. I have avenged myself because you
can no longer pretend to think her a marvel of beauty, as having
mistaken me for her, the difference between us must needs be slight;
but I have done you a service, too, as the thought of what has
happened should cure you of your passion. You will no longer adore
her before all other women who are just as good as she. Thus I have
disabused you, and you ought to feel grateful to me; but I dispense
you from all gratitude, and do not care if you choose to hate me,
provided your hatred leaves me in peace; but if I find your conduct
objectionable in the future, I warn you that I will tell all, since I
do not care for my own fame as I am a widow and mistress of my own
actions. I need no man's favour, and care not what men may say of
me. Your mistress, on the other hand, is in quite a different
position.
"And here I will give you a piece of advice, which should convince
you of my generosity. For the last ten years I have been troubled
with a little ailment which has resisted all attempts at treatment.
You exerted yourself to such an extent to prove how well you loved me
that you must have caught the complaint. I advise you, then, to put
yourself under treatment at once to weaken the force of the virus;
but above all do not communicate it to your mistress, who might
chance to hand it on to her husband and possibly to others, which
would make a wretched woman of her, to my grief and sorrow, since she
has never done me any harm. I felt certain that you two would
deceive the worthy husband, and I wished to have proof; thus I made
you take me in, and the position of the apartment you gave them was
enough to remove all doubts; still I wanted to have proof positive.
I had no need of any help to arrive at my ends, and I found it a
pleasant joke to keep you in the dark. After passing two nights on
the sofa all for nothing, I resolved on passing the third night
there, and my perseverance was crowned with success. No one saw me,
and my maid even is ignorant of my nocturnal wanderings, though in
any case she is accustomed to observe silence. You are, then, at
perfect liberty to bury the story in oblivion, and I advise you to do
so.
"If you want a doctor, tell him to keep his counsel, for people at
Soleure know of my little indisposition, and they might say you
caught it from me, and this would do us both harm."
Her impudence struck me so gigantic in its dimensions that I almost
laughed. I was perfectly aware that after the way I had treated her
she must hate me, but I should not have thought she would have
carried her perverse hatred so far. She had communicated to me an
infectious disease, though I did not so far feel any symptoms;
however, they would no doubt appear, and I sadly thought I should
have to go away to be cured, to avoid the gossip of malicious wits.
I gave myself up to reflection, and after two hours' thought I wisely
resolved to hold my tongue, but to be revenged when the opportunity
presented itself.
I had eaten nothing at dinner, and needed a good supper to make me
sleep. I sat down to table with my housekeeper, but, like a man
ashamed of himself, I dared not look her in the face.
CHAPTER XVI
Continuation of the Preceding Chapter--I Leave Soleure
When the servants had gone away and left us alone, it would have
looked strange if we had remained as dumb as two posts; but in my
state of mind I did not feel myself capable of breaking the silence.
My dear Dubois, who began to love me because I made her happy, felt
my melancholy react on herself, and tried to make me talk.
"Your sadness," said she, "is not like you; it frightens me. You may
console yourself by telling me of your troubles, but do not imagine
that my curiosity springs from any unworthy motive, I only want to be
of service to you. You may rely on my being perfectly discreet; and
to encourage you to speak freely, and to give you that trust in me
which I think I deserve, I will tell you what I know and what I have
learnt about yourself. My knowledge has not been obtained by any
unworthy stratagems, or by a curiosity in affairs which do not
concern me."
"I am pleased with what you say, my dear housekeeper. I see you are
my friend, and I am grateful to you. Tell me all you know about the
matter which is now troubling me, and conceal nothing."
"Very good. You are the lover and the beloved of Madame----. The
widow whom you have treated badly has played you some trick which has
involved you with your mistress, and then the wretched woman has 477
left your house with the most unpardonable rudeness this tortures
you. You fear some disastrous consequences from which you cannot
escape, your heart and mind are at war, and there is a struggle in
your breast between passion and sentiment. Perhaps I am wrong, but
yesterday you seemed to me happy and to-day miserable. I pity you,
because you have inspired me with the tenderest feelings of
friendship. I did my best to-day to converse with the husband that
you might be free to talk to the wife, who seems to me well worthy of
your love."
"All that you have said is true. Your friendship is dear to me, and
I have a high opinion of your intellectual powers. The widow is a
monster who has made me wretched in return for my contempt, and I
cannot revenge myself on her. Honour will not allow me to tell you
any more, and indeed it would be impossible for you or any one else
to alleviate the grief that overwhelms me. It may possibly be my
death, but in the mean time, my dear Dubois, I entreat you to
continue your friendship towards me, and to treat me with entire
candour. I shall always attend to what you say, and thus you will be
of the greatest service to me. I shall not be ungrateful."
I spent a weary night as I had expected, for anger, the mother of
vengeance, always made me sleepless, while sudden happiness had
sometimes the same effect.
I rang for Le Duc early in the morning, but, instead of him, Madame
Dubois's ugly little attendant came, and told me that my man was ill,
and that the housekeeper would bring me my chocolate. She came in
directly after, and I had no sooner swallowed the chocolate than I
was seized with a violent attack of sickness, the effect of anger,
which at its height may kill the man who cannot satisfy it. My
concentrated rage called for vengeance on the dreadful widow, the
chocolate came on the top of the anger, and if it had not been
rejected I should have been killed; as it was I was quite exhausted.
Looking at my housekeeper I saw she was in tears, and asked her why
she wept.
"Good heavens! Do you think I have a heart of stone?"
"Calm yourself; I see you pity me. Leave me, and I hope I shall be
able to get some sleep."
I went to sleep soon after, and I did not wake till I had slept for
seven hours. I felt restored to life. I rang the bell, my
housekeeper came in, and told me the surgeon of the place had called.
She looked very melancholy, but on seeing my more cheerful aspect I
saw gladness reappearing on her pretty face.
"We will dine together, dearest," said I, "but tell the surgeon to
come in. I want to know what he has to say to me."
The worthy man entered, and after looking carefully round the room to
see that we were alone, he came up to me, and whispered in my ear
that Le Duc had a malady of a shameful character.
I burst out laughing, as I had been expecting some terrible news.
"My dear doctor," said I, "do all you can to cure him, and I will pay
you handsomely, but next time don't look so doleful when you have
anything to tell me. How old are you?"
"Nearly eighty."
"May God help you!"
I was all the more ready to sympathize with my poor Spaniard, as I
expected to find myself in a like case.
What a fellow-feeling there is between the unfortunate! The poor man
will seek in vain for true compassion at the rich man's doors; what
he receives is a sacrifice to ostentation and not true benevolence;
and the man in sorrow should not look for pity from one to whom
sorrow is unknown, if there be such a person on the earth.
My housekeeper came in to dress me, and asked me what had been the
doctor's business.
"He must have said something amusing to make you laugh."
"Yes, and I should like to tell you what it was; but before I do so I
must ask you if you know what the venereal disease is?"
"Yes, I do; Lady Montagu's footman died of it while I was with her"
"Very good, but you should pretend not to know what it is, and
imitate other ladies who assume an ignorance which well becomes them.
Poor Le Duc has got this disease."
"Poor fellow, I am sorry for him! Were you laughing at that?"
"No; it was the air of mystery assumed by the old doctor which amused
me."
"I too have a confidence to make, and when you have heard it you must
either forgive me or send me away directly."
"Here is another bother. What the devil can you have done? Quick!
tell me."
"Sir, I have robbed you!"
"What robbed me? When? How? Can you return me what you have
taken? I should not have thought you capable of such a thing. I
never forgive a robber or a liar."
"You are too hasty, sir. I am sure you will forgive me, as I robbed
you only half an hour ago, and I am now going to return to you the
theft."
"You are a singular woman, my dear. Come, I will vouchsafe full
forgiveness, but restore immediately what you have taken."
"This is what I stole."
"What! that monster's letter? Did you read it?"
"Yes, of course, for otherwise I should not have committed a theft,
should I?"
"You have robbed me my secret, then, and that is a thing you cannot
give me back. You have done very wrong."
"I confess I have. My theft is all the greater in that I cannot make
restoration. Nevertheless, I promise never to speak a word of it all
my life, and that ought to gain me my pardon. Give it me quickly."
"You are a little witch. I forgive you, and here is the pledge of my
mercy." So saying I fastened my lips on hers.
"I don't doubt the validity of your pardon; you have signed with a
double and a triple seal."
"Yes; but for the future do not read, or so much as touch, any of my
papers, as I am the depositary of secrets of which I am not free to
dispose."
"Very good; but what shall I do when I find papers on the ground, as
that letter was?"
"You must pick them up, but not read them."
"I promise to do so."
"Very well, my dear; but you must forget the horrors you have read."
"Listen to me. Allow me to remember what I have read; perhaps you
may be the gainer. Let us talk over this affair, which has made my
hair stand on end. This monster of immodesty has given you two
mortal blows--one in the body and one in the soul; but that is not
the worst, as she thinks that Madame's honour is in her keeping.
This, in my thinking, is the worst of all; for, in spite of the
affront, your mutual love might continue, and the disease which the
infamous creature has communicated to you would pass off; but if the
malicious woman carries out her threats, the honour of your charming
mistress is gone beyond return. Do not try to make me forget the
matter, then, but let us talk it over and see what can be done."
I thought I was dreaming when I heard a young woman in her position
reasoning with more acuteness than Minerva displays in her colloquies
with Telemachus. She had captured not only my esteem but my respect.
"Yes, my dear," I answered, "let us think over some plan for
delivering a woman who deserves the respect of all good men from this
imminent danger; and the very thought that we have some chance of
success makes me indebted to you. Let us think of it and talk of it
from noon to night. Think kindly of Madame ----, pardon her first
slip, protect her honour, and have pity on my distress. From
henceforth call me no more your master but your friend. I will be
your friend till death; I swear it to you. What you say is full of
wisdom; my heart is yours. Embrace me."
"No, no, that is not necessary; we are young people, and we might
perhaps allow ourselves to go astray. I only wish for your
friendship; but I do not want you to give it to me for nothing. I
wish to deserve it by giving you solid proofs of my friendship for
you. In the meanwhile I will tell them to serve dinner, and I hope
that after you have eaten something you will be quite well."
I was astonished at her sagacity. It might all be calculated
artifice, and her aim might be to seduce me, but I did not trouble
myself about that. I found myself almost in love with her, and like
to be the dupe of her principles, which would have made themselves
felt, even if she had openly shared my love. I decided that I would
add no fuel to my flames, and felt certain that they would go out of
their own accord. By leaving my love thus desolate it would die of
exhaustion. I argued like a fool. I forgot that it is not possible
to stop at friendship with a pretty woman whom one sees constantly,
and especially when one suspects her of being in love herself. At
its height friendship becomes love, and the palliative one is forced
to apply to soothe it for a moment only increases its intensity.
Such was the experience of Anacreon with Smerdis, and Cleobulus with
Badyllus. A Platonist who pretends that one is able to live with a
young woman of whom one is fond, without becoming more than her
friend, is a visionary who knows not what he says. My housekeeper
was too young, too pretty, and above all too pleasant, she had too
keen a wit, for me not to be captivated by all these qualities
conjoined; I was bound to become her lover.
We dined quietly together without saying anything about the affair we
had at heart, for nothing is more imprudent or more dangerous than to
speak in the presence of servants, who out of maliciousness or
ignorance put the worst construction on what they hear; add or
diminish, and think themselves privileged to divulge their master's
secrets, especially as they know them without having been entrusted
with them.
As soon as we were alone, my dear Dubois asked me if I had sufficient
proof of Le Duc's fidelity.
"Well, my dear, he is a rascal and a profligate, full of impudence,
sharp-witted, ignorant, a fearful liar, and nobody but myself has any
power over him. However, he has one good quality, and that is blind
obedience to my orders. He defies the stick, and he would defy the
gallows if it were far enough off. When I have to ford a river on my
travels, he strips off his clothes without my telling him, and jumps
in to see if I can across in safety."
"That will do; he is just what we want under the circumstances. I
will begin by assuring you, my dear friend, as you will have me style
you thus, that Madame's honour is perfectly safe. Follow my advice,
and if the detestable widow does not take care she will be the only
person put to shame. But we want Le Duc; without him we can do
nothing. Above all we must find out how he contracted his disease,
as several circumstances might throw obstacles in the way of my
design. Go to him at once and find out all particulars, and if he
has told any of the servants what is the matter with him. When you
have heard what he has to say, warn him to keep the matter quiet."
I made no objection, and without endeavouring to penetrate her design
I went to Le Duc. I found him lying on his bed by himself. I sat
down beside him with a smile on my face, and promised to have him
cured if he would tell me all the circumstances of the case.
"With all my heart, sir, the matter happened like this. The day you
sent me to Soleure to get your letters, I got down at a roadside
dairy to get a glass of milk. It was served to me by a young wench
who caught my fancy, and I gave her a hug; she raised no objection,
and in a quarter of an hour she made me what you see."
"Have you told anyone about it?"
"I took good care not to do so, as I should only have got laughed at.
The doctor is the only one who knows what is the matter, and he tells
me the swelling will be gone down before tomorrow, and I hope I shall
be able by that time to wait upon you."
"Very good, but remember to keep your own counsel."
I proceeded to inform my Minerva of our conversation, and she said,--
"Tell me whether the widow could take her oath that she had spent the
two hours on the sofa with you."
"No, for she didn't see me, and I did not say a word."
"Very good; then sit down at your desk and write, and tell her she is
a liar, as you did not leave your room at all, and that you are
making the necessary enquiries in your household to find out who is
the wretched person she has unwittingly contaminated. Write at once
and send off your letter directly. In an hour and a half's time you
can write another letter; or rather you can copy what I am just going
to put down."
"My dear, I see your plan; it is an ingenious one, but I have given
my word of honour to Madame to take no steps in the matter without
first consulting her."
"Then your word of honour must give way to the necessity of saving
her honour. Your love retards your steps, but everything depends on
our promptitude, and on the interval between the first and second
letter. Follow my advice, I beg of you, and you will know the rest
from the letter I am going to write for you to copy. Quick I write
letter number one."
I did not allow myself to reflect. I was persuaded that no better
plan could be found than that of my charming governess, and I
proceeded to write the following love-letter to the impudent monster:
"The impudence of your letter is in perfect accord with the three
nights you spent in discovering a fact which has no existence save in
your own perverse imagination. Know, cursed woman, that I never left
my room, and that I have not to deplore the shame of having passed
two hours with a being such as you. God knows with whom you did pass
them, but I mean to find out if the whole story is not the creation
of your devilish brain, and when I do so I will inform you.
"You may thank Heaven that I did not open your letter till after M.
and Madame had gone. I received it in their presence, but despising
the hand that wrote it I put it in my pocket, little caring what
infamous stuff it contained. If I had been curious enough to read it
and my guests had seen it, I would have you know that I would have
gone in pursuit of you, and at this moment you would have been a
corpse. I am quite well, and have no symptoms of any complaint, but
I shall not lower myself to convince you of my health, as your eyes
would carry contagion as well as your wretched carcase."
I shewed the letter to my dear Dubois, who thought it rather strongly
expressed, but approved of it on the whole; I then sent it to the
horrible being who had caused me such unhappiness. An hour and a
half afterwards I sent her the following letter, which I copied
without addition or subtraction:
"A quarter of an hour after I had sent off my letter, the village
doctor came to tell me that my man had need of his treatment for a
disease of a shameful nature which he had contracted quite recently.
I told him to take care of his patient; and when he had gone I went
to see the invalid, who confessed, after some pressure, that he had
received this pretty present from you. I asked him how he had
contrived to obtain access to you, and he said that he saw you going
by your self in the dark into the apartment of M.----. Knowing that
I had gone to bed, and having no further services to render me,
curiosity made him go and see what you were doing there by stealth,
as if you had wanted to see the lady, who would be in bed by that
time, you would not have gone by the door leading to the garden. He
at first thought that you went there with ill-intent, and he waited
an hour to see if you stole anything, in which case he would have
arrested you; but as you did not come out, and he heard no noise, he
resolved to go in after you, and found you had left the door open.
He has assured me that he had no intentions in the way of carnal
enjoyment, and I can well believe him. He tells me he was on the
point of crying for help, when you took hold of him and put your hand
over his mouth; but he changed his plans on finding himself drawn
gently to a couch and covered with kisses. You plainly took him for
somebody else, 'and,' said he, 'I did her a service which she has
done ill to recompense in this fashion.' He left you without saying
a word as soon as the day began to dawn, his motive being fear of
recognition. It is easy to see that you took my servant for myself,
for in the night, you know, all cats are grey, and I congratulate you
on obtaining an enjoyment you certainly would not have had from me,
as I should most surely have recognized you directly from your breath
and your aged charms, and I can tell you it would have gone hard with
you. Luckily for you and for me, things happened otherwise. I may
tell you that the poor fellow is furious, and intends making you a
visit, from which course I believe I have no right to dissuade him.
I advise you to hear him politely, and to be in a generous mood when
he comes, as he is a determined fellow like all Spaniards, and if you
do not treat him properly he will publish the matter, and you will
have to take the consequences. He will tell you himself what his
terms are, and I daresay you will be wise enough to grant them."
An hour after I had sent off this epistle I received a reply to my
first letter. She told me that my device was an ingenious one, but
that it was no good, as she knew what she was talking about. She
defied me to shew her that I was healthy in the course of a few days.
While we were at supper, my dear Dubois tried her utmost to cheer me
up, but all to no purpose; I was too much under the influence of
strong emotion to yield to her high spirits. We discussed the third
step, which would put an apex to the scheme and cover the impudent
woman with shame. As I had written the two letters according to my
housekeeper's instructions, I determined to follow her advice to the
end. She told me what to say to Le Duc in the morning; and she was
curious to know what sort of stuff he was made of, she begged me to
let her listen behind the curtains of my bed.
Next morning Le Due came in, and I asked if he could ride on
horseback to Soleure.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "but the doctor tells me I must begin to
bathe to-morrow."
"Very good. As soon as your horse is ready, set out and go to Madame
F----, but do not let her know you come from me, or suspect that you
are a mere emissary of mine. Say that you want to speak to her. If
she refuses to receive you, wait outside in the street; but I fancy
she will receive you, and without a witness either. Then say to her,
'You have given me my complaint without having been asked, and I
require you to give me sufficient money to get myself cured.' Add
that she made you work for two hours in the dark, and that if it had
not been for the fatal present she had given to you, you would have
said nothing about it; but that finding yourself in such a state (you
needn't be ashamed to shew her) she ought not to be astonished at
your taking such a course. If she resists, threaten her with the
law. That's all you have to do, but don't let my name appear.
Return directly without loss of time, that I may know how you have
got on."
"That's all very fine, sir, but if this jolly wench has me pitched
out of window, I shan't come home quite so speedily."
"Quite so, but you needn't be afraid; I will answer for your safety."
"It's a queer business you are sending me on."
"You are the only man I would trust to do it properly."
"I will do it all right, but I want to ask you one or two essential
questions. Has the lady really got the what d'you call it?"
"She has."
"I am sorry for her. But how am I to stick to it that she has
peppered me, when I have never spoken to her?"
"Do you usually catch that complaint by speaking, booby?"
"No, but one speaks in order to catch it, or while one is catching
it."
"You spent two hours in the dark with her without a word being
spoken, and she will see that she gave this fine present to you while
she thought she was giving it to another."
"Ah! I begin to see my way, sir. But if we were in the dark, how was
I to know it was she I had to do with?
"Thus: you saw her going in by the garden door, and you marked her
unobserved. But you may be sure she won't ask you any of these
questions."
"I know what to do now. I will start at once, and I am as curious as
you to know what her answer will be. But here's another question
comes into my head. She may try to strike a bargain over the sum I
am to ask for my cure; if so, shall I be content with three hundred
francs?"
"That's too much for her, take half."
"But it isn't much for two hours of such pleasure for her and six
weeks of such pain for me."
"I will make up the rest to you."
"That's good hearing. She is going to pay for damage she has done.
I fancy I see it all, but I shall say nothing. I would bet it is you
to whom she has made this fine present, and that you want to pay her
out."
"Perhaps so; but keep your own counsel and set out."
"Do you know I think the rascal is unique," said my dear Dubois,
emerging from her hiding-place, "I had hard work to keep from
laughing when he said that if he were pitched out of the window he
would not come back so soon. I am sure he will acquit himself better
than ever did diplomatist. When he gets to Soleure the monster will
have already dispatched her reply to your second letter. I am
curious to see how it will turn out."
"To you, my dear, the honour of this comedy belongs. You have
conducted this intrigue like a past master in the craft. It could
never be taken for the work of a novice."
"Nevertheless, it is my first and I hope it will be my last intrigue"
"I hope she won't defy me to 'give evidence of my health."
"You are quite well so far, I think?"
"Yes; and, by the way, it is possible she may only have leucorrhoea.
I am longing to see the end of the piece, and to set my mind at
rest."
"Will you give Madame an account of our scheme?"
"Yes; but I shall not be able to give you the credit you deserve."
"I only want to have credit in your eyes."
"You cannot doubt that I honour you immensely, and I shall certainly
not deprive you of the reward that is your due."
"The only reward I ask for is for you to be perfectly open with me."
"You are very wonderful. Why do you interest yourself so much in my
affairs? I don't like to think you are really inquisitive."
"You would be wrong to think that I have a defect which would lower
me in my own eyes. Be sure, sir, that I shall only be curious when
you are sad."
"But what can have made you feel so generously towards me?"
"Only your honourable conduct towards me."
"You touch me profoundly, and I promise to confide in you for the
future."
"You will make me happy."
Le Duc had scarcely gone an hour when a messenger on foot came to
bring me a second letter from the widow. He also gave me a small
packet, telling me that he had orders to wait for a reply. I sent
him down to wait, and I gave the letter to Madame Dubois, that she
might see what it contained. While she was reading it I leant upon
the window, my heart beating violently.
"Everything is getting on famously," cried my housekeeper. "Here is
the letter; read it."
"Whether I am being told the truth, or whether I am the victim of a
myth arising from your fertile imagination (for which you are too
well known all over Europe), I will regard the whole story as being
true, as I am not in a position to disprove it. I am deeply grieved
to have injured an innocent man who has never done me any ill, and I
will willingly pay the penalty by giving him a sum which will be more
than sufficient to cure him of the plague with which I infected him.
I beg that you will give him the twenty-five louis I am sending you;
they will serve to restore him to health, and to make him forget the
bitterness of the pleasure I am so sorry to have procured for him.
And now are you sufficiently generous to employ your authority as
master to enjoin on your man the most absolute secrecy? I hope so,
for you have reason to dread my vengeance otherwise. Consider that,
if this affair is allowed to transpire, it will be easy for me to
give it a turn which may be far from pleasant to you, and which will
force the worthy man you are deceiving to open his eyes; for I have
not changed my opinion, as I have too many proofs of your
understanding with his wife. As I do not desire that we should meet
again, I shall go to Lucerne on the pretext of family concerns. Let
me know that you have got this letter."
"I am sorry," I said, "to have sent Le Duc, as the harpy is violent,
and I am afraid of something happening to him."
"Don't be afraid," she replied, "nothing will happen, and it is
better that they should see each other; it makes it more certain.
Send her the money directly; she will have to give it to him herself,
and your vengeance will be complete. She will not be able to
entertain the slightest suspicion, especially if Le Duc shews her her
work, and in two or three hours you will have the pleasure of hearing
everything from his lips. You have reason to bless your stars, as
the honour of the woman you love is safe. The only thing that can
trouble you is the remembrance of the widow's foul embraces, and the
certainty that the prostitute has communicated her complaint to you.
Nevertheless, I hope it may prove a slight attack and be easily
cured. An inveterate leucorrhoea is not exactly a venereal disease,
and I have heard people in London say that it was rarely contagious.
We ought to be very thankful that she is going to Lucerne. Laugh and
be thankful; there is certainly a comic touch in our drama."
"Unfortunately, it is tragi-comic. I know the human heart, and I am
sure that I must have forfeited Madame's affections."
"It is true that----; but this is not the time to be thinking of such
matters. Quick! write to her briefly and return her the twenty-five
Louis."
My reply was as follows:
"Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable design of revenge, and the
impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt
bitter repentance. I hope that it will restore peace to your
conscience. Our messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine.
I send you the twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man
yourself. I could not prevent my servant from paying you a visit,
but this time you will not keep him two hours, and you will not find
it difficult to appease his anger. I wish you a good journey, and I
shall certainly flee all occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid
the horrible; and you must know, odious woman, that it isn't
everybody who endeavours to ruin the reputation of their friends.
If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne, ask him about me, and he
will tell you what sort of a reputation I have in Europe. I can
assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his misadventure, and
that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he certainly has
nothing to boast of. Farewell."
My dear Minerva approved of this letter, and I sent it with the money
by the messenger.
"The piece is not yet done," said my housekeeper, "we have three
scenes more:"
"What are they?"
"The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the
astonishment of Madame when she hears it all."
I counted the moments for Le Duc to return, but in vain; he did not
appear. I was in a state of great anxiety, although my dear Dubois
kept telling me that the only reason he was away so long was that the
widow was out. Some people are so happily constituted that they
never admit the possibility of misfortune. I was like that myself
till the age of thirty, when I was put under the Leads. Now I am
getting into my dotage and look on the dark side of everything. I am
invited to a wedding, and see nought but gloom; and witnessing the
coronation of Leopold, at Prague, I say to myself, 'Nolo coronari'.
Cursed old age, thou art only worthy of dwelling in hell, as others
before me have thought also, 'tristisque senectus'.
About half-past nine my housekeeper looked out, and saw Le Duc by the
moonlight coming along at a good pace. That news revived me. I had
no light in the room, and my housekeeper ran to hide in the recess,
for she would not have missed a word of the Spaniard's communication.
"I am dying of hunger," said he, as he came in. "I had to wait for
that woman till half-past six. When she came in she found me on the
stairs and told me to go about my business, as she had nothing to say
to me.
"'That may be, fair lady,' I replied; 'but I have a few words to say
to you, and I have been waiting here for a cursed time with that
intent.'
"'Wait a minute,' she replied; and then putting into her pocket a
packet and a letter which I thought was addressed in your writing,
she told me to follow her. As soon as I got to her room, I saw there
was no one else present, and I told her that she had infected me, and
that I wanted the wherewithal to pay the doctor. As she said nothing
I proceeded to convince her of my infected state, but she turned away
her head, and said,--
"'Have you been waiting for me long?
"'Since eleven, without having had a bite or a sup.'
"Thereupon she went out, and after asking the servant, whom I suppose
she had sent here, what time he had come back, she returned to me,
shut the door, and gave me the packet, telling me that it contained
twenty-five Louis for my cure, and that if I valued my life I would
keep silence in the matter. I promised to be discreet, and with that
I left here, and here I am.
"Does the packet belong to me?"
"Certainly. Have some supper and go to bed."
My dear Dubois came out of her recess and embraced me, and we spent a
happy evening. Next morning I noticed the first symptoms of the
disease the hateful widow had communicated to me, but in three or
four days I found it was of a very harmless character, and a week
later I was quite rid of it. My poor Spaniard, on the other hand,
was in a pitiable case.
I passed the whole of the next morning in writing to Madame. I told
her circumstantially all I had done, in spite of my promise to
consult her, and I sent her copies of all the letters to convince her
that our enemy had gone to Lucerne with the idea that her vengeance
had been only an imaginary one. Thus I shewed her that her honour
was perfectly safe. I ended by telling her that I had noticed the
first symptoms of the disease, but that I was certain of getting rid
of it in a very few days. I sent my letter through her nurse, and in
two days' time I had a few lines from her informing me that I should
see her in the course of the week in company with her husband and
M. de Chavigni.
Unhappy I! I was obliged to renounce all thoughts of love, but my
Dubois, who was with me nearly all day on account of Le Duc's
illness, began to stand me in good stead. The more I determined to
be only a friend to her, the more I was taken with her; and it was in
vain that I told myself that from seeing her without any love-making
my sentiment for her would die a natural death. I had made her a
present of a ring, telling her that whenever she wanted to get rid of
it I would give her a hundred louis for it; but this could only
happen in time of need--an impossible contingency while she continued
with me, and I had no idea of sending her away. She was natural and
sincere, endowed with a ready wit and good reasoning powers. She had
never been in love, and she had only married to please Lady Montagu.
She only wrote to her mother, and to please her I read the letters.
They were full of filial piety, and were admirably written.
One day the fancy took me to ask to read the letters her mother wrote
in reply. "She never replies," said she, "For an excellent reason,
namely, that she cannot write. I thought she was dead when I came
back from England, and it was a happy surprise to find her in perfect
health when I got to Lausanne."
"Who came with you from England?"
"Nobody."
"I can't credit that. Young, beautiful, well dressed, obliged to
associate casually with all kinds of people, young men and
profligates (for there are such everywhere), how did you manage to
defend yourself?"
"Defend myself? I never needed to do so. The best plan for a young
woman is never to stare at any man, to pretend not to hear certain
questions and certainly not to answer them, to sleep by herself in a
room where there is a lock and key, or with the landlady when
possible. When a girl has travelling adventures, one may safely say
that she has courted them, for it is easy to be discreet in all
countries if one wishes."
She spoke justly. She assured me that she had never had an adventure
and had never tripped, as she was fortunate enough not to be of an
amorous disposition. Her naive stories, her freedom from prudery,
and her sallies full of wit and good sense, amused me from morning
till night, and we sometimes thoued each other; this was going rather
far, and should have shewn us that we were on the brink of the
precipice. She talked with much admiration of the charms of Madame,
and shewed the liveliest interest in my stories of amorous adventure.
When I got on risky ground, I would make as if I would fain spare her
all unseemly details, but she begged me so gracefully to hide
nothing, that I found myself obliged to satisfy her; but when my
descriptions became so faithful as almost to set us on fire, she
would burst into a laugh, put her hand over my mouth, and fly like a
hunted gazelle to her room, and then lock herself in. One day I
asked her why she did so, and she answered, "To hinder you from
coming to ask me for what I could not refuse you at such moments."
The day before that on which M. and Madame and M. de Chavigni came to
dine with me, she asked me if I had had any amorous adventures in
Holland. I told her about Esther, and when I came to the mole and my
inspection of it, my charming curiosity ran to stop my mouth, her
sides shaking with laughter. I held her gently to me, and could not
help seeking whether she had a mole in the same place, to which she
opposed but a feeble resistance. I was prevented by my unfortunate
condition from immolating the victim on the altar of love, so we
confined ourselves to a make-believe combat which only lasted a
minute; however, our eyes took in it, and our excited feelings were
by no means appeased. When we had done she said, laughing, but yet
discreetly,--
"My dear friend, we are in love with one another; and if we do not
take care we shall not long be content with this trifling."
Sighing as she spoke, she wished me good night and went to bed with
her ugly little maid. This was the first time we had allowed
ourselves to be overcome by the violence of our passion, but the
first step was taken. As I retired to rest I felt that I was in
love, and foresaw that I should soon be under the rule of my charming
housekeeper.
M. and Madame--and M. Chavigni gave us an agreeable surprise, the
next day, by coming to dine with us, and we passed the time till
dinner by walking in the garden. My dear Dubois did the honours of
the table, and I was glad to see that my two male guests were
delighted with her, for they did not leave her for a moment during
the afternoon, and I was thus enabled to tell my charmer all I had
written to her. Nevertheless I took care not to say a word about the
share my housekeeper had had in the matter, for my mistress would
have been mortified at the thought that her weakness was known to
her.
"I was delighted to read your letters," said she, "and to hear that
that villainous woman can no longer flatter herself upon having spent
two hours with you. But tell me, how can you have actually spent
them with her without noticing, in spite of the dark, the difference
between her and me? She is much shorter, much thinner, and ten
years older. Besides, her breath is disagreeable, and I think you
know that I have not that defect. Certainly, you could not see her
hair, but you could touch, and yet you noticed nothing! I can
scarcely believe it!"
"Unhappily, it is only too true. I was inebriated with love, and
thinking only of you, I saw nothing but you."
"I understand how strong the imagination would be at first, but this
element should have been much diminished after the first or second
assault; and, above all, because she differs from me in a matter
which I cannot conceal and she cannot supply."
"You are right--a burst of Venus! When I think that I only touched
two dangling flabby breasts, I feel as if I did not deserve to live!"
"And you felt them, and they did not disgust you!"
"Could I be disgusted, could I even reflect, when I felt certain that
I held you in my arms, you for whom I would give my life. No, a
rough skin, a stinking breath, and a fortification carried with far
too much ease; nothing could moderate my amorous fury."
"What do I hear? Accursed and unclean woman, nest of impurities!
And could you forgive me all these defects?"
"I repeat, the idea that I possessed you deprived me of my thinking
faculties; all seemed to me divine."
"You should have treated me like a common prostitute, you should even
have beaten me on finding me such as you describe."
"Ah! now you are unjust"
"That may be; I am so enraged against that monster that my anger
deprives me of reason. But now that she thinks that she had to do
with a servant, and after the degrading visit she has had she ought
to die of rage and shame. What astonishes me is her believing it,
for he is shorter than you by four inches. And how can she imagine
that a servant would do it as well as you? It's not likely. I am
sure she is in love with him now. Twenty-five louis! He would have
been content with ten. What a good thing that the poor fellow's
illness happened so conveniently. But I suppose you had to tell him
all?"
"Not at all. I gave him to understand that she had made an
appointment with me in that room, and that I had really spent two
hours with her, not speaking for fear of being heard. Then, thinking
over the orders I gave him, he came to the conclusion that on finding
myself diseased afterwards I was disgusted, and being able to disavow
my presence I had done so for the sake of revenge."
"That's admirable, and the impudence of the Spaniard passes all
belief. But her impudence is the most astonishing thing of all. But
supposing her illness had been a mere trick to frighten you, what a
risk the rascal would have run!"
"I was afraid of that, as I had no symptoms of disease whatever."
"But now you really have it, and all through my fault. I am in
despair."
"Be calm, my angel, my disease is of a very trifling nature. I am
only taking nitre, and in a week I shall be quite well again. I hope
that then . . . ."
"Ah! my dear friend."
"What?"
"Don't let us think of that any more, I beseech you."
"You are disgusted, and not unnaturally; but your love cannot be very
strong, Ah! how unhappy I am."
"I am more unhappy than you. I love you, and you would be thankless
indeed if you ceased to love me. Let us love each other, but let us
not endeavour to give one another proofs of our love. It might be
fatal. That accursed widow! She is gone away, and in a fortnight we
shall be going also to Bale, where we remain till the end of
November."
The die is cast, and I see that I must submit to your decision, or
rather to my destiny, for none but fatal events have befallen me
since I came to Switzerland. My only consoling thought is that I
have made your honour safe."
"You have won my husband's friendship and esteem; we shall always be
good friends."
"If you are going I feel that I must go before you. That will tend
to convince the wretched author of my woe that there is nothing
blame-worthy in my friendship for you."
"You reason like an angel, and you convince me more and more of your
love. Where are you going?"
"To Italy; but I shall take Berne and Geneva on my way."
"You will not be coming to Bale, then? I am glad to hear it, in
spite of the pleasure it would give me to see you. No doubt your
arrival would give a handle for the gossips, and I might suffer by
it. But if possible, in the few days you are to remain, shew
yourself to be in good spirits, for sadness does not become you."
We rejoined the ambassador and M.---- who had not had time to think
about us, as my dear Dubois had kept them amused by her lively
conversation. I reproached her for the way in which she husbanded
her wit as far as I was concerned, and M. de Chavigni, seizing the
opportunity, told us it was because we were in love, and lovers are
known to be chary of their words. My housekeeper was not long in
finding a repartee, and she again began to entertain the two
gentlemen, so that I was enabled to continue my walk with Madame, who
said,--
"Your housekeeper, my dear friend, is a masterpiece. Tell me the
truth, and I promise to give you a mark of my gratitude that will
please you before I go."
"Speak; what do you wish to know?"
"You love her and she loves you in return."
"I think you are right, but so far . . . ."
"I don't want to know any more, for if matters are not yet arranged
they soon will be, and so it comes to the same thing. If you had
told me you did not love her I should not have believed you, for I
can't conceive that a man of your age can live with a woman like that
without loving her. She is very pretty and exceedingly intelligent,
she has good spirits, talents, an excellent manner, and she speaks
exceedingly well: that is enough to charm you, and I expect you will
find it difficult to separate from her. Lebel did her a bad turn in
sending her to you, as she used to have an excellent reputation, and
now she will no longer be able to get a place with ladies in the
highest society."
"I shall take her to Berne."
"That is a good idea."
Just as they were going I said that I should soon be coming to
Soleure to thank them for the distinguished reception they had given
me, as I proposed leaving in a few days. The idea of never seeing
Madame again was so painful to me that as soon as I got in I went to
bed, and my housekeeper, respecting my melancholy, retired after
wishing me good-night.
In two or three days I received a note from my charmer, bidding me
call upon them the day following at about ten o'clock, and telling me
I was to ask for dinner. I carried out her orders to the letter.
M. gave me a most friendly reception, but saying that he was obliged
to go into the country and could not be home till one o'clock, he
begged me not to be offended if he delivered me over to his wife for
the morning. Such is the fate of a miserable husband! His wife was
engaged with a young girl at tambour-work; I accepted her company on
the condition that she would not allow me to disturb her work.
The girl went away at noon, and soon after we went to enjoy the fresh
air outside the house. We sat in a summer-house from which,
ourselves unseen, we could see all the carriages that approached the
house.
"Why, dearest, did you not procure me the bliss when I was in good
health."
"Because at that time my husband suspected that you turned yourself
into a waiter for my sake, and that you could not be indifferent
towards me. Your discretion has destroyed his suspicions; and also
your housekeeper, whom he believes to be your wife, and who has taken
his fancy to such an extent, that I believe he would willingly
consent to an exchange, for a few days at any rate. Would you
agree?"
"Ah! if the exchange could be effected."
Having only an hour before me, and foreseeing that it would be the
last I should pass beside her, I threw myself at her feet. She was
full of affection, and put no obstacles in the way of my desires,
save those which my own feelings dictated, for I loved her too well
to consent to injure her health. I did all I could to replace the
utmost bliss, but the pleasure she enjoyed doubtless consisted in a
great measure in shewing me her superiority to the horrible widow.
When we saw the husband's carriage coming, we rose and took care that
the worthy man should not find us in the arbour. He made a thousand
excuses for not having returned sooner.
We had an excellent dinner, and at table he talked almost entirely of
my housekeeper, and he seemed moved when I said I meant to take her
to Lausanne to her mother. I took leave of them at five o'clock with
a broken heart, and from there I went to M. de Chavigni and told him
all my adventures. He had a right to be told, as he had done all in
his power to insure the success of a project which had only failed by
an unexampled fatality.
In admiration of my dear Dubois's wit--for I did not conceal the part
she played he said that old as he was he should think himself quite
happy if he had such a woman with him, and he was much pleased when I
told him that I was in love with her. "Don't give yourself the
trouble, my dear Casanova, of running from house to house to take
leave," said the amiable nobleman. "It can be done just as well at
the assembly, and you need not even stay to supper, if you don't want
to."
I followed his advice, and thus saw again Madame as I thought, for
the last time, but I was wrong; I saw her ten years afterwards; and
at the proper time the reader will see where, when, how, and under
what circumstances.
Before going away, I followed the ambassador to his room to thank him
as he deserved, for his kindness, and to ask him to give me a letter
of introduction for Berne, where I thought of staying a fortnight.
I also begged him to send Lebel to me that we might settle our
accounts. He told me that Lebel should bring me a letter for M. de
Muralt, the Mayor of Thun.
When I got home, feeling sad on this, the eve of my leaving a town
where I had but trifling victories and heavy losses, I thanked my
housekeeper for waiting for me, and to give her a good night I told
her that in three days we should set out for Berne, and that my mails
must be packed.
Next day, after a somewhat silent breakfast, she said,--
"You will take me with you, won't you?"
"Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go."
"I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are
now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe and well.
If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first."
The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so
ill that he could not leave his bed.
"I will have him cured at Berne," said I; "tell him that we are
going to dine there the day after to-morrow."
"I must tell you, sir, that though it's only a seven leagues'
journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of
all his limbs."
"I am sorry to hear that, doctor."
"I dare say, but it's true."
"I must verify the matter with my own eyes;" and so saying I went to
see Le Duc.
I found the poor rascal, as the doctor had said, incapable of motion.
He had only the use of his tongue and his eyes.
"You are in a pretty state," said I to him.
"I am very ill, sir, though otherwise I feel quite well."
"I expect so, but as it is you can't move, and I want to dine at
Berne the day after to-morrow."
"Have me carried there, I shall get cured."
"You are right, I will have you carried in a litter."
"I shall look like a saint out for a walk."
I told one of the servants to look after him, and to see to all that
was necessary for our departure. I had him taken to the "Falcon" by
two horses who drew his litter.
Lebel came at noon and gave me the letter his master had written for
M. de Murat. He brought his receipts and I paid everything without
objection, as I found him an entirely honest man, and I had him to
dinner with Madame Dubois and myself. I did not feel disposed to
talk, and I was glad to see that they got on without me; they talked
away admirably and amused me, for Lebel was by no means wanting in
wit. He said he was very glad I had given him an opportunity of
knowing the housekeeper, as he could not say he had known her before,
having only seen her two or three times in passing through Lausanne.
On rising from the table he asked my permission to write to her, and
she, putting in her voice, called on him not to forget to do so.
Lebel was a good-natured man, of an honest appearance, and
approaching his fiftieth year. Just as he was going, without asking
my leave, he embraced her in the French fashion, and she seemed not
to have the slightest objection.
She told me as soon as he was gone that this worthy man might be
useful to her, and that she was delighted to enter into a
correspondence with him.
The next day was spent in putting everything in order for our short
journey, and Le Duc went off in his litter, intending to rest for the
night at four leagues from Soleure. On the day following, after I
had remembered the door-keeper, the cook, and the man-servant I was
leaving behind, I set out in my carriage with the charming Dubois,
and at eleven o'clock I arrived at the inn at Berne, where Le Duc had
preceded me by two hours. In the first place, knowing the habits of
Swiss innkeepers, I made an agreement with the landlord; and I then
told the servant I had kept, who came from Berne, to take care of Le
Duc, to put him under good medical superintendence, and to bid the
doctor spare nothing to cure him completely.
I dined with my housekeeper in her room, for she had a separate
lodging, and after sending my letter to M. de Muralt I went out for a
walk.
CHAPTER XVII
Berne--La Mata Madame de la Saone--Sara--My Departure--Arrival at
Bale
I reached an elevation from which I could look over a vast stretch of
country watered by a little river, and noticing a path leading to a
kind of stair, the fancy took me to follow it. I went down about a
hundred steps, and found forty small closets which I concluded were
bathing machines. While I was looking at the place an honest-looking
fellow came up to me, and asked me if I would like a bath. I said I
would, and he opened one of the closets, and before long I surrounded
by a crowd of young girls.
"Sir," said the man, "they all aspire to the honour of attending you
while you bathe; you have only to choose which it shall be. Half-a-
crown will pay for the bath, the girl, and your coffee."
As if I were the Grand Turk, I examined the swarm of rustic beauties,
and threw my handkerchief at the one I liked the best. We went into
a closet, and shutting the door with the most serious air, without
even looking at me, she undressed me, and put a cotton cap on my
head, and as soon as she saw me in the water she undressed herself as
coolly as possible, and without a word came into the bath. Then she
rubbed me all over, except in a certain quarter, which I had covered
with my hands. When I thought I had been manipulated sufficiently, I
asked for coffee. She got out of the bath, opened the door, and
after asking for what I wanted got in again without the slightest
consciousness.
When the coffee came she got out again to take it, shut the door, and
returned to the bath, and held the tray while I was drinking, and
when I had finished she remained beside me.
Although I had taken no great notice of her, I could see that she
possessed all the qualifications a man could desire in a woman: fine
features, lively eyes, a pretty mouth, and an excellent row of teeth,
a healthy complexion, a well-rounded bosom a curved back, and all
else in the same sort. I certainly thought her hands might have been
softer, but their hardness was probably due to hard work.
Furthermore, she was only eighteen, and yet I remained cold to all
her charms. How was that? That was the question I asked myself;
and I think the reason probably was that she was too natural, too
devoid of those assumed graces and coquettish airs which women employ
with so much art for the seduction of men. We only care for artifice
and false show. Perhaps, too, our senses, to be irritated, require
woman's charms to be veiled by modesty. But if, accustomed as we are
to clothe ourselves, the face is the smallest factor in our perfect
happiness, how is it that the face plays the principal part in
rendering a man amorous? Why do we take the face as an index of a
woman's beauty, and why do we forgive her when the covered parts are
not in harmony with her features? Would it not be much more
reasonable and sensible to veil the face, and to have the rest of the
body naked? Thus when we fall in love with a woman, we should only
want, as the crown of our bliss, to see a face answerable to those
other charms which had taken our fancy. There can be no doubt that
that would be the better plan, as in that case we should only be
seduced by a perfect beauty, and we should grant an easy pardon if at
the lifting of the mask we found ugliness instead of loveliness.
Under those circumstances an ugly woman, happy in exercising the
seductive power of her other charms, would never consent to unveil
herself; while the pretty ones would not have to be asked. The plain
women would not make us sigh for long; they would be easily subdued
on the condition of remaining veiled, and if they did consent to
unmask, it would be only after they had practically convinced one
that enjoyment is possible without facial beauty. And it is evident
and undeniable that inconstancy only proceeds from the variety of
features. If a man did not see the face, he would always be constant
and always in love with the first woman who had taken his fancy. I
know that in the opinion of the foolish all this will seem folly, but
I shall not be on the earth to answer their objections.
When I had left the bath, she wiped me with towels, put on my shirt,
and then in the same state--that is, quite naked, she did my hair.
While I was dressing she dressed herself too, and having soon
finished she came to buckle my shoes. I then gave her half-a-crown
for the bath and six francs for herself; she kept the half-crown, but
gave me back the six francs with silent contempt. I was mortified; I
saw that I had offended her, and that she considered her behaviour
entitled her to respect. I went away in a bad enough humour.
After supper I could not help telling my dear Dubois of the adventure
I had had in the afternoon, and she made her own comments on the
details. "She can't have been pretty," said she, "for if she had
been, you would certainly have given way. I should like to see her."
"If you like I will take you there."
"I should be delighted."
"But you will have to dress like a man:"
She rose, went out without a word, and in a quarter of an hour
returned in a suit of Le Duc's, but minus the trousers, as she had
certain protuberances which would have stood out too much I told her
to take a pair of my breeches, and we settled to go to the bath next
morning.
She came to wake at six o'clock. She was dressed like a man, and
wore a blue overcoat which disguised her shape admirably. I rose and
went to La Mata, as the place is called.
Animated by the pleasure the expedition gave her, my dear Dubois
looked radiant. Those who saw her must have seen through her
disguise, she was so evidently a woman; so she wrapped herself up in
her overcoat as well as she could.
As soon as we arrived we saw the master of the baths, who asked me if
I wanted a closet for four, and I replied in the affirmative. We
were soon surrounded by the girls, and I shewed my housekeeper the
one who had not seduced me; she made choice of her, and I having
fixed upon a big, determined-looking wench, we shut ourselves up in
the bath.
As soon as I was undressed I went into the water with my big
attendant. My housekeeper was not so quick; the novelty of the thing
astonished her, and her expression told me that she repented of
having come; but putting a good face on it, she began to laugh at
seeing me rubbed by the feminine grenadier. She had some trouble
before she could take off her chemise, but as it is only the first
step that costs, she let it fall off, and though she held her two
hands before her she dazzled me, in spite of myself, by the beauty of
her form. Her attendant prepared to treat her as she had treated me,
but she begged to be left alone; and on my following her example she
felt obliged to let me look after her.
The two Swiss girls, who had no doubt often been present at a similar
situation, began to give us a spectacle which was well known to me,
but which was quite strange to my dear Dubois.
These two Bacchantes began to imitate the caresses I lavished on my
housekeeper, who was quite astonished at the amorous fury with which
my attendant played the part of a man with the other girl. I confess
I was a little surprised myself, in spite of the transports which my
fair Venetian nun had shewn me six years before in conjunction with
C---- C----.
I could not have imagined that anything of the kind could have
distracted my attention, holding, as I did, the woman I loved, whose
charms were sufficient to captivate all the senses; but the strange
strife of the two young Menads took up her attention as well as mine.
"Your attendant," said she, "must be a boy, not a girl."
"But," said I, "you saw her breasts."
"Yes, but she may be a boy all the same."
The big Swiss girl who had heard what we had said turned round and
shewed me what I should not have credited. There could be no
mistake, however. It was a feminine membrane, but much longer than
my little finger, and stiff enough to penetrate. I explained to my
dear Dubois what it was, but to convince her I had to make her touch
it. The impudent creature pushed her shamelessness so far as to
offer to try it on her, and she insisted so passionately that I was
obliged to push her away. She then turned to her companion and
satiated on her body her fury of lust. In spite of its disgusting
nature, the sight irritated us to such a degree that my housekeeper
yielded to nature and granted me all I could desire.
This entertainment lasted for two hours, and we returned to the town
well pleased with one another. On leaving the bath I gave a Louis to
each of the two Bacchantes, and we went away determined to go there
no more. It will be understood that after what had happened there
could be no further obstacle to the free progress of our love; and
accordingly my dear Dubois became my mistress, and we made each other
happy during all the time we spent at Berne. I was quite cured of my
misadventure with the horrible widow, and I found that if love's
pleasures are fleeting so are its pains. I will go farther and
maintain that the pleasures are of much longer duration, as they
leave memories which can be enjoyed in old age, whereas, if a man
does happen to remember the pains, it is so slightly as to have no
influence upon his happiness.
At ten o'clock the Mayor of Thun was announced. He was dressed in
the French fashion, in black, and had a manner at once graceful and
polite that pleased me. He was middle-aged, and enjoyed a
considerable position in the Government. He insisted on my reading
the letter that M. de Chavigni had written to him on my account. It
was so flattering that I told him that if it had not been sealed I
should not have had the face to deliver it. He asked me for the next
day to a supper composed of men only, and for the day after that, to
a supper at which women as well as men would be present. I went with
him to the library where we saw M. Felix, an unfrocked monk, more of
a scribbler than a scholar, and a young man named Schmidt, who gave
good promise, and was already known to advantage in the literary
world. I also had the misfortune of meeting here a very learned man
of a very wearisome kind; he knew the names of ten thousand shells by
heart, and I was obliged to listen to him for two hours, although I
was totally ignorant of his science. Amongst other things he told me
that the Aar contained gold. I replied that all great rivers
contained gold, but he shrugged his shoulders and did not seem
convinced.
I dined with M. de Muralt in company with four or five of the most
distinguished women in Berne. I liked them very well, and above all
Madame de Saconai struck me as particularly amiable and well-
educated. I should have paid my addresses to her if I had been
staying long in the so-called capital of Switzerland.
The ladies of Berne are well though not extravagantly dressed, as
luxury is forbidden by the laws. Their manners are good and they
speak French with perfect ease. They enjoy the greatest liberty
without abusing it, for in spite of gallantry decency reigns
everywhere. The husbands are not jealous, but they require their
wives to be home by supper-time.
I spent three weeks in the town, my time being divided between my
dear Dubois and an old lady of eighty-five who interested me greatly
by her knowledge of chemistry. She had been intimately connected
with the celebrated Boerhaave, and she shewed me a plate of gold he
had transmuted in her presence from copper. I believed as much as I
liked of this, but she assured me that Boerhaave possessed the
philosopher's stone, but that he had not discovered the secret of
prolonging life many years beyond the century. Boerhaave, however,
was not able to apply this knowledge to himself, as he died of a
polypus on the heart before he had attained the age of perfect
maturity, which Hypocrates fixes at between sixty and seventy years.
The four millions he left to his daughter, if they do not prove that
he could make gold, certainly prove that he could save it. The
worthy old woman told me he had given her a manuscript in which the
whole process was explained, but that she found it very obscure.
"You should publish it," said I.
"God forbid!"
"Burn it, then."
"I can't make up my mind to do so."
M. de Muralt took me to see the military evolutions gone through by
the citizens of Berne, who are all soldiers, and I asked him the
meaning of the bear to be seen above the gate of the town. The
German for bear is 'bar', 'bern', and the animal has given its name
to the town and canton which rank second in the Republic, although it
is in the first place for its wealth and culture. It is a peninsula
formed by the Aar, which rises near the Rhine. The mayor spoke to me
of the power of the canton, its lordships and bailiwicks, and
explained his own powers; he then described the public policy, and
told me of the different systems of government which compose the
Helvetic Union.
"I understand perfectly well," I said, "that each of the thirteen
cantons has its own government."
"I daresay you do," he replied, "but what you don't understand any
more than I do is, that there is a canton which has four separate
governments."
I had an excellent supper with fourteen or fifteen senators. There
were no jokes, no frivolous conversation, and no literature; but law,
the commonweal, commerce, political economy, speculation, love of
country, and the duty of preferring liberty to life, in abundance.
I felt as if I were in a new element, but I enjoyed the privilege of
being a man amidst men who were all in honour to our common humanity.
But as the supper went on, these rigid republicans began to expand,
the discourse became less measured, there were even some bursts of
laughter, owing to the wine. I excited their pity, and though they
praised sobriety they thought mine excessive. However, they
respected my liberty, and did not oblige me to drink, as the
Russians, Swedes, Poles, and most northern peoples do.
We parted at midnight--a very late hour in Switzerland, and as they
wished me a good night, each of them made me a sincere offer of his
friendship. One of the company at an early period of the supper,
before he had begun to get mellow, had condemned the Venetian
Republic for banishing the Grisons, but on his intellect being
enlightened by Bacchus he made his apologies.
"Every government," said he, "ought to know its own interests better
than strangers, and everybody should be allowed to do what he wills
with his own."
When I got home I found my housekeeper lying in my bed. I gave her a
hundred caresses in witness of my joy, and I assured her practically
of my love and gratitude. I considered her as my wife, we cherished
each other, and did not allow the thought of separating to enter our
minds. When two lovers love each other in all freedom, the idea of
parting seems impossible.
Next morning I got a letter from the worthy Madame d'Urfe, who begged
me to call on Madame de la Saone, wife of a friend of hers--a
lieutenant-general. This lady had come to Berne in the hope of
getting cured of a disease which had disfigured her in an incredible
manner. Madame de la Saone was immediately introduced to all the
best society in the place. She gave a supper every day, only asking
men; she had an excellent cook. She had given notice that she would
pay no calls, and she was quite right. I hastened to make my bow to
her; but, good Heavens! what a terrible and melancholy sight did I
behold!
I saw a woman dressed with the utmost elegance, reclining
voluptuously upon a couch. As soon as she saw me she arose, gave me
a most gracious reception, and going back to her couch invited me to
sit beside her. She doubtless noticed my surprise, but being
probably accustomed to the impression which the first sight of her
created, she talked on in the most friendly manner, and by so doing
diminished my aversion.
Her appearance was as follows: Madame de Saone was beautifully
dressed, and had the whitest hands and the roundest arms that can be
imagined. Her dress, which was cut very low, allowed me to see an
exquisite breast of dazzling whiteness, heightened by two rosy buds;
her figure was good, and her feet the smallest I have ever seen. All
about her inspired love, but when one's eyes turned to her face every
other feeling gave way to those of horror and pity. She was fearful.
Instead of a face, one saw a blackened and disgusting scab. No
feature was distinguishable, and her ugliness was made more
conspicuous and dreadful by two fine eyes full of fire, and by a
lipless mouth which she kept parted, as if to disclose two rows of
teeth of dazzling whiteness. She could not laugh, for the pain
caused by the contraction of the muscles would doubtless have drawn
tears to her eyes; nevertheless she appeared contented, her
conversation was delightful, full of wit and humour, and permeated
with the tone of good society. She might be thirty at the most, and
she had left three beautiful young children behind in Paris. Her
husband was a fine, well-made man, who loved her tenderly, and had
never slept apart from her. It is probable that few soldiers have
shewn such courage as this, but it is to be supposed that he did not
carry his bravery so far as to kiss her, as the very thought made one
shudder. A disorder contracted after her first child-bed had left
the poor woman in this sad state, and she had borne it for ten years.
All the best doctors in France had tried in vain to cure her, and she
had come to Berne to put herself into the hands of two well-known
physicians who had promised to do so. Every quack makes promises of
this sort; their patients are cured or not cured as it happens, and
provided that they pay heavily the doctor is ready enough to lay the
fault, not on his ignorance, but at the door of his poor deluded
patient.
The doctor came while I was with her, and just as her intelligent
conversation was making me forget her face. She had already began to
take his remedies, which were partly composed of mercury.
"It seems to me," said she, "that the itching has increased since I
have taken your medicines."
"It will last," said the son of AEsculapius, "till the end of the
cure, and that will take about three months."
"As long as I scratch myself," said she, "I shall be in the same
state, and the cure will never be completed."
The doctor replied in an evasive manner. I rose to take my leave,
and holding my hand she asked me to supper once for all. I went the
same evening; the poor woman took everything and drank some wine, as
the doctor had not put her on any diet. I saw that she would never
be cured.
Her good temper and her charming conversational powers kept all the
company amused. I conceived that it would be possible to get used to
her face, and to live with her without being disgusted. In the
evening I talked about her to my housekeeper, who said that the
beauty of her body and her mental endowments might be sufficient to
attract people to her. I agreed, though I felt that I could never
become one of her lovers.
Three or four days after, I went to a bookseller's to read the
newspaper, and was politely accosted by a fine young man of twenty,
who said that Madame de la Saone was sorry not to have seen me again
at supper.
"You know the lady?"
"I had the honour to sup at her house with you."
"True; I remember you."
"I get her the books she likes, as I am a bookseller, and not only do
I sup with her every evening, but we breakfast together every morning
before she gets up."
"I congratulate you. I bet you are in love with her."
"You are pleased to jest, but she is pleasanter than you think."
"I do not jest at all, but I would wager she would not have the
courage to push things to an extremity."
"Perhaps you would lose."
"Really? I should be very glad to."
"Let us make a bet."
"How will you convince me I have lost?"
"Let us bet a louis, and you must promise to be discreet."
"Very good."
"Come and sup at her house this evening, and I will tell you
something."
"You shall see me there."
When I got home I told my housekeeper what I had heard.
"I am curious to know," said she, "how he will convince you." I
promised to tell her, which pleased her very much.
I was exact to my appointment. Madame de la Saone reproached me
pleasantly for my absence, and gave me a delicious supper. The young
bookseller was there, but as his sweetheart did not speak a word to
him he said nothing and passed unnoticed.
After supper we went out together, and he told me on the way that if
I liked he would satisfy me the next morning at eight o'clock. "Call
here, and the lady's maid will tell you her mistress is not visible,
but you have only to say that you will wait, and that you will go
into the ante-chamber. This room has a glass door commanding a view
of madame's bed, and I will take care to draw back the curtains over
the door so that you will be able to see at your ease all that passes
between us. When the affair is over I shall go out by another door,
she will call her maid, and you will be shewn in. At noon, if you
will allow me, I will bring you some books to the 'Falcon,' and if
you find that you have lost you shall pay me my louis." I promised
to carry out his directions, and we parted.
I was curious to see what would happen, though I by no means regarded
it as an impossibility; and on my presenting myself at eight o'clock,
the maid let me in as soon as I said that I could wait. I found a
corner of the glass door before which there was no curtain, and on
applying my eye to the place I saw my young adventurer holding his
conquest in his arms on the bed. An enormous nightcap entirely
concealed her face--an excellent precaution which favoured the
bookseller's enterprise.
When the rascal saw that I had taken up my position, he did not keep
me waiting, for, getting up, he presented to my dazzled gaze, not
only the secret treasures of his sweetheart, but his own also. He
was a small man, but where the lady was most concerned he was a
Hercules, and the rogue seemed to make a parade of his proportions as
if to excite my jealousy. He turned his victim round so that I
should see her under all aspects, and treated her manfully, while she
appeared to respond to his ardour with all her might. Phidias could
not have modelled his Venus on a finer body; her form was rounded and
voluptuous, and as white as Parian marble. I was affected in a
lively manner by the spectacle, and re-entered my lodging so inflamed
that if my dear Dubois had not been at hand to quench my fire I
should have been obliged to have extinguished it in the baths of La
Mata.
When I had told her my tale she wanted to know the hero of it, and at
noon she had that pleasure. The young bookseller brought me some
books I had ordered, and while paying him for them I gave him our bet
and a Louis over and above as a mark of my satisfaction at his
prowess. He took it with a smile which seemed to shew that he
thought I ought to think myself lucky to have lost. My housekeeper
looked at him for some time, and asked if he knew her; he said he did
not.
"I saw you when you were a child," said she. "You are the son of M.
Mignard, minister of the Gospel. You must have been ten when I saw
you."
"Possibly, madam."
"You did not care to follow your father's profession, then?"
"No madam, I feel much more inclined to the worship of the creature
than to that of the Creator, and I did not think my father's
profession would suit me."
"You are right, for a minister of the Gospel ought to be discreet,
and discretion is a restraint."
This stroke made him blush, but we did not give him time to lose
courage. I asked him to dine with me, and without mentioning the
name of Madame de la Saone he told his amorous adventures and
numerous anecdotes about the pretty women of Berne.
After he had gone, my housekeeper said that once was quite enough to
see a young man of his complexion. I agreed with her, and had no
more to do with him; but I heard that Madame de Saone took him to
Paris and made his fortune. Many fortunes are made in this manner,
and there are some which originated still more nobly. I only
returned to Madame de la Saone to take my leave, as I shall shortly
relate.
I was happy with my charmer, who told me again and again that with me
she lived in bliss. No fears or doubts as to the future troubled her
mind; she was certain, as I was, that we should never leave each
other; and she told me she would pardon all the infidelities I might
be guilty of, provided I made full confession. Hers, indeed, was a
disposition with which to live in peace and content, but I was not
born to enjoy such happiness.
After we had been a fortnight at Berne, my housekeeper received a
letter from Soleure. It came from Lebel. As I saw she read it with
great attention, I asked her what it was about.
"Take it and read it," said she; and she sat down in front of me to
read my soul by the play of my features.
Lebel asked her, in concise terms, if she would become his wife.
"I have only put off the proposition," said he, "to set my affairs in
order, and to see if I could afford to marry you, even if the consent
of the ambassador were denied us. I find I am rich enough to live
well in Berne or elsewhere without the necessity of my working;
however I shall not have to face the alternative, for at the first
hint of the matter M. de Chavigni gave his consent with the best
grace imaginable."
He went on begging her not to keep him long waiting for a reply, and
to tell him in the first place if she consented; in the second,
whether she would like to live at Berne and be mistress in her own
house, or whether she would prefer to return to Soleure and live with
the ambassador, which latter plan might bring them some profit. He
ended by declaring that whatever she had would be for her sole use,
and that he would give her a dower of a hundred thousand francs. He
did not say a word about me.
"Dearest," said I, "you are at perfect liberty to choose your own
course, but I cannot contemplate your leaving me without considering
myself as the most unhappy of men."
"And if I lose you I should be the most unhappy of women; for if you
love me I care not whether we are married or no."
"Very good; but what answer are you going to make."
"You shall see my letter to-morrow. I shall tell him politely but
plainly that I love you, that I am yours, that I am happy, and that
it is thus impossible for me to accept his flattering propositions.
I shall also say that I appreciate his generosity, and that if I were
wise I should accept him, but that being the slave of my love for you
I can only follow my inclination."
"I think you give an excellent turn to your letter. In refusing such
an offer you could not have better reasons than those you give, and
it would be absurd to try and persuade him that we are not lovers, as
the thing is self-evident. Nevertheless, my darling, the letter
saddens me."
"Why, dearest?"
"Because I have not a hundred thousand francs to offer you."
"I despise them; and if you were to offer me such a sum, I should
only accept it to lay it at your feet. You are certainly not
destined to become miserable, but if that should come to pass, be
sure that I should be only too happy to share your misery."
We fell into one another's arms, and love made us taste all its
pleasures. Nevertheless, in the midst of bliss, some tinge of
sadness gained upon our souls. Languishing love seems to redouble
its strength, but it is only in appearance; sadness exhausts love
more than enjoyment. Love is a madcap who must be fed on laughter
and mirth, otherwise he dies of inanition.
Next day my sweetheart wrote to Lebel in the sense she had decided
on, and I felt obliged to write M. de Chavigni a letter in which
love, sentiment, and philosophy were mingled. I did not conceal from
him that I loved the woman whom Lebel coveted to distraction, but I
said that as a man of honour I would rather die than deprive my
sweetheart of such solid advantages.
My letter delighted the housekeeper, for she was anxious to know what
the ambassador thought of the affair, which needed much reflection.
I got on the same day the letters of introduction I had asked Madame
d'Urfe to give me, and I determined, to the joy of my dear Dubois, to
set out for Lausanne. But we must hark back a little.
When one is sincerely in love, one thinks the beloved object full of
deserts, and the mind, the dupe of the feelings, thinks all the world
jealous of its bliss.
A. M. de F----, member of the Council of the Two Hundred, whom I had
met at Madame de la Saone's, had become my friend. He came to see me
and I introduced him to my dear Dubois, whom he treated with the same
distinction he would have used towards my wife. He had presented us
to his wife, and had come several times to see us with her and her
daughter Sara. Sara was only thirteen, but she was extremely
precocious, dark complexioned, and full of wit; she was continually
uttering naivetes, of which she understood the whole force, although
looking at her face one would have thought her perfectly innocent.
She excelled in the art of making her father and mother believe in
her innocence, and thus she enjoyed plenty of liberty.
Sara had declared that she was in love with my housekeeper, and as
her parents laughed at her she lavished her caresses on my dear
Dubois. She often came to breakfast with us, and when she found us
in bed she would embrace my sweetheart, whom she called her wife,
passing her hand over the coverlet to tickle her, telling her that
she was her wife, and that she wanted to have a child. My sweetheart
laughed and let her go on.
One day I told her jokingly that she would make me jealous, that I
thought she really was a man, and that I was going to make sure. The
sly little puss told me that I was making a mistake, but her hand
seemed rather to guide mine than to oppose it. That made me curious,
and my mind was soon set at rest as to her sex. Perceiving that she
had taken me in and got exactly what she wanted, I drew back my hand,
and imparted my suspicions to my housekeeper, who said I was right.
However, as the little girl had no part in my affections, I did not
push the thing any farther.
Two or three days after, this girl came in as I was getting up, and
said in her usual simple way,
"Now that you know I am not really a man you can not be jealous or
have objection to my taking your place beside my little wife, if she
will let me."
My housekeeper, who looked inclined to laugh, said,
"Come along."
In the twinkling of an eye she was undressed and in the arms of her
little wife, whom she proceeded to treat as an amorous husband. My
sweetheart laughed, and Sara, having contrived in the combat to rid
herself of her chemise and the coverlet, displayed herself to me
without any veil, while at the same time she shewed me all the
beauties of my sweetheart. This sight inflamed me. I shut the door,
and made the little hussy witness of my ardour with my sweetheart.
Sara looked on attentively, playing the part of astonishment to
perfection, and when I had finished she said, with the utmost
simplicity,
"Do it again:"
"I can't, my dear; don't you see I am a dead man?"
"That's very funny," she cried; and with the most perfect innocence
she came over, and tried to effect my resurrection.
When she had succeeded in placing me in the wished-for condition, she
said, "Now go in;" and I should doubtless have obeyed, but my
housekeeper said, "No, dearest, since you have effected its
resurrection, you must make it die again."
"I should like to," said she, "but I am afraid I have not got enough
room;" and so saying she placed herself in a position to shew me that
she was speaking the truth, and that if she did not make me die it
was not her fault.
Imitating her simplicity I approached her, as if I wished to oblige
her, but not to go too far; but not finding any resistance I
accomplished the act in all its forms, without her giving the
slightest evidence of pain, without any of the accidents of a first
trial, but, on the contrary, with all the marks of the utmost
enjoyment.
Although I was sure of the contrary, I kept my self-possession enough
to tell my housekeeper that Sara had given me what can only be given
once, and she pretended to believe me.
When the operation was finished, we had another amusing scene. Sara
begged us not to say a word about it to her papa or mamma, as they
would be sure to scold her as they had scolded her when she got her
ears pierced without asking their leave.
Sara knew that we saw through her feigned simplicity, but she
pretended not to do so as it was to her own advantage. Who could
have instructed her in the arts of deceit? Nobody; only her natural
wit, less rare in childhood than in youth, but always rare and
astonishing. Her mother said her simplicities shewed that she would
one day be very intelligent, and her father maintained that they were
signs of her stupidity. But if Sara had been stupid, our bursts of
laughter would have disconcerted her; and she would have died for
shame, instead of appearing all the better pleased when her father
deplored her stupidity. She would affect astonishment, and by way of
curing one sort of stupidity she corroborated it by displaying
another. She asked us questions to which we could not reply, and
laughed at her instead, although it was evident that before putting
such questions she must have reasoned over them. She might have
rejoined that the stupidity was on our side, but by so doing she
would have betrayed herself.
Lebel did not reply to his sweetheart, but M. de Chavigni wrote me a
letter of four pages. He spoke like a philosopher and an experienced
man of the world.
He shewed me that if I were an old man like him, and able to insure a
happy and independent existence to my sweetheart after my death, I
should do well to keep her from all men, especially as there was so
perfect a sympathy between us; but that as I was a young man, and did
not intend to bind myself to her by the ties of marriage, I should
not only consent to a union which seemed for her happiness, but that
as a man of honour it was my duty to use my influence with her in
favour of the match. "With your experience," said the kind old
gentleman, "you ought to know that a time would come when you would
regret both having lost this opportunity, for your love is sure to
become friendship, and then another love will replace that which you
now think as firm as the god Terminus.
"Lebel," he added, "has told me his plans, and far from disapproving,
I have encouraged him, for your charming friend won my entire esteem
in the five or six times I had the pleasure of seeing her with you.
I shall be delighted, therefore, to have her in my house, where I can
enjoy her conversation without transgressing the laws of propriety.
Nevertheless, you will understand that at my age I have formed no
desires, for I could not satisfy them even if their object were
propitious." He ended by telling me that Lebel had not fallen in
love in a young man's style, that he had reflected on what he was
doing, and that he would consequently not hurry her, as she would see
in the letter he was going to send her. A marriage ought always to
be undertaken in cold blood.
I gave the letter to my housekeeper, who read it attentively, and
gave it back to me quite coolly.
"What do you think of his advice, dearest?"
"I think I had better follow it: he says there is no hurry, and delay
is all we want. Let us love each other and think only of that. This
letter is written with great wisdom, but I cannot imagine our
becoming indifferent to each other, though I know such a thing is
possible."
"Never indifferent; you make a mistake there."
"Well, friends, then; and that is not much better after being
lovers."
"But friendship, dearest, is never indifferent. Love, it is true,
may be in its composition. We know it, as it has been thus from the
beginning of the world."
"Then the ambassador was right. Repentance might come and torment us
when love had been replaced by calmer friendship."
"If you think so, let us marry each other to-morrow, and punish
thereby the vices of our human nature."
"Yes, we will marry, but there is no hurry; fearing lest hymen should
quicken the departure of love, let us enjoy our happiness while we
can."
"You speak admirably, my angel, and deserve the greatest good
fortune."
"I wish for no greater than what you procure me."
We went to bed, continuing our discussions, and when we were in each
other's arms we made an arrangement which suited us very well.
"Lausanne," said she, "is a little town where you would meet with the
warmest hospitality, and during your fortnight's stay you will have
nothing to do but to make visits and to go to suppers. I am known to
all the nobility, and the Duke of Rosebury, who wearied me with his
love-making, is still there. My appearance with you will make
everybody talk, and it will be as annoying for you as for me. My
mother lives there, too. She would say nothing, but in her heart she
would be ill-pleased to see me as the housekeeper of a man like you,
for common sense would inform everyone that I was your mistress."
I thought she was right, and that it would be well to respect the
rules of society. We decided that she should go to Lausanne by
herself and stay with her mother, that in two or three days I should
follow her, and should live by myself, as long as I liked, having
full liberty to see her at her mother's.
"When you leave Lausanne," said she, "I will rejoin you at Geneva,
and then we will travel together where you please and as long as our
love lasts."
In two days she started early in the morning, sure of my constancy,
and congratulating herself on her discretion. I was sad at her
leaving me, but my calls to take leave served to rouse me from my
grief. I wished to make M. Haller's acquaintance before I left
Switzerland, and the mayor, M. de Muralt, gave me a letter of
introduction to him very handsomely expressed. M. de Haller was the
bailiff of Roche.
When I called to take leave of Madame de la Saone I found her in bed,
and I was obliged to remain by her bedside for a quarter of an hour.
She spoke of her disease, and gave the conversation such a turn that
she was able with perfect propriety to let me see that the ravages of
the disease had not impaired the beauty of her body. The sight
convinced me that Mignard had need of less courage than I thought,
and I was within an inch of doing her the same service. It was easy
enough to look only at her body, and it would have been difficult to
behold anything more beautiful.
I know well that prudes and hypocrites, if they ever read these
Memoirs, will be scandalized at the poor lady, but in shewing her
person so readily she avenged herself on the malady which had
disfigured her. Perhaps, too, her goodness of heart and politeness
told her what a trial it was to look at her face, and she wished to
indemnify the man who disguised his feelings of repugnance by shewing
him what gifts nature had given her. I am sure, ladies, that the
most prudish--nay, the most virtuous, amongst you, if you were
unfortunate enough to be so monstrously deformed in the face, would
introduce some fashion which would conceal your ugliness, and display
those beauties which custom hides from view. And doubtless Madame de
la Saone would have been more chary of her person if she had been
able to enchant with her face like you.
The day I left I dined with M---- I----, and was severely taken to
task by pretty Sara for having sent her little wife away before me.
The reader will see how I met her again at London three years later.
Le Duc was still in the doctor's hands, and very weak; but I made him
go with me, as I had a good deal of property, and I could not trust
it to anybody else.
I left Berne feeling naturally very sad. I had been happy there, and
to this day the thought of it is a pleasant one.
I had to consult Dr. Herrenschwand about Madame d'Urfe, so I stopped
at Morat, where he lived, and which is only four leagues from Berne.
The doctor made me dine with him that I might try the fish of the
lake, which I found delicious. I had intended to go on directly
after dinner, but I was delayed by a curiosity of which I shall
inform the reader.
After I had given the doctor a fee of two Louis for his advice, in
writing, on a case of tapeworm, he made me walk with him by the
Avanches road, and we went as far as the famous mortuary of Morat.
"This mortuary," said the doctor, "was constructed with part of the
bones of the Burgundians, who perished here at the well-known battle
lost by Charles the Bold."
The Latin inscription made me laugh.
"This inscription," said I, "contains an insulting jest; it is almost
burlesque, for the gravity of an inscription should not allow of
laughter."
The doctor, like a patriotic Swiss, would not allow it, but I think
it was false shame on his part. The inscription ran as follows, and
the impartial reader can judge of its nature:
"Deo. opt. Max. Caroli inclyti et fortisimi Burgundie duds
exercitus Muratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cesus, hoc sui
monumentum reliquit anno MCDLXXVI."
Till then I had had a great idea of Morat. Its fame of seven
centuries, three sieges sustained and repulsed, all had given me a
sublime notion of it; I expected to see something and saw nothing.
"Then Morat has been razed to the ground?" said I to the doctor.
"Not at all, it is as it always has been, or nearly so."
I concluded that a man who wants to be well informed should read
first and then correct his knowledge by travel. To know ill is worse
than not to know at all, and Montaigne says that we ought to know
things well.
But it was the following comic adventure which made me spend the
night at Morat:
I found at the inn a young maid who spoke a sort of rustic Italian.
She struck me by her great likeness to my fair stocking-seller at
Paris. She was called Raton, a name which my memory has happily
preserved. I offered her six francs for her favours, but she refused
the money with a sort of pride, telling me that I had made a mistake
and that she was an honest girl.
"It may be so," said I, and I ordered my horses to be put in. When
the honest Raton saw me on the point of leaving, she said, with an
air that was at once gay and timid, that she wanted two louis, and if
I liked to give her them and pass the night with her I should be well
content.
"I will stay, but remember to be kind."
"I will."
When everybody had gone to bed, she came into my room with a little
frightened manner, calculated to redouble my ardour, but by great
good luck, feeling I had a necessity, I took the light and ran to the
place where I could satisfy it. While there I amused myself by
reading innumerable follies one finds written in such places, and
suddenly my eyes lighted on these words:--
"This tenth day of August, 1760, the wretched Raton gave me the what-
d'-you-call-it: reader, beware."
I was almost tempted to believe in miracles, for I could not think
there were two Ratons in the same house. I returned gaily to my room
and found my sweetheart in bed without her chemise. I went to the
place beside the bed where she had thrown it down, and as soon as she
saw me touching it she begged me in a fright not to do so, as it was
not clean. She was right, for it bore numerous marks of the disease
which infected her. It may be imagined that my passion cooled, and
that I sent her away in a moment; but I felt at the same time the
greatest gratitude to what is called chance, for I should have never
thought of examining a girl whose face was all lilies and roses, and
who could not be more than eighteen.
Next day I went to Roche to see the celebrated Haller.
CHAPTER XVIII
M. Haller--My Stay at Lausanne--Lord Rosebury--The Young Saconai--
Dissertation on Beauty--The Young Theologian
M. Haller was a man six feet high and broad in a proportion; he was a
well-made man, and a physical as well as a mental colossus. He
received me courteously, and when he had read M. de Muralt's letter,
he displayed the greatest politeness, which shews that a good letter
of introduction is never out of place. This learned man displayed to
me all the treasures of his knowledge, replying with exactitude to
all my questions, and above all with a rare modesty which astonished
me greatly, for whilst he explained the most difficult questions, he
had the air of a scholar who would fain know; but on the other hand,
when he asked me a scientific question, it was with so delicate an
art that I could not help giving the right answer.
M. de Haller was a great physiologist, a great doctor, and a great
anatomist. He called Morgagni his master, though he had himself made
numerous discoveries relating to the frame of man. While I stayed
with him he shewed me a number of letters from Morgagni and
Pontedera, a professor of botany, a science of which Haller had an
extensive knowledge. Hearing me speak of these learned men whose
works I had read at an early age, he complained that Pontedera's
letters were almost illegible and written in extremely obscure Latin.
He shewed me a letter from a Berlin Academician, whose name I have
forgotten, who said that since the king had read his letter he had no
more thoughts of suppressing the Latin language. Haller had written
to Frederick the Great that a monarch who succeeded in the unhappy
enterprise of proscribing the language of Cicero and Virgil from the
republic of letters would raise a deathless monument to his own
ignorance. If men of letters require a universal language to
communicate with one another, Latin is certainly the best, for Greek
and Arabic do not adapt themselves in the same way to the genius of
modern civilization.
Haller was a good poet of the Pindaric kind; he was also an excellent
statesman, and had rendered great services to his country. His
morals were irreproachable, and I remember his telling me that the
only way to give precepts was to do so by example. As a good citizen
he was an admirable paterfamilias, for what greater proof could he
give of his love of country than by presenting it with worthy
subjects in his children, and such subjects result from a good
education. His wife was still young, and bore on her features the
marks of good nature and discretion. He had a charming daughter of
about eighteen; her appearance was modest, and at table she only
opened her mouth to speak in a low tone to a young man who sat beside
her. After dinner, finding myself alone with M. Haller, I asked him
who this young man was. He told me he was his daughter's tutor.
"A tutor like that and so pretty a pupil might easily become lovers."
"Yes, please God."
This Socratic reply made me see how misplaced my remark had been, and
I felt some confusion. Finding a book to my hand I opened it to
restore my composure.
It was an octavo volume of his works, and I read in it:
"Utrum memoria post mortem dubito."
"You do not think, then," said I, "that the memory is an essential
part of the soul?"
"How is that question to be answered?" M. de Haller replied,
cautiously, as he had his reasons for being considered orthodox.
During dinner I asked if M. de Voltaire came often to see him. By
way of reply he repeated these lines of the poet:--
"Vetabo qui Cereris sacrum vulgarit arcanum sub usdem sit trabibus."
I spent three days with this celebrated man, but I thought myself
obliged to refrain from asking his opinion on any religious
questions, although I had a great desire to do so, as it would have
pleased me to have had his opinion on that delicate subject; but I
believe that in matters of that kind M. Haller judged only by his
heart. I told him, however, that I should consider a visit to
Voltaire as a great event, and he said I was right. He added,
without the slightest bitterness,
"M. de Voltaire is a man who ought to be known, although, in spite of
the laws of nature, many persons have found him greater at a distance
than close at hand."
M. de Haller kept a good and abundant though plain table; he only
drank water. At dessert only he allowed himself a small glass of
liqueur drowned in an enormous glass of water. He talked a great
deal of Boerhaave, whose favourite pupil he had been. He said that
after Hypocrates, Boerhaave was the greatest doctor and the greatest
chemist that had ever existed.
"How is it," said I, "that he did not attain mature age?"
"Because there is no cure for death. Boerhaave was born a doctor, as
Homer was born a poet; otherwise he would have succumbed at the age
of fourteen to a malignant ulcer which had resisted all the best
treatment of the day. He cured it himself by rubbing it constantly
with salt dissolved in his own urine."
"I have been told that he possessed the philosopher's stone."
"Yes, but I don't believe it."
"Do you think it possible?"
"I have been working for the last thirty years to convince myself of
its impossibility; I have not yet done so, but I am sure that no one
who does not believe in the possibility of the great work can be a
good chemist."
When I left him he begged me to write and tell him what I thought of
the great Voltaire, and in, this way our French correspondence began.
I possess twenty-two letters from this justly celebrated man; and the
last word written six months before, his too, early death. The
longer I live the more interest I take in my papers. They are the
treasure which attaches me to life and makes death more hateful
still.
I had been reading at Berne Rousseau's "Heloise," and I asked M.
Haller's opinion of it. He told me that he had once read part of it
to oblige a friend, and from this part he could judge of the whole.
"It is the worst of all romances, because it is the most eloquently
expressed. You will see the country of Vaud, but don't expect to see
the originals of the brilliant portraits which Jean Jacques painted.
He seems to have thought that lying was allowable in a romance, but
he has abused the privilege. Petrarch, was a learned man, and told
no lies in speaking of his love for Laura, whom he loved as every man
loves the woman with whom he is taken; and if Laura had not contented
her illustrious lover, he would not have celebrated her."
Thus Haller spoke to me of Petrarch, mentioning Rousseau with
aversion. He disliked his very eloquence, as he said it owed all its
merits to antithesis and paradox. Haller was a learned man of the
first class, but his knowledge was not employed for the purpose of
ostentation, nor in private life, nor when he was in the company of
people who did not care for science. No one knew better than he how
to accommodate himself to his company he was friendly with everyone,
and never gave offence. But what were his qualifications? It would
be much easier to say what he had not than what he had. He had no
pride, self-sufficiency, nor tone of superiority--in fact, none of
those defects which are often the reproach of the learned and the
witty.
He was a man of austere virtue, but he took care to hide the
austerity under a veil of a real and universal kindness. Undoubtedly
he thought little of the ignorant, who talk about everything right or
wrong, instead of remaining silent, and have at bottom only contempt
for the learned; but he only shewed his contempt by saying nothing.
He knew that a despised ignoramus becomes an enemy, and Haller wished
to be loved. He neither boasted of nor concealed his knowledge, but
let it run like a limpid stream flowing through the meadows. He
talked well, but never absorbed the conversation. He never spoke of
his works; when someone mentioned them he would turn the conversation
as soon as he conveniently could. He was sorry to be obliged to
contradict anyone who conversed with him.
When I reached Lausanne I found myself enabled to retain my incognito
for a day at any rate. I naturally gave the first place to my
affections. I went straight to my sweetheart without needing to ask
my way, so well had she indicated the streets through which I had to
pass. I found her with her mother, but I was not a little astonished
to see Lebel there also. However, my surprise must have passed
unnoticed, for my housekeeper, rising from her seat with a cry of
joy, threw her arms about my neck, and after having kissed me
affectionately presented me to her worthy mother, who welcomed me in
the friendliest manner. I asked Lebel after the ambassador, and how
long he had been at Lausanne.
He replied, with a polite and respectful air, that his master was
quite well, and that he had come to Lausanne on business, and had
only been there a few hours; and that, wishing to pay his regards to
Madame Dubois's mother, he had been pleasantly surprised to see the
daughter there as well.
"You know," he added, "what my intentions are. I have to go back to-
morrow, and when you have made up your minds, write to me and I will
come and take her to Soleure, where I will marry her."
He could not have spoken more plainly or honourably. I said that I
would never oppose the will of my sweetheart, and my Dubois,
interrupting me, said in her turn that she would never leave me until
I sent her away.
Lebel found these replies too vague, and told me with noble freedom
that we must give him a definite reply, since in such cases
uncertainty spoils all. At that moment I felt as if I could never
agree to his wishes, and I told him that in ten days I would let him
know of our resolution, whatever it was. At that he was satisfied,
and left us.
After his departure my sweetheart's mother, whose good sense stood
her instead of wit, talked to us in a manner that answered our
inclinations, for, amorous as we were, we could not bear the idea of
parting. I agreed that my housekeeper should wait up for me till
midnight, and that we could talk over our reply with our heads on the
pillow.
My Dubois had a separate room with a good bed and excellent
furniture. She gave me a very good supper, and we spent a delicious
night. In the morning we felt more in love than ever, and were not
at all disposed to comply with Lebel's wishes. Nevertheless, we had
a serious conversation.
The reader will remember that my mistress had promised to pardon my
infidelities, provided that I confessed them. I had none to confess,
but in the course of conversation I told her about Raton.
"We ought to think ourselves very fortunate," said she, "for if it
had not been for chance, we should have been in a fine state now."
"Yes, and I should be in despair."
"I don't doubt it, and you would be all the more wretched as I should
never complain to you."
"I only see one way of providing against such a misfortune. When I
have been unfaithful to you I will punish myself by depriving myself
of the pleasure of giving you proofs of my affection till I am
certain that I can do so without danger."
"Ah! you would punish me for your faults, would you? If you love me
as I love you, believe me you would find a better remedy than that."
"What is that?"
"You would never be unfaithful to me."
"You are right. I am sorry I was not the first to think of this
plan, which I promise to follow for the future."
"Don't make any promises," said she, with a sigh, "it might prove too
difficult to keep them."
It is only love which can inspire such conversations, but
unfortunately it gains nothing by them.
Next morning, just as I was going out to take my letters, the Baron
de Bercei, uncle of my friend Bavois, entered.
"I know," said he, "that my nephew owes his fortune to you; he is
just going to be made general, and I and all the family will be
enchanted to make your acquaintance. I have come to offer my
services, and to beg that you will dine with me to-day, and on any
other day you please when you have nothing better to do, and I hope
you will always consider yourself of the family.
"At the same time I beg of you not to tell anybody that my nephew has
become a Catholic, as according to the prejudices of the country it
would be a dishonour which would reflect on the whole family."
I accepted his invitation, and promised to say nothing about the
circumstance he had mentioned.
I left my letters of introduction, and I received everywhere a
welcome of the most distinguished kind. Madame de Gentil-Langalerie
appeared the most amiable of all the ladies I called on, but I had
not time to pay my court to one more than another. Every day
politeness called me to some dinner, supper, ball, or assembly. I
was bored beyond measure, and I felt inclined to say how troublesome
it is to have such a welcome. I spent a fortnight in the little
town, where everyone prides himself on his liberty, and in all my
life I have never experienced such a slavery, for I had not a moment
to myself. I was only able to pass one night with my sweetheart, and
I longed to set off with her for Geneva. Everybody would give me
letters of introduction for M. de Voltaire, and by their eagerness
one would have thought the great man beloved, whereas all detested
him on account of his sarcastic humour.
"What, ladies!" said I, "is not M. de Voltaire good-natured, polite,
and affable to you who have been kind enough to act in his plays with
him?"
"Not in the least. When he hears us rehearse he grumbles all the
time. We never say a thing to please him: here it is a bad
pronunciation, there a tone not sufficiently passionate, sometimes
one speaks too softly, sometimes too loudly; and it's worse when we
are acting. What a hubbub there is if one add a syllable, or if some
carelessness spoil one of his verses. He frightens us. So and so
laughed badly; so and so in Alzire had only pretended to weep."
"Does he want you to weep really?"
"Certainly. He will have real tears. He says that if an actor wants
to draw tears he must shed them himself."
"I think he is right there; but he should not be so severe with
amateurs, above all with charming actresses like you. Such
perfection is only to be looked for from professionals, but all
authors are the same. They never think that the actor has pronounced
the words with the force which the sense, as they see it, requires."
"I told him, one day, that it was not my fault if his lines had not
the proper force."
"I am sure he laughed."
"Laughed? No, sneered, for he is a rude and impertinent man."
"But I suppose you overlook all these failings?"
"Not at all; we have sent him about his business."
"Sent him about his business?"
"Yes. He left the house he had rented here, at short notice, and
retired to where you will find him now. He never comes to see us
now, even if we ask him."
"Oh, you do ask him, though you sent him about his business?"
"We cannot deprive ourselves of the pleasure of admiring his talents,
and if we have teased him, that was only from revenge, and to teach
him something of the manners of good society."
"You have given a lesson to a great master."
"Yes; but when you see him mention Lausanne, and see what he will say
of us. But he will say it laughingly, that's his way."
During my stay I often saw Lord Rosebury, who had vainly courted my
charming Dubois. I have never known a young man more disposed to
silence. I have been told that he had wit, that he was well
educated, and even in high spirits at times, but he could not get
over his shyness, which gave him an almost indefinable air of
stupidity. At balls, assemblies--in fact, everywhere, his manners
consisted of innumerable bows. When one spoke to him, he replied in
good French but with the fewest possible words, and his shy manner
shewed that every question was a trouble to him. One day when I was
dining with him, I asked him some question about his country, which
required five or six small phrases by way of answer. He gave me an
excellent reply, but blushed all the time like a young girl when she
comes out. The celebrated Fox who was then twenty, and was at the
same dinner, succeeded in making him laugh, but it was by saying
something in English, which I did not understand in the least. Eight
months after I saw him again at Turin, he was then amorous of a
banker's wife, who was able to untie his tongue.
At Lausanne I saw a young girl of eleven or twelve by whose beauty I
was exceedingly struck. She was the daughter of Madame de Saconai,
whom I had known at Berne. I do not know her after history, but the
impression she made on me has never been effaced. Nothing in nature
has ever exercised such a powerful influence over me as a pretty
face, even if it be a child's.
The Beautiful, as I have been told, is endowed with this power of
attraction; and I would fain believe it, since that which attracts me
is necessarily beautiful in my eyes, but is it so in reality? I
doubt it, as that which has influenced me has not influenced others.
The universal or perfect beauty does not exist, or it does not
possess this power. All who have discussed the subject have
hesitated to pronounce upon it, which they would not have done if
they had kept to the idea of form. According to my ideas, beauty is
only form, for that which is not beautiful is that which has no form,
and the deformed is the opposite of the 'pulchrum' and 'formosum'.
We are right to seek for the definitions of things, but when we have
them to hand in the words; why should we go farther? If the word
'forma' is Latin, we should seek for the Latin meaning and not the
French, which, however, often uses 'deforme' or 'difforme' instead of
'laid', ugly, without people's noticing that its opposite should be a
word which implies the existence of form; and this can only be
beauty. We should note that 'informe' in French as well as in Latin
means shapeless, a body without any definite appearance.
We will conclude, then, that it is the beauty of woman which has
always exercised an irresistible sway over me, and more especially
that beauty which resides in the face. It is there the power lies,
and so true is that, that the sphinxes of Rome and Versailles almost
make me fall in love with them. though, the face excepted, they are
deformed in every sense of the word. In looking at the fine
proportions of their faces one forgets their deformed bodies. What,
then, is beauty? We know not; and when we attempt to define it or
to enumerate its qualities we become like Socrates, we hesitate. The
only thing that our minds can seize is the effect produced by it, and
that which charms, ravishes, and makes me in love, I call beauty. It
is something that can be seen with the eyes, and for my eyes I speak.
If they had a voice they would speak better than I, but probably in
the same sense.
No painter has surpassed Raphael in the beauty of the figures which
his divine pencil produced; but if this great painter had been asked
what beauty was, he would probably have replied that he could not
say, that he knew it by heart, and that he thought he had reproduced
it whenever he had seen it, but that he did not know in what it
consisted.
"That face pleases me," he would say, "it is therefore beautiful!"
He ought to have thanked God for having given him such an exquisite
eye for the beautiful; but 'omne pulchrum difficile'.
The painters of high renown, all those whose works proclaim genius,
have excelled in the delineation of the beautiful; but how small is
their number compared to the vast craved who have strained every
nerve to depict beauty and have only left us mediocrity!
If a painter could be dispensed from making his works beautiful,
every man might be an artist; for nothing is easier than to fashion
ugliness, and brush and canvas would be as easy to handle as mortar
and trowel.
Although portrait-painting is the most important branch of the art,
it is to be noted that those who have succeeded in this line are very
few. There are three kinds of portraits: ugly likenesses, perfect
likenesses, and those which to a perfect likeness add an almost
imperceptible character of beauty. The first class is worthy only of
contempt and their authors of stoning, for to want of taste and
talent they add impertinence, and yet never seem to see their
failings. The second class cannot be denied to possess real merit;
but the palm belongs to the third, which, unfortunately, are seldom
found, and whose authors deserve the large fortunes they amass. Such
was the famous Notier, whom I knew in Paris in the year 1750. This
great artist was then eighty, and in spite of his great age his
talents seemed in all their freshness. He painted a plain woman; it
was a speaking likeness, and in spite of that those who only saw the
portrait pronounced her to be a handsome woman. Nevertheless, the
most minute examination would not have revealed any faithlessness to
the original, but some imperceptible touches gave a real but
indefinite air of beauty to the whole. Whence does that magic art
take its source? One day, when he had been painting the plain-
looking "Mesdames de France," who on the canvas looked like two
Aspasias, I asked him the above question. He answered:--
"It is a magic which the god of taste distils from my brains through
my brushes. It is the divinity of Beauty whom all the world adores,
and which no one can define, since no one knows of what it consists.
That canvas shews you what a delicate shade there is between beauty
and ugliness; and nevertheless this shade seems an enormous
difference to those unacquainted with art."
The Greek painters made Venus, the goddess of beauty, squint-eyed,
and this odd idea has been praised by some; but these painters were
certainly in the wrong.
Two squinting eyes might be beautiful, but certainly not so beautiful
as if they did not squint, for whatever beauty they had could not
proceed from their deformity.
After this long digression, with which the reader may not be very
well pleased, it is time for me to return to my sweetheart. The
tenth day of my visit to Lausanne, I went to sup and sleep with my
mistress, and that night was the happiest I remember. In the
morning, while we were taking coffee with her mother, I observed that
we seemed in no hurry to part. At this, the mother, a woman of few
words, took up the discourse in a polite and dignified manner, and
told me it was my duty to undeceive Lebel before I left; and at the
same time she gave me a letter she had had from him the evening
before. The worthy man begged her to remind me that if I could not
make up my mind to separate from her daughter before I left Lausanne,
it would be much more difficult for me to do so when I was farther
off; above all, if, as would probably be the case, she gave me a
living pledge of her love. He said that he had no thoughts of
drawing back from his word, but he should wish to be able to say that
he had taken his wife from her mother's hands.
When I had read the letter aloud, the worthy mother wept, and left us
alone. A moment's silence ensued, and with a sigh that shewed what
it cost her, my dear Dubois had the courage to tell me that I must
instantly write to Lebel to give up all pretensions to her, or to
come and take her at once.
"If I write and tell him to think no more of you, I must marry you
myself."
"No."
With this no she arose and left me. I thought it over for a quarter
of an hour, I weighed the pros and cons and still my love shrank from
the sacrifice. At last, on consideration that my housekeeper would
never have such a chance again, that I was not sure that I could
always make her happy, I resolved to be generous, and determined to
write to Lebel that Madame Dubois had decided of her own free will to
become his wife, that I had no right to oppose her resolution, and
that I would go so far as to congratulate him on a happiness I envied
him. I begged him to leave Soleure at once and come and receive her
in my presence from the hands of her worthy mother.
I signed the letter and took it to my housekeeper, who was in her
mother's room. "Take this letter, dearest, and read it, and if you
approve its contents put your signature beside mine." She read it
several times, while her good mother wept, and then, with an
affectionate and sorrowful air, she took the pen and signed. I
begged her mother to find somebody to take the letter to Soleure
immediately, before my resolution was weakened by repentance.
The messenger came, and as soon as he had gone, "Farewell," said I,
embracing her, with my eyes wet with tears, "farewell, we shall see
each other again as soon as Lebel comes."
I went to my inn, a prey to the deepest grief. This sacrifice had
given a new impetus to my love for this charming woman, and I felt a
sort of spasm, which made me afraid I should get ill. I shut myself
up in my room, and I ordered the servants to say I was unwell and
could see no one.
In the evening of the fourth day after, Lebel was announced. He
embraced me, saying his happiness would be due to me. He then left
me, telling me he would expect me at the house of his future bride.
"Excuse me to-day, my dear fellow," said I, "but I will dine with you
there to-morrow."
When he had left me, I told Le Duc to make all preparations for our
leaving the next day after dinner.
I went out early on the following day to take leave of everybody, and
at noon Lebel came to take me to that sad repast, at which, however,
I was not so sad as I had feared.
As I was leaving I begged the future Madame Lebel to return me the
ring I had given her, and as we had agreed, I presented her with a
roll of a hundred Louis, which she took with a melancholy air.
"I should never have sold it," she said, "for I have no need of
money."
"In that case I will give it back to you, but promise me never to
part with it, and keep the hundred Louis as some small reward of the
services you have rendered me."
She shook my hand affectionately, put on my finger her wedding ring,
and left me to hide her grief. I wiped my tears away, and said to
Lebel,
"You are about to possess yourself of a treasure which I cannot
commend too highly. You are a man of honour; you will appreciate her
excellent qualities, and you will know how to make her happy. She
will love you only, take care of your household, and keep no secrets
from you. She is full of wit and spirits, and will easily disperse
the slightest shadow of ill humour which may fall on you."
I went in with him to the mother's room to take leave of her, and
Madame Dubois begged me to delay my departure and sup once more with
her. I told her that my horses were put in and the carriage waiting
at my door, and that such a delay would set tongues talking; but that
if she liked, she, her future husband and her mother, could come and
see me at an inn two leagues off on the Geneva road, where we could
stay as long as we liked. Lebel approved of the plan, and my
proposition was accepted.
When I got back to my inn I found my carriage ready, and I got in and
drove to the meeting-place, and ordered a good supper for four, and
an hour later my guests arrived.
The gay and even happy air of the newly betrothed surprised me, but
what astonished me more was the easy way with which she threw herself
into my arms as soon as she saw me. It put me quite out of
countenance, but she had more wit than I. However, I mustered up
sufficient strength to follow her cue, but I could not help thinking
that if she had really loved me she would not have found it possible
to pass thus from love to mere friendship. However, I imitated her,
and made no objections to those marks of affection allowed to
friendship, which are supposed to have no tincture of love in them.
At supper I thought I saw that Lebel was more delighted at having
such a wife than at the prospect of enjoying her and satisfying a
strong passion. That calmed me; I could not be jealous of a man like
that. I perceived, too, that my sweetheart's high spirits were more
feigned than real; she wished to make me share them so as to render
our separation less bitter, and to tranquillise her future husband as
to the nature of our feelings for one another. And when reason and
time had quieted the tempest in my heart, I could not help thinking
it very natural that she should be pleased at the prospect of being
independent, and of enjoying a fortune.
We made an excellent supper, which we washed down so well that at
last the gaiety which had been simulated ended by being real. I
looked at the charming Dubois with pleasure; I regarded her as a
treasure which had belonged to me, and which after making me happy
was with my full consent about to ensure the happiness of another.
It seemed to me that I had been magnanimous enough to give her the
reward she deserved, like a good Mussulman who gives a favourite
slave his freedom in return for his fidelity. Her sallies made me
laugh and recalled the happy moments I had passed with her, but the
idea of her happiness prevented my regretting having yielded my
rights to another.
As Lebel was obliged to return to Lausanne in order to get back to
Soleure in two days, we had to part. I embraced him and asked him to
continue his friendship towards me, and he promised with great
effusion to be my friend till death. As we were going down the
stair, my charming friend said, with great candour,
"I am not really gay, but I oblige myself to appear so. I shall not
be happy till the scar on my heart has healed. Lebel can only claim
my esteem, but I shall be his alone though my love be all for you.
When we see each other again, as from what you say I hope we shall,
we shall be able to meet as true friends, and perhaps we shall
congratulate each other on the wise part we have taken. As for you,
though I do not think you will forget me, I am sure that before long
some more or less worthy object will replace me and banish your
sorrow. I hope it will be so. Be happy. I may be with child; and
if it prove to be so, you shall have no cause to complain of my care
of your child, which you shall take away when you please. We made an
agreement on this point yesterday. We arranged that the marriage
should not be consummated for two months; thus we shall be certain
whether the child belongs to you or no, and we will let people think
that it is the legitimate offspring of our marriage. Lebel conceived
this plan that he might have his mind at rest on the supposed force
of blood, in which he declares he believes no more than I do. He has
promised to love the child as if he were its father. If you write to
me, I will keep you acquainted with everything; and if I have the
happiness to give you a child, it will be much dearer to me than your
ring."
We wept, and Lebel laughed to see us.
I could only reply by pressing her to my breast, and then I gave her
over to her future husband, who told me as he got into the carriage
that our long talk had pleased him very much.
I went to bed sadly enough. Next morning when I awoke, a pastor of
the Church of Geneva carne to ask me to give him a place in my
carriage. I agreed, and was not sorry I had done so.
This priest was an eloquent man, although a theologian, who answered
the most difficult religious questions I could put to him. There was
no mystery with him, everything was reason. I have never found a
more compliant Christianity than that of this worthy man, whose
morals, as I heard afterwards at Geneva, were perfectly pure. But I
found out that this kind of Christianity was not peculiar to him, all
his fellow-Calvinists thought in the same way.
Wishing to convince him that he was a Calvinist in name only, since
he did not believe that Jesus Christ was of the same substance as the
Father, he replied that Calvin was only infallible where he spoke 'ex
cathedra', but I struck him dumb by quoting the words of the Gospel.
He blushed when I reproached him with Calvin's belief that the Pope
was the Antichrist of the Apocalypse.
"It will be impossible to destroy this prejudice at Geneva," said he,
"till the Government orders the effacement of an inscription on the
church door which everybody reads, and which speaks of the head of
the Roman Church in this manner."
"The people," he added, "are wholly ignorant; but I have a niece of
twenty, who does not belong to the people in this way. I shall have
the honour of making you known to her; she is a theologian, and
pretty as well."
"I shall be delighted to see her, but God preserve me from arguing
with her!"
"She will make you argue, and I can assure you that it will be a
pleasure for you!"
"We shall see; but will you give me your address?"
"No sir, but I shall have the honour of conducting you to your inn
and acting as your guide."
I got down at Balances, and was well lodged. It was the 20th of
August, 1760. On going to the window I noticed a pane of glass on
which I read these words, written with the point of a diamond: "You
will forget Henriette." In a moment my thoughts flew back to the
time in which Henriette had written these words, thirteen years ago,
and my hair stood on end. We had been lodged in this room when she
separated from me to return to France. I was overwhelmed, and fell
on a chair where I abandoned myself to deep thought. Noble
Henriette, dear Henriette, whom I had loved so well; where was she
now? I had never heard of her; I had never asked anyone about her.
Comparing my present and past estates, I was obliged to confess that
I was less worthy of possessing her now than then. I could still
love, but I was no longer so delicate in my thoughts; I had not those
feelings which justify the faults committed by the senses, nor that
probity which serves as a contrast to the follies and frailties of
man; but, what was worst of all, I was not so strong. Nevertheless,
it seemed that the remembrance of Henriette restored me to my
pristine vigour. I had no longer my housekeeper; I experienced a
great void; and I felt so enthusiastic that if I had known where
Henriette was I should have gone to seek her out, despite her
prohibition.
Next day, at an early hour, I went to the banker Tronchin, who had
all my money. After seeing my account, he gave me a letter of credit
on Marseilles, Genoa, Florence and Rome, and I only took twelve
thousand francs in cash. I had only fifty thousand crowns, three
hundred francs, but that would take me a good way. As soon as I had
delivered my letters, I returned to Balances, impatient to see M. de
Voltaire.
I found my fellow-traveller in my room. He asked me to dinner,
telling me that I should have M. Vilars-Chandieu, who would take me
after dinner to M. de Voltaire, who had been expecting me for several
days. I followed the worthy man, and found at his house excellent
company, and the young theologian whom the uncle did not address till
dessert.
I will endeavour to report as faithfully as possible the young
woman's conversation.
"What have you been doing this morning, my dear niece?"
"I have been reading St. Augustine, whom I thought absurd, and I
think I can refute him very shortly."
"On what point?"
"Concerning the mother of the Saviour."
"What does St. Augustine say?"
"You have no doubt remarked the passage, uncle. He says that the
Virgin Mary conceived Jesus Christ through the ears."
"You do not believe that?"
"Certainly not, and for three good reasons. In the first place
because God, being immaterial, had no need of a hole to go in or come
out by; in the second place, because the ear has no connection with
the womb; and in the third place, because Mary, if she had conceived
by the ear, would have given birth by the same channel. This would
do well enough for the Catholics," said she, giving me a glance, "as
then they would be reasonable in calling her a virgin before her
conception, during her pregnancy, and after she had given birth to
the child."
I was extremely astonished, and my astonishment was shared by the
other guests. Divine theology rises above all fleshly
considerations, and after what we had heard we had either to allow
her this privilege, or to consider the young theologian as a woman
without shame. The learned niece did not seem to care what we
thought, as she asked for my opinion on the matter.
"If I were a theologian and allowed myself an exact examination into
the miracles, it is possible I should be of your opinion; but as this
is by no means the case, I must limit myself to condemning St.
Augustine for having analysed the mystery of the Annunciation. I may
say, however, that if the Virgin had been deaf, St. Augustine would
have been guilty of a manifest absurdity, since the Incarnation would
have been an impossibility, as in that case the nerves of the ear
would have had no sort of communication with the womb, and the
process would have been inconceivable; but the Incarnation is a
miracle."
She replied with great politeness that I had shown myself a greater
theologian than she, and her uncle thanked me for having given her a
lesson. He made her discuss various subjects, but she did not shine.
Her only subject was the New Testament. I shall have occasion to
speak of this young woman when I get back to Geneva.
After dinner we went to see Voltaire, who was just leaving the table
as we came in. He was in the middle of a court of gentlemen and
ladies, which made my introduction a solemn one; but with this great
man solemnity could not fail to be in my favour.
End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of MEMOIRES OF JACQUES CASANOVA
THE ETERNAL QUEST, Vol. 3d, SWITZERLAND
by Jacques Casanova de Seingalt