I Find a Lodging in the House of the Chief of the Sbirri--I Pass a Good
Night There and Recover My Strength--I Go to Mass--A Disagreeable Meeting
I Am Obliged to Take Six Sequins by Force--Out of Danger--Arrived at
Munich--Balbi I Set Out for Paris--My Arrival--Attempt on the Life of
Louis XV.
As soon as I saw Father Balbi far enough off I got up, and seeing at a
little distance a shepherd keeping his flock on the hill-side, I made my
way-towards him to obtain such information as I needed. "What is the name
of this village, my friend?" said I.
"Valde Piadene, signor," he answered, to my surprise, for I found I was
much farther on my way that I thought. I next asked him the owners of
five or six houses which I saw scattered around, and the persons he
mentioned chanced to be all known to me, but were not the kind of men I
should have cared to trouble with my presence. On my asking him the name
of a palace before me, he said it belonged to the Grimanis, the chief of
whom was a State Inquisitor, and then resident at the palace, so I had to
take care not to let him see me. Finally, an my enquiring the owner of a
red house in the distance, he told me, much to my surprise, that it
belonged to the chief of the sbirri. Bidding farewell to the kindly
shepherd I began to go down the hill mechanically, and I am still puzzled
to know what instinct directed my steps towards that house, which common
sense and fear also should have made me shun. I steered my course for it
in a straight line, and I can say with truth that I did so quite
unwittingly. If it be true that we have all of us an invisible
intelligence--a beneficent genius who guides our steps aright--as was the
case with Socrates, to that alone I should attribute the irresistible
attraction which drew me towards the house where I had most to dread.
However that may be, it was the boldest stroke I have played in my whole
life.
I entered with an easy and unconstrained air, and asked a child who was
playing at top in the court-yard where his father was. Instead of
replying, the child went to call his mother, and directly afterwards
appeared a pretty woman in the family way, who politely asked me my
business with her husband, apologizing for his absence.
"I am sorry," I said, "to hear that my gossip is not in, though at the
same time I am delighted to make the acquaintance of his charming wife."
"Your gossip? You will be M. Vetturi, then? My husband told me that you
had kindly promised to be the god-father of our next child. I am
delighted to know you, but my husband will be very vexed to have been
away:
"I hope he will soon return, as I wanted to ask him for a night's
lodging. I dare not go anywhere in the state you see me."
"You shall have the best bed in the house, and I will get you a good
supper. My husband when he comes back will thank your excellence for
doing us so much honour. He went away with all his people an hour ago,
and I don't expect him back for three or four days."
"Why is he away for such a long time, my dear madam?"
"You have not heard, then, that two prisoners have escaped from The
Leads? One is a noble and the other a private individual named Casanova.
My husband has received a letter from Messer-Grande ordering him to make
a search for them; if he find them he will take them back to Venice, and
if not he will return here, but he will be on the look-out for three days
at least."
"I am sorry for this accident, my dear madam, but I should not like to
put you out, and indeed I should be glad to lie down immediately."
"You shall do so, and my mother shall attend to your wants. But what is
the matter with your knees?"
"I fell down whilst hunting on the mountains, and gave myself some severe
wounds, and am much weakened by loss of blood."
"Oh! my poor gentleman, my poor gentleman! But my mother will cure you."
She called her mother, and having told her of my necessities she went
out. This pretty sbirress had not the wit of her profession, for the
story I had told her sounded like a fairy-tale. On horseback with white
silk stockings! Hunting in sarcenet, without cloak and without a man! Her
husband would make fine game of her when he came back; but God bless her
for her kind heart and benevolent stupidity. Her mother tended me with
all the politeness I should have met with in the best families. The
worthy woman treated me like a mother, and called me "son" as she
attended to my wounds. The name sounded pleasantly in my ears, and did no
little towards my cure by the sentiments it awoke in my breast. If I had
been less taken up with the position I was in I should have repaid her
care with some evident marks of the gratitude I felt, but the place I was
in and the part I was playing made the situation too serious a one for me
to think of anything else.
This kindly woman, after looking at my knees and my thighs, told me that
I must make my mind to suffer a little pain, but I might be sure of being
cured by the morning. All I had to do was to bear the application of
medicated linen to my wounds, and not to stir till the next day. I
promised to bear the pain patiently, and to do exactly as she told me.
I was given an excellent supper, and I ate and drank with good appetite.
I then gave myself up to treatment, and fell asleep whilst my nurse was
attending to me. I suppose she undressed me as she would a child, but I
remembered nothing about it when I woke up--I was, in fact, totally
unconscious. Though I had made a good supper I had only done so to
satisfy my craving for food and to regain my strength, and sleep came to
me with an irresistible force, as my physical exhaustion did not leave me
the power of arguing myself out of it. I took my supper at six o'clock in
the evening, and I heard six striking as I awoke. I seemed to have been
enchanted. Rousing myself up and gathering my wits together, I first took
off the linen bandages, and I was astonished to find my wounds healed and
quite free from pain. I did my hair, dressed myself in less than five
minutes, and finding the door of my room open I went downstairs, crossed
the court, and left the house behind me, without appearing to notice two
individuals who were standing outside, and must have been sbirri. I made
haste to lengthen the distance between me and the place where I had found
the kindliest hospitality, the utmost politeness, the most tender care,
and best of all, new health and strength, and as I walked I could not
help feeling terrified at the danger I had been in. I shuddered
involuntarily; and at the present moment, after so many years, I still
shudder when I think of the peril to which I had so heedlessly exposed
myself. I wondered how I managed to go in, and still more how I came out;
it seemed absurd that I should not be followed. For five hours I tramped
on, keeping to the woods and mountains, not meeting a soul besides a few
countryfolk, and turning neither to the right nor left.
It was not yet noon, when, as I went along my way, I stopped short at the
sound of a bell. I was on high ground, and looking in the direction from
which the sound came I saw, a little church in the valley, and many,
people going towards it to hear mass. My heart desired to express
thankfulness for the protection of Providence, and, though all nature was
a temple worthy of its Creator, custom drew me to the church. When men
are in trouble, every passing thought seems an inspiration. It was All
Souls' Day. I went down the hill, and came into the church, and saw, to
my astonishment, M. Marc Antoine Grimani, the nephew of the State
Inquisitor, with Madame Marie Visani, his wife. I made my bow; which was
returned, and after I had heard mass I left the church. M. Grimani
followed me by himself, and when he had got near me, called me by name,
saying, "What are you doing here, Casanova, and what has become of your
friend?"
"I have given him what little money I had for him to escape by another
road, whilst I, without a penny in my pocket, am endeavouring to reach a
place of safety by this way. If your excellence would kindly give me some
help, it would speed my journey for me."
"I can't give you anything, but you will find recluses on your way who
won't let you die of hunger. But tell me how you contrived to pierce the
roof of The Leads."
"The story is an interesting one, but it would take up too much time, and
in the meanwhile the recluses might eat up the food which is to keep me
from dying of hunger."
With this sarcasm I made him a profound bow, and went upon my way. In
spite of my great want, his refusal pleased me, as it made me think
myself a better gentleman than the "excellence" who had referred me to
the charity of recluses. I heard at Paris afterwards that when his wife
heard of it she reproached him for his hard-hearted behaviour. There can
be no doubt that kindly and generous feelings are more often to be found
in the hearts of women than of men.
I continued my journey till sunset. Weary and faint with hunger I stopped
at a good-looking house, which stood by itself. I asked to speak to the
master, and the porter told me that he was not in as he had gone to a
wedding on the other side of the river, and would be away for two days,
but that he had bidden him to welcome all his friends while he was away.
Providence! luck! chance! whichever you like.
I went in and was treated to a good supper and a good bed. I found by the
addresses of some letters which were lying about that I was being
entertained in the house of M. Rombenchi--a consul, of what nation I know
not. I wrote a letter to him and sealed it to await his return. After
making an excellent supper and having had a good sleep, I rose, and
dressing myself carefully set out again without being able to leave the
porter any mark of my gratitude, and shortly afterwards crossed the
river, promising to pay when I came back. After walking for five hours I
dined in a monastery of Capuchins, who are very useful to people in my
position. I then set out again, feeling fresh and strong, and walked
along at a good pace till three o'clock. I halted at a house which I
found from a countryman belonged to a friend of mine. I walked in, asked
if the master was at home, and was shewn into a room where he was writing
by himself. I stepped forward to greet him, but as soon as he saw me he
seemed horrified and bid me be gone forthwith, giving me idle and
insulting reasons for his behaviour. I explained to him how I was
situated, and asked him to let me have sixty sequins on my note of hand,
drawn on M. de Bragadin. He replied that he could not so much as give me
a glass of water, since he dreaded the wrath of the Tribunal for my very
presence in his house. He was a stockbroker, about sixty years old, and
was under great obligations to me. His inhuman refusal produced quite a
different effect on me than that of M. Grimani. Whether from rage,
indignation, or nature, I took him by the collar, I shewed him my pike,
and raising my voice threatened to kill him. Trembling all over, he took
a key from his pocket and shewing me a bureau told me he kept money
there, and I had only to open it and take what I wanted; I told him to
open it himself. He did so, and on his opening a drawer containing gold,
I told him to count me out six sequins.
"You asked me for sixty."
"Yes, that was when I was asking a loan of you as a friend; but since I
owe the money to force, I require six only, and I will give you no note
of hand. You shall be repaid at Venice, where I shall write of the pass
to which you forced me, you cowardly wretch!"
"I beg your pardon! take the sixty sequins, I entreat you."
"No, no more. I am going on my way, and I advise you not to hinder me,
lest in my despair I come back and burn your house about your ears."
I went out and walked for two hours, until the approach of night and
weariness made me stop short at the house of a farmer, where I had a bad
supper and a bed of straw. In the morning, I bought an old overcoat, and
hired an ass to journey on, and near Feltre I bought a pair of boots. In
this guise I passed the hut called the Scala. There was a guard there
who, much to my delight, as the reader will guess, did not even honour me
by asking my name. I then took a two-horse carriage and got to Borgo de
Valsugano in good time, and found Father Balbi at the inn I had told him
of. If he had not greeted me first I should not have known him. A great
overcoat, a low hat over a thick cotton cap, disguised him to admiration.
He told me that a farmer had given him these articles in exchange for my
cloak, that he had arrived without difficulty, and was faring well. He
was kind enough to tell me that he did not expect to see me, as he did
not believe my promise to rejoin him was made in good faith. Possibly I
should have been wise not to undeceive him on this account.
I passed the following day in the inn, where, without getting out of my
bed, I wrote more than twenty letters to Venice, in many of which I
explained what I had been obliged to do to get the six sequins.
The monk wrote impudent letters to his superior, Father Barbarigo, and to
his brother nobles, and love-letters to the servant girls who had been
his ruin. I took the lace off my dress, and sold my hat, and thus got rid
of a gay appearance unsuitable to my position, as it made me too much an
object of notice.
The next day I went to Pergina and lay there, and was visited by a young
Count d'Alberg, who had discovered, in some way or another, that we had
escaped from the state-prisons of Venice. From Pergina I went to Trent
and from there to Bolzan, where, needing money for my dress, linen, and
the continuation of my journey, I introduced myself to an old banker
named Mensch, who gave me a man to send to Venice with a letter to M. de
Bragadin. In the mean time the old banker put me in a good inn where I
spent the six days the messenger was away in bed. He brought me the sum
of a hundred sequins, and my first care was to clothe my companion, and
afterwards myself. Every day I found the society of the wretched Balbi
more intolerable. "Without me you would never have escaped" was
continually in his mouth, and he kept reminding me that I had promised
him half of whatever money I got. He made love to all the servant girls,
and as he had neither the figure nor the manners to please them, his
attentions were returned with good hearty slaps, which he bore patiently,
but was as outrageous as ever in the course of twenty-four hours. I was
amused, but at the same time vexed to be coupled to a man of so low a
nature.
We travelled post, and in three days we got to Munich, where I went to
lodge at the sign of the "Stag." There I found two young Venetians of the
Cantarini family, who had been there some time in company with Count
Pompei, a Veronese; but not knowing them, and having no longer any need
of depending on recluses for my daily bread, I did not care to pay my
respects to them. It was otherwise with Countess Coronini, whom I knew at
St. Justine's Convent at Venice, and who stood very well with the
Bavarian Court.
This illustrious lady, then seventy years old, gave me a good reception
and promised to speak on my behalf to the Elector, with a view to his
granting me an asylum in his country. The next day, having fulfilled her
promise, she told me that his highness had nothing to say against me, but
as for Balbi there was no safety for him in Bavaria, for as a fugitive
monk he might be claimed by the monks at Munich, and his highness had no
wish to meddle with the monks. The countess advised me therefore to get
him out of the town as soon as possible, for him to fly to some other
quarter, and thus to avoid the bad turn which his beloved brethren the
monks were certain to do him.
Feeling in duty bound to look after the interests of the wretched fellow,
I went to the Elector's confessor to ask him to give Balbi letters of
introduction to some town in Swabia. The confessor, a Jesuit, did not
give the lie to the fine reputation of his brethren of the order; his
reception of me was as discourteous as it well could be. He told me in a
careless way that at Munich I was well known. I asked him without
flinching if I was to take this as a piece of good or bad news; but he
made no answer, and left me standing. Another priest told me that he had
gone out to verify the truth of a miracle of which the whole town was
talking.
"What miracle is that, reverend father?" I said.
"The empress, the widow of Charles VII, whose body is still exposed to
the public gaze, has warm feet, although she is dead."
"Perhaps something keeps them warm."
"You can assure yourself personally of the truth of this wonderful
circumstance."
To neglect such an opportunity would have been to lose the chance of
mirth or edification, and I was as desirous of the one as of the other.
Wishing to be able to boast that I had seen a miracle--and one, moreover,
of a peculiar interest for myself, who have always had the misfortune to
suffer from cold feet--I went to see the mighty dead. It was quite true
that her feet were warm, but the matter was capable of a simple
explanation, as the feet of her defunct majesty were turned towards a
burning lamp at a little distance off. A dancer of my acquaintance, whom
curiosity had brought there with the rest, came up to me, complimented me
upon my fortunate escape, and told me everybody was talking about it. His
news pleased me, as it is always a good thing to interest the public.
This son of Terpsichore asked me to dinner, and I was glad to accept his
invitation. His name was Michel de l'Agata, and his wife was the pretty
Gandela, whom I had known sixteen years ago at the old Malipiero's. The
Gandela was enchanted to see me, and to hear from my own lips the story
of my wondrous escape. She interested herself on behalf of the monk, and
offered me to give him a letter of introduction for Augsburg Canon Bassi,
of Bologna, who was Dean of St. Maurice's Chapter, and a friend of hers.
I took advantage of the offer, and she forthwith wrote me the letter,
telling me that I need not trouble myself any more about the monk, as she
was sure that the dean would take care of him, and even make it all right
at Venice.
Delighted at getting rid of him in so honourable a manner, I ran to the
inn, told him what I had done, gave him the letter, and promised not to
abandon him in the case of the dean's not giving him a warm welcome. I
got him a good carriage, and started him off the next day at daybreak.
Four days after, Balbi wrote that the dean had received him with great
kindness, that he had given him a room in the deanery, that he had
dressed him as an abbe, that he had introduced him to the Prince-Bishop
of Armstadt, and that he had received assurances of his safety from the
civil magistrates. Furthermore, the dean had promised to keep him till he
obtained his secularization from Rome, and with it freedom to return to
Venice, for as soon as he ceased to be a monk the Tribunal would have no
lien upon him. Father Balbi finished by asking me to send him a few
sequins for pocket-money, as he was too much of a gentleman to ask the
dean who, quoth the ungrateful fellow, "is not gentleman enough to offer
to give me anything." I gave him no answer.
As I was now alone in peace and quietness, I thought seriously of
regaining my health, for my sufferings had given me nervous spasms which
might become dangerous. I put myself on diet, and in three weeks I was
perfectly well. In the meanwhile Madame Riviere came from Dresden with
her son and two daughters. She was going to Paris to marry the elder. The
son had been diligent, and would have passed for a young man of culture.
The elder daughter, who was going to marry an actor, was extremely
beautiful, an accomplished dancer, and played on the clavichord like a
professional, and was altogether most charming and graceful. This
pleasant family was delighted to see me again, and I thought myself
fortunate when Madame Riviere, anticipating my wishes, intimated to me
that my company as far as Paris would give them great pleasure. I had
nothing to say respecting the expenses of the journey. I had to accept
their offer in its entirety. My design was to settle in Paris, and I took
this stroke of fortune as an omen of success in the only town where the
blind goddess freely dispenses her favours to those who leave themselves
to be guided by her, and know how to take advantage of her gifts. And, as
the reader will see by and by, I was not mistaken; but all the gifts of
fortune were of no avail, since I abused them all by my folly. Fifteen
months under the Leads should have made me aware of my weak points, but
in point of fact I needed a little longer stay to learn how to cure
myself of my failings.
Madame Riviere wished to take me with her, but she could not put off her
departure, and I required a week's delay to get money and letters from
Venice. She promised to wait a week in Strassburg, and we agreed that if
possible I would join her there. She left Munich on the 18th of December.
Two days afterwards I got from Venice the bill of exchange for which I
was waiting. I made haste to pay my debts, and immediately afterwards I
started for Augsburg, not so much for the sake of seeing Father Balbi, as
because I wanted to make the acquaintance of the kindly dean who had rid
me of him. I reached Augsburg in seven hours after leaving Munich, and I
went immediately to the house of the good ecclesiastic. He was not in,
but I found Balbi in an abbe's dress, with his hair covered with white
powder, which set off in a new but not a pleasing manner the beauties of
his complexion of about the same colour as a horse chestnut. Balbi was
under forty, but he was decidedly ugly, having one of those faces in
which baseness, cowardice, impudence, and malice are plainly expressed,
joining to this advantage a tone of voice and manners admirably
calculated to repulse anyone inclined to do him a service. I found him
comfortably housed, well looked after, and well clad; he had books and
all the requisites for writing. I complimented him upon his situation,
calling him a fortunate fellow, and applying the same epithet to myself
for having gained him all the advantages he enjoyed, and the hope of one
day becoming a secular priest. But the ungrateful hound, instead of
thanking me, reproached me for having craftily rid myself of him, and
added that, as I was going to Paris, I might as well take him with me, as
the dullness of Augsburg was almost killing him.
"What do you want at Paris?"
"What do you want yourself?"
"To put my talents to account."
"So do I."
"Well, then, you don't require me, and can fly on your own wings. The
people who are taking me to Paris would probably not care for me if I had
you for a companion."
"You promised not to abandon me."
"Can a man who leaves another well provided for and an assured future be
said to abandon him?"
"Well provided! I have not got a penny."
"What do you want with money? You have a good table, a good lodging,
clothes, linen, attendance, and so forth. And if you want pocket-money,
why don't you ask your brethren the monks?"
"Ask monks for money? They take it, but they don't give it."
"Ask your friends, then."
"I have no friends."
"You are to be pitied, but the reason probably is that you have never
been a friend to anyone. You ought to say masses, that is a good way of
getting money."
"I am unknown."
"You must wait, then, till you are known, and then you can make up for
lost time."
"Your suggestions are idle; you will surely give me a few sequins."
"I can't spare any."
"Wait for the dean. He will be back to-morrow. You can talk to him and
persuade him to lend me some money. You can tell him that I will pay it
back."
"I cannot wait, for I am setting out on my journey directly, and were he
here this moment I should not have the face to tell him to lend you money
after all his generous treatment of you, and when he or anyone can see
that you have all you need."
After this sharp dialogue I left him, and travelling post I set out,
displeased with myself for having given such advantages to a man wholly
unworthy of them. In the March following I had a letter from the good
Dean Bassi, in which he told me how Balbi had run away, taking with him
one of his servant girls, a sum of money, a gold watch, and a dozen
silver spoons and forks. He did not know where he was gone.
Towards the end of the same year I learnt at Paris that the wretched man
had taken refuge at Coire, the capital of the Grisons, where he asked to
be made a member of the Calvinistic Church, and to be recognized as
lawful husband of the woman with him; but in a short time the community
discovered that the new convert was no good, and expelled him from the
bosom of the Church of Calvin. Our ne'er-do-well having no more money,
his wife left him, and he, not knowing what to do next, took the
desperate step of going to Bressa, a town within the Venetian territory,
where he sought the governor, telling him his name, the story of his
flight, and his repentance, begging the governor to take him under his
protection and to obtain his pardon.
The first effect of the podesta's protection was that the penitent was
imprisoned, and he then wrote to the Tribunal to know what to do with
him. The Tribunal told him to send Father Balbi in chains to Venice, and
on his arrival Messer-Grande gave him over to the Tribunal, which put him
once more under the Leads. He did not find Count Asquin there, as the
Tribunal, out of consideration for his great age, had moved him to The
Fours a couple of months after our escape.
Five or six years later, I heard that the Tribunal, after keeping the
unlucky monk for two years under the Leads, had sent him to his convent.
There, his superior fearing lest his flock should take contagion from
this scabby sheep, sent him to their original monastery near Feltre, a
lonely building on a height. However, Balbi did not stop there six
months. Having got the key of the fields, he went to Rome, and threw
himself at the feet of Pope Rezzonico, who absolved him of his sins, and
released him from his monastic vows. Balbi, now a secular priest,
returned to Venice, where he lived a dissolute and wretched life. In 1783
he died the death of Diogenes, minus the wit of the cynic.
At Strassburg I rejoined Madame Riviere and her delightful family, from
whom I received a sincere and hearty welcome. We were staying at the
"Hotel de l'Esprit," and we passed a few days there most pleasurably,
afterwards setting out in an excellent travelling carriage for Paris the
Only, Paris the Universal. During the journey I thought myself bound to
the expense of making it a pleasant one, as I had not to put my hand in
my pocket for other expenses. The charms of Mdlle. Riviere enchanted me,
but I should have esteemed myself wanting in gratitude and respect to
this worthy family if I had darted at her a single amorous glance, or if
I had let her suspect my feelings for her by a single word. In fact I
thought myself obliged to play the heavy father, though my age did not
fit me for the part, and I lavished on this agreeable family all the care
which can be given in return for pleasant society, a seat in a
comfortable travelling carriage, an excellent table, and a good bed.
We reached Paris on the 5th of January, 1757, and I went to the house of
my friend Baletti, who received me with open arms, and assured me that
though I had not written he had been expecting me, since he judged that I
would strive to put the greatest possible distance between myself and
Venice, and he could think of no other retreat for me than Paris. The
whole house kept holiday when my arrival became known, and I have never
met with more sincere regard than in that delightful family. I greeted
with enthusiasm the father and mother, whom I found exactly the same as
when I had seen them last in 1752, but I was struck with astonishment at
the daughter whom I had left a child, for she was now a tall and
well-shaped girl. Mdlle. Baletti was fifteen years old, and her mother
had brought her up with care, had given her the best masters, virtue,
grace, talents, a good manner, tact, a knowledge of society-in short, all
that a clever mother can give to a dear daughter.
After finding a pleasant lodging near the Baletti's, I took a coach and
went to the "Hotel de Bourbon" with the intention of calling on M. de
Bernis, who was then chief secretary for foreign affairs. I had good
reasons for relying on his assistance. He was out; he had gone to
Versailles. At Paris one must go sharply to work, and, as it is vulgarly
but forcibly said, "strike while the iron's hot." As I was impatient to
see what kind of a reception I should get from the liberal-minded lover
of my fair M---- M----, I went to the Pont-Royal, took a hackney coach,
and went to Versailles. Again bad luck!
Our coaches crossed each other on the way, and my humble equipage had not
caught his excellency's eye. M. de Bernis had returned to Paris with
Count de Castillana, the ambassador from Naples, and I determined to
return also; but when I got to the gate I saw a mob of people running
here and there in the greatest confusion, and from all sides I heard the
cry, "The king is assassinated! The king is assassinated!"
My frightened coachman only thought of getting on his way, but the coach
was stopped. I was made to get out and taken to the guard-room, where
there were several people already, and in less than three minutes there
were twenty of us, all under arrest, all astonished at the situation, and
all as much guilty as I was. We sat glum and silent, looking at each
other without daring to speak. I knew not what to think, and not
believing in enchantment I began to think I must be dreaming. Every face
expressed surprise, as everyone, though innocent, was more or less
afraid.
We were not left in this disagreeable position for long, as in five
minutes an officer came in, and after some polite apologies told us we
were free.
"The king is wounded," he said, "and he has been taken to his room. The
assassin, whom nobody knows, is under arrest. M. de la Martiniere is
being looked for everywhere."
As soon as I had got back to my coach, and was thinking myself lucky for
being there, a gentlemanly-looking young man came up to me and besought
me to give him a seat in my coach, and he would gladly pay half the fare;
but in spite of the laws of politeness I refused his request. I may
possibly have been wrong. On any other occasion I should have been most
happy to give him a place, but there are times when prudence does not
allow one to be polite. I was about three hours on the way, and in this
short time I was overtaken every minute by at least two hundred couriers
riding at a breakneck pace. Every minute brought a new courier, and every
courier shouted his news to the winds. The first told me what I already
knew; then I heard that the king had been bled, that the wound was not
mortal, and finally, that the wound was trifling, and that his majesty
could go to the Trianon if he liked.
Fortified with this good news, I went to Silvia's and found the family at
table. I told them I had just come from Versailles.
"The king has been assassinated."
"Not at all; he is able to go to the Trianon, or the Parc-aux-cerfs, if
he likes. M. de la Martiniere has bled him, and found him to be in no
danger. The assassin has been arrested, and the wretched man will be
burnt, drawn with red-hot pincers, and quartered."
This news was soon spread abroad by Silvia's servants, and a crowd of the
neighbours came to hear what I had to say, and I had to repeat the same
thing ten times over. At this period the Parisians fancied that they
loved the king. They certainly acted the part of loyal subjects to
admiration. At the present day they are more enlightened, and would only
love the sovereign whose sole desire is the happiness of his people, and
such a king--the first citizens of a great nation--not Paris and its
suburbs, but all France, will be eager to love and obey. As for kings
like Louis XV., they have become totally impracticable; but if there are
any such, however much they may be supported by interested parties, in
the eyes of public opinion they will be dishonoured and disgraced before
their bodies are in a grave and their names are written in the book of
history.