Disgraceful Behaviour of My Brother, the Abbe, I Relieve Him of His
Mistress--Departure from Genoa--The Prince of Monaco--My Niece
Overcome--Our Arrival at Antibes
On the Tuesday in Holy Week I was just getting up, when Clairmont came to
tell me that a priest who would not give his name wanted to speak to me.
I went out in my night-cap, and the rascally priest rushed at me and
nearly choked me with his embraces. I did not like so much affection, and
as I had not recognized him at first on account of the darkness of the
room, I took him by the arm and led him to the window. It was my youngest
brother, a good-for-nothing fellow, whom I had always disliked. I had not
seen him for ten years, but I cared so little about him that I had not
even enquired whether he were alive or dead in the correspondence I
maintained with M. de Bragadin, Dandolo, and Barbaro.
As soon as his silly embraces were over, I coldly asked him what chance
had brought him to Genoa in this disgusting state of dirt, rags, and
tatters. He was only twenty-nine, his complexion was fresh and healthy,
and he had a splendid head of hair. He was a posthumous son, born like
Mahomet, three months after the death of his father.
"The story of my misfortunes would be only too long. Take me into your
room, and I will sit down and tell you the whole story."
"First of all, answer my questions. How long have you been here?"
"Since yesterday."
"Who told you that I was here?"
"Count B----, at Milan."
"Who told you that the count knew me?"
"I found out by chance. I was at M. de Bragadin's a month ago, and on his
table I saw a letter from the count to you."
"Did you tell him you were my brother?"
"I had to when he said how much I resembled you."
"He made a mistake, for you are a blockhead."
"He did not think so, at all events, for he asked me to dinner."
"You must have cut a pretty figure, if you were in your present state."
"He gave me four sequins to come here; otherwise, I should never have
been able to do the journey."
"Then he did a very foolish thing. You're a mere beggar, then; you take
alms. Why did you leave Venice? What do you want with me? I can do
nothing for you."
"Ah! do not make me despair, or I shall kill myself."
"That's the very best thing you could do; but you are too great a coward.
I ask again why you left Venice, where you could say mass, and preach,
and make an honest living, like many priests much better than you?"
"That is the kernel of the whole matter. Let us go in and I will tell
you."
"No; wait for me here. We will go somewhere where you can tell me your
story, if I have patience to listen to it. But don't tell any of my
people that you are my brother, for I am ashamed to have such a relation.
Come, take me to the place where you are staying."
"I must tell you that at my inn I am not alone, and I want to have a
private interview with you."
"Who is with you?"
"I will tell you presently, but let us go into a coffeehouse."
"Are you in company with a band of brigands? What are you sighing at?"
"I must confess it, however painful it may be to my feelings. I am with a
woman."
"A woman! and you a priest!"
"Forgive me. I was blinded by love, and seduced by my senses and her
beauty, so I seduced her under a promise to marry her at Geneva. I can
never go back to Venice, for I took her away from her father's house."
"What could you do at Geneva? They would expel you after you had been
there three or four days. Come, we will go to the inn and see the woman
you have deceived. I will speak to you afterwards."
I began to trace my steps in the direction he had pointed out, and he was
obliged to follow me. As soon as we got to the inn, he went on in front,
and after climbing three flights of stairs I entered a wretched den where
I saw a tall young girl, a sweet brunette, who looked proud and not in
the least confused. As soon as I made my appearance she said, without any
greeting,--
"Are you the brother of this liar and monster who has deceived me so
abominably?"
"Yes," said I. "I have the honour."
"A fine honour, truly. Well, have the kindness to send me back to Venice,
for I won't stop any longer with this rascal whom I listened to like the
fool I was, who turned my head with his lying tales. He was going to meet
you at Milan, and you were to give us enough money to go to Geneva, and
there we were to turn Protestants and get married. He swore you were
expecting him at Milan, but you were not there at all, and he contrived
to get money in some way or another, and brought me here miserably
enough. I thank Heaven he has found you at last, for if he had not I
should have started off by myself and begged my way. I have not a single
thing left; the wretch sold all I possessed at Bergamo and Verona. I
don't know how I kept my senses through it all. To hear him talk, the
world was a paradise outside Venice, but I have found to my cost that
there is no place like home. I curse the hour when I first saw the
miserable wretch. He's a beggarly knave; always whining. He wanted to
enjoy his rights as my husband when we got to Padua, but I am thankful to
say I gave him nothing. Here is the writing he gave me; take it, and do
what you like with it. But if you have any heart, send me back to Venice
or I will tramp there on foot."
I had listened to this long tirade without interrupting her. She might
have spoken at much greater length, so far as I was concerned; my
astonishment took my breath away. Her discourse had all the fire of
eloquence, and was heightened by her expressive face and the flaming
glances she shot from her eyes.
My brother, sitting down with his head between his hands, and obliged to
listen in silence to this long catalogue of well-deserved reproaches,
gave something of a comic element to the scene. In spite of that,
however, I was much touched by the sad aspects of the girl's story. I
felt at once that I must take charge of her, and put an end to this
ill-assorted match. I imagined that I should not have much difficulty in
sending her back to Venice, which she might never have quitted if it had
not been for her trust in me, founded on the fallacious promises of her
seducer.
The true Venetian character of the girl struck me even more than her
beauty. Her courage, frank indignation, and the nobility of her aspect
made me resolve not to abandon her. I could not doubt that she had told a
true tale, as my brother continued to observe a guilty silence.
I watched her silently for some time, and, my mind being made up, said,--
"I promise to send you back to Venice with a respectable woman to look
after you; but you will be unfortunate if you carry back with you the
results of your amours."
"What results? Did I not tell you that we were going to be married at
Geneva?"
"Yes, but in spite of that . . ."
"I understand you, sir, but I am quite at ease on that point, as I am
happy to say that I did not yield to any of the wretch's desires."
"Remember," said the abbe, in a plaintive voice, "the oath you took to be
mine for ever. You swore it upon the crucifix."
So saying he got up and approached her with a supplicating gesture, but
as soon as he was within reach she gave him a good hearty box on the ear.
I expected to see a fight, in which I should not have interfered, but
nothing of the kind. The humble abbe gently turned away to the window,
and casting his eyes to heaven began to weep.
"You are too malicious, my dear," I said; "the poor devil is only unhappy
because you have made him in love with you."
"If he is it's his own fault, I should never have thought of him but for
his coming to me and fooling me, I shall never forgive him till he is out
of my sight. That's not the first blow I have given him; I had to begin
at Padua."
"Yes," said the abbe, "but you are excommunicated, for I am a priest."
"It's little I care for the excommunication of a scoundrel like you, and
if you say another word I will give you some more."
"Calm yourself, my child," said I; "you have cause to be angry, but you
should not beat him. Take up your things and follow me."
"Where are you going to take her?" said the foolish priest.
"To my own house, and I should advise you to hold your tongue. Here, take
these twenty sequins and buy yourself some clean clothes and linen, and
give those rags of yours to the beggars. I will come and talk to you
to-morrow, and you may thank your stars that you found me here. As for
you, mademoiselle, I will have you conducted to my lodging, for Genoa
must not see you in my company after arriving here with a priest. We must
not have any scandal. I shall place you under the charge of my landlady,
but whatever you do don't tell her this sad story. I will see that you
are properly dressed, and that you want for nothing."
"May Heaven reward you!"
My brother, astonished at the sight of the twenty sequins, let me go away
without a word. I had the fair Venetian taken to my lodging in a
sedan-chair, and putting her under the charge of my landlady I told the
latter to see that she was properly dressed. I wanted to see how she
would look in decent clothes, for her present rags and tatters detracted
from her appearance. I warned Annette that a girl who had been placed in
my care would eat and sleep with her, and then having to entertain a
numerous company of guests I proceeded to make my toilette.
Although my niece had no rights over me, I valued her esteem, and thought
it best to tell her the whole story lest she should pass an unfavourable
judgment on me. She listened attentively and thanked me for my confidence
in her, and said she should very much like to see the girl and the abbe
too, whom she pitied, though she admitted he was to be blamed for what he
had done. I had got her a dress to wear at dinner, which became her
exquisitely. I felt only too happy to be able to please her in any way,
for her conduct towards myself and the way she treated her ardent lover
commanded my admiration. She saw him every day either at my house or at
Rosalie's. The young man had received an excellent education, though he
was of the mercantile class, and wrote to her in a business-like manner,
that, as they were well suited to each other in every way, there was
nothing against his going to Marseilles and obtaining her father's
consent to the match, unless it were a feeling of aversion on her side.
He finished by requesting her to give him an answer. She shewed me the
letter, and I congratulated her, and advised her to accept, if there was
nothing about the young man which displeased her.
"There is nothing of the kind," she said, "and Rosalie thinks with you."
"Then tell him by word of mouth that you give your consent, and will
expect to see him at Marseilles."
"Very good; as you think so, I will tell him tomorrow."
When dinner was over a feeling of curiosity made me go into the room
where Annette was dining with the Venetian girl, whose name was
Marcoline. I was struck with astonishment on seeing her, for she was
completely changed, not so much by the pretty dress she had on as by the
contented expression of her face, which made her look quite another
person. Good humour had vanquished unbecoming rage, and the gentleness
born of happiness made her features breathe forth love. I could scarcely
believe that this charming creature before me was the same who had dealt
such a vigorous blow to my brother, a priest, and a sacred being in the
eyes of the common people. They were eating, and laughing at not being
able to understand each other, for Marcoline only spoke Venetian, and
Annette Genoese, and the latter dialect does not resemble the former any
more than Bohemian resembles Dutch.
I spoke to Marcoline in her native tongue, which was mine too, and she
said,--
"I seem to have suddenly passed from hell to Paradise."
"Indeed, you look like an angel."
"You called me a little devil this morning. But here is a fair angel,"
said she, pointing to Annette; "we don't see such in Venice."
"She is my treasure."
Shortly after my niece came in, and seeing me talking and laughing with
the two girls began to examine the new-comer. She told me in French that
she thought her perfectly beautiful, and repeating her opinion to the
girl in Italian gave her a kiss. Marcoline asked her plainly in the
Venetian manner who she was.
"I am this gentleman's niece, and he is taking me back to Marseilles,
where my home is."
"Then you would have been my niece too, if I had married his brother. I
wish I had such a pretty niece."
This pleasant rejoinder was followed by a storm of kisses given and
returned with ardour which one might pronounce truly Venetian, if it were
not that this would wound the feelings of the almost equally ardent
Provencals.
I took my niece for a sail in the bay, and after we had enjoyed one of
those delicious evenings which I think can be found nowhere else--sailing
on a mirror silvered by the moon, over which float the odours of the
jasmine, the orange-blossom, the pomegranates, the aloes, and all the
scented flowers which grow along the coasts--we returned to our lodging,
and I asked Annette what had become of Marcoline. She told me that she
had gone to bed early, and I went gently into her room, with no other
intention than to see her asleep. The light of the candle awoke her, and
she did not seem at all frightened at seeing me. I sat by the bed, and
fell to making love to her, and at last made as if I would kiss her, but
she resisted, and we went on talking.
When Annette had put her mistress to bed, she came in and found us
together.
"Go to bed, my dear," said I. "I will come to you directly."
Proud of being my mistress, she gave me a fiery kiss and went away
without a word.
I began to talk about my brother, and passing from him to myself I told
her of the interest I felt for her, saying that I would either have her
taken to Venice, or bring her with me when I went to France.
"Do you want to marry me?"
"No, I am married already."
"That's a lie, I know, but it doesn't matter. Send me back to Venice, and
the sooner the better. I don't want to be anybody's concubine."
"I admire your sentiments, my dear, they do you honour."
Continuing my praise I became pressing, not using any force, but those
gentle caresses which are so much harder for a woman to resist than a
violent attack. Marcoline laughed, but seeing that I persisted in spite
of her resistance, she suddenly glided out of the bed and took refuge in
my niece's room and locked the door after her. I was not displeased; the
thing was done so easily and gracefully. I went to bed with Annette, who
lost nothing by the ardour with which Marcoline had inspired me. I told
her how she had escaped from my hands, and Annette was loud in her
praises.
In the morning I got up early and went into my niece's room to enjoy the
sight of the companion I had involuntarily given her, and the two girls
were certainly a very pleasant sight. As soon as my niece saw me, she
exclaimed,--
"My dear uncle, would you believe it? This sly Venetian has violated me."
Marcoline understood her, and far from denying the fact proceeded to give
my niece fresh marks of her affection, which were well received, and from
the movements of the sheets which covered them I could make a pretty good
guess as to the nature of their amusement.
"This is a rude shock to the respect which your uncle has had for your
prejudices," said I.
"The sports of two girls cannot tempt a man who has just left the arms of
Annette."
"You are wrong, and perhaps you know it, for I am more than tempted."
With these words I lifted the sheets of the bed. Marcoline shrieked but
did not move, but my niece earnestly begged me to replace the
bed-clothes. However, the picture before me was too charming to be
concealed.
At this point Annette came in, and in obedience to her mistress replaced
the coverlet over the two Bacchantes. I felt angry with Annette, and
seizing her threw her on the bed, and then and there gave the two
sweethearts such an interesting spectacle that they left their own play
to watch us. When I had finished, Annette, who was in high glee; said I
was quite right to avenge myself on their prudery. I felt satisfied with
what I had done, and went to breakfast. I then dressed, and visited my
brother.
"How is Marcoline?" said he, as soon as he saw me.
"Very well, and you needn't trouble yourself any more about her. She is
well lodged, well dressed, and well fed, and sleeps with my niece's
maid."
"I didn't know I had a niece."
"There are many things you don't know. In three or four days she will
return to Venice."
"I hope, dear brother, that you will ask me to dine with you to-day."
"Not at all, dear brother. I forbid you to set foot in my house, where
your presence would be offensive to Marcoline, whom you must not see any
more."
"Yes, I will; I will return to Venice, if I have to hang for it."
"What good would that be? She won't have you."
"She loves me."
"She beats you."
"She beats me because she loves me. She will be as gentle as a lamb when
she sees me so well dressed. You do not know how I suffer."
"I can partly guess, but I do not pity you, for you are an impious and
cruel fool. You have broken your vows, and have not hesitated to make a
young girl endure misery and degradation to satisfy your caprice. What
would you have done, I should like to know, if I had given you the cold
shoulder instead of helping you?"
"I should have gone into the street, and begged for my living with her."
"She would have beaten you, and would probably have appealed to the law
to get rid of you."
"But what will you do for me, if I let her go back to Venice without
following her."
"I will take you to France, and try to get you employed by some bishop."
"Employed! I was meant by nature to be employed by none but God."
"You proud fool! Marcoline rightly called you a whiner. Who is your God?
How do you serve Him? You are either a hypocrite or an idiot. Do you
think that you, a priest, serve God by decoying an innocent girl away
from her home? Do you serve Him by profaning the religion you do not even
understand? Unhappy fool! do you think that with no talent, no
theological learning, and no eloquence, you can be a Protestant minister.
Take care never to come to my house, or I will have you expelled from
Genoa."
"Well, well, take me to Paris, and I will see what my brother Francis can
do for me; his heart is not so hard as yours."
"Very good! you shall go to Paris, and we will start from here in three
or four days. Eat and drink to your heart's content, but remain indoors;
I will let you know when we are going. I shall have my niece, my
secretary, and my valet with me. We shall travel by sea."
"The sea makes me sick."
"That will purge away some of your bad humours."
When I got home I told Marcoline what had passed between us.
"I hate him!" said she; "but I forgive him, since it is through him I
know you."
"And I forgive him, too, because unless it had been for him I should
never have seen you. But I love you, and I shall die unless you satisfy
my desires."
"Never; for I know I should be madly in love with you, and then you would
leave me, and I should be miserable again."
"I will never leave you."
"If you will swear that, take me into France and make me all your own.
Here you must continue living with Annette; besides, I have got your
niece to make love to."
The pleasant part of the affair was that my niece was equally taken with
her, and had begged me to let her take meals with us and sleep with her.
As I had a prospect of being at their lascivious play, I willingly
consented, and henceforth she was always present at the table. We enjoyed
her company immensely, for she told us side-splitting tales which kept us
at table till it was time to go to Rosalie's, where my niece's adorer was
certain to be awaiting us.
The next day, which was Holy Thursday, Rosalie came with us to see the
processions. I had Rosalie and Marcoline with me, one on each arm, veiled
in their mezzaros, and my niece was under the charge of her lover. The
day after we went to see the procession called at Genoa Caracce, and
Marcoline pointed out my brother who kept hovering round us, though he
pretended not to see us. He was most carefully dressed, and the stupid
fop seemed to think he was sure to find favour in Marcoline's eyes, and
make her regret having despised him; but he was woefully deceived, for
Marcoline knew how to manage her mezzaro so well that, though he was both
seen and laughed at, the poor devil could not be certain that she had
noticed him at all, and in addition the sly girl held me so closely by
the arm that he must have concluded we were very intimate.
My niece and Marcoline thought themselves the best friends in the world,
and could not bear my telling them that their amorous sports were the
only reason for their attachment. They therefore agreed to abandon them
as soon as we left Genoa, and promised that I should sleep between them
in the felucca, all of us to keep our clothes on. I said I should hold
them to their word, and I fixed our departure for Thursday. I ordered the
felucca to be in readiness and summoned my brother to go on board.
It was a cruel moment when I left Annette with her mother. She wept so
bitterly that all of us had to shed tears. My niece gave her a handsome
dress and I thirty sequins, promising to come and see her again on my
return from England. Possano was told to go on board with the abbe; I had
provisioned the boat for three days. The young merchant promised to be at
Marseilles, telling my niece that by the time he came everything would be
settled. I was delighted to hear it; it assured me that her father would
give her a kind reception. Our friends did not leave us till the moment
we went on board.
The felucca was very conveniently arranged, and was propelled by the
twelve oarsmen. On the deck there were also twenty-four muskets, so that
we should have been able to defend ourselves against a pirate. Clairmont
had arranged my carriage and my trunks so cleverly, that by stretching
five mattresses over them we had an excellent bed, where we could sleep
and undress ourselves in perfect comfort; we had good pillows and plenty
of sheets. A long awning covered the deck, and two lanterns were hung up,
one at each end. In the evening they were lighted and Clairmont brought
in supper. I had warned my brother that at the slightest presumption on
his part he should be flung into the sea, so I allowed him and Possano to
sup with us.
I sat between my two nymphs and served the company merrily, first my
niece, then Marcoline, then my brother, and finally Possano. No water was
drunk at table, so we each emptied a bottle of excellent Burgundy, and
when we had finished supper the rowers rested on their oars, although the
wind was very light. I had the lamps put out and went to bed with my two
sweethearts, one on each side of me.
The light of dawn awoke me, and I found my darlings still sleeping in the
same position. I could kiss neither of them, since one passed for my
niece, and my sense of humanity would not allow me to treat Marcoline as
my mistress in the presence of an unfortunate brother who adored her, and
had never obtained the least favour from her. He was lying near at hand,
overwhelmed with grief and seasickness, and watching and listening with
all his might for the amorous encounter he suspected us of engaging in. I
did not want to have any unpleasantness, so I contented myself with
gazing on them till the two roses awoke and opened their eyes.
When this delicious sight was over, I got up and found that we were only
opposite Final, and I proceeded to reprimand the master.
"The wind fell dead at Savona, sir;" and all the seamen chorused his
excuse.
"Then you should have rowed instead of idling."
"We were afraid of waking you. You shall be at Antibes by tomorrow."
After passing the time by eating a hearty meal, we took a fancy to go on
shore at St. Remo. Everybody was delighted. I took my two nymphs on land,
and after forbidding any of the others to disembark I conducted the
ladies to an inn, where I ordered coffee. A man accosted us, and invited
us to come and play biribi at his house.
"I thought the game was forbidden in Genoa," said I. I felt certain that
the players were the rascals whose bank I had broken at Genoa, so I
accepted the invitation. My niece had fifty Louis in her purse, and I
gave fifteen to Marcoline. We found a large assemblage, room was made for
us, and I recognized the knaves of Genoa. As soon as they saw me they
turned pale and trembled. I should say that the man with the bag was not
the poor devil who had served me so well without wanting to.
"I play harlequin," said I.
"There isn't one."
"What's the bank?"
"There it is. We play for small stakes here, and those two hundred louis
are quite sufficient. You can bet as low as you like, and the highest
stake is of a louis."
"That's all very well, but my louis is full weight."
"I think ours are, too."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
"Then I won't play," said I, to the keeper of the rooms.
"You are right; bring the scales."
The banker then said that when play was over he would give four crowns of
six livres for every louis that the company had won, and the matter was
settled. In a moment the board was covered with stakes.
We each punted a louis at a time, and I and my niece lost twenty Louis,
but Marcoline, who had never possessed two sequins in her life before,
won two hundred and forty Louis. She played on the figure of an abbe
which came out fifth twenty times. She was given a bag full of crown
pieces, and we returned to the felucca.
The wind was contrary, and we had to row all night, and in the morning
the sea was so rough that we had to put in at Mentone. My two sweethearts
were very sick, as also my brother and Possano, but I was perfectly well.
I took the two invalids to the inn, and allowed my brother and Possano to
land and refresh themselves. The innkeeper told me that the Prince and
Princess of Monaco were at Mentone, so I resolved to pay them a visit. It
was thirteen years since I had seen the prince at Paris, where I had
amused him and his mistress Caroline at supper. It was this prince who
had taken me to see the horrible Duchess of Rufec; then he was unmarried,
and now I met him again in his principality with his wife, of whom he had
already two sons. The princess had been a Duchess de Borgnoli, a great
heiress, and a delightful and pretty woman. I had heard all about her,
and I was curious to verify the facts for myself.
I called on the prince, was announced, and after a long wait they
introduced me to his presence. I gave him his title of highness, which I
had never done at Paris, where he was not known under his full style and
title. He received me politely, but with that coolness which lets one
know that one is not an over-welcome visitor.
"You have put in on account of the bad weather, I suppose?" said he.
"Yes, prince, and if your highness will allow me I will spend the whole
day in your delicious villa." (It is far from being delicious.)
"As you please. The princess as well as myself likes it better than our
place at Monaco, so we live here by preference."
"I should be grateful if your highness would present me to the princess."
Without mentioning my name he ordered a page in waiting to present me to
the princess.
The page opened the door of a handsome room and said, "The Princess," and
left me. She was singing at the piano, but as soon as she saw me she rose
and came to meet me. I was obliged to introduce myself, a most unpleasant
thing, and no doubt the princess felt the position, for she pretended not
to notice it, and addressed me with the utmost kindness and politeness,
and in a way that shewed that she was learned in the maxims of good
society. I immediately became very much at my ease, and proceeded in a
lordly manner to entertain her with pleasant talk, though I said nothing
about my two lady friends.
The princess was handsome, clever, and good-natured. Her mother, who knew
that a man like the prince would never make her daughter happy, opposed
the marriage, but the young marchioness was infatuated, and the mother
had to give in when the girl said,--
"O Monaco O monaca." (Either Monaco or a convent.)
We were still occupied in the trifles which keep up an ordinary
conversation, when the prince came in running after a waiting-maid, who
was making her escape, laughing. The princess pretended not to see him,
and went on with what she was saying. The scene displeased me, and I took
leave of the princess, who wished me a pleasant journey. I met the prince
as I was going out, and he invited me to come and see him whenever I
passed that way.
"Certainly," said I; and made my escape without saying any more.
I went back to the inn and ordered a good dinner for three.
In the principality of Monaco there was a French garrison, which was
worth a pension of a hundred thousand francs to the prince--a very
welcome addition to his income.
A curled and scented young officer, passing by our room, the door of
which was open, stopped short, and with unblushing politeness asked us if
we would allow him to join our party. I replied politely, but coldly,
that he did us honour--a phrase which means neither yes nor no; but a
Frenchman who has advanced one step never retreats.
He proceeded to display his graces for the benefit of the ladies, talking
incessantly, without giving them time to get in a word, when he suddenly
turned to me and said that he wondered how it was that the prince had not
asked me and my ladies to dinner. I told him that I had not said anything
to the prince about the treasure I had with me.
I had scarcely uttered the words, when the kindly blockhead rose and
cried enthusiastically,--
"Parbleu! I am no longer surprised. I will go and tell his highness, and
I shall soon have the honour of dining with you at the castle."
He did not wait to hear my answer, but went off in hot haste.
We laughed heartily at his folly, feeling quite sure that we should
neither dine with him nor the prince, but in a quarter of an hour he
returned in high glee, and invited us all to dinner on behalf of the
prince.
"I beg you will thank his highness, and at the same time ask him to
excuse us. The weather has improved, and I want to be off as soon as we
have taken a hasty morsel."
The young Frenchman exerted all his eloquence in vain, and at length
retired with a mortified air to take our answer to the prince.
I thought I had got rid of him at last, but I did not know my man. He
returned a short time after, and addressing himself in a complacent
manner to the ladies, as if I was of no more account, he told them that
he had given the prince such a description of their charms that he had
made up his mind to dine with them.
"I have already ordered the table to be laid for two more, as I shall
have the honour of being of the party. In a quarter of an hour, ladies,
the prince will be here."
"Very good," said I, "but as the prince is coming I must go to the
felucca and fetch a capital pie of which the prince is very fond, I know.
Come, ladies."
"You can leave them here, sir. I will undertake to keep them amused."
"I have no doubt you would, but they have some things to get from the
felucca as well."
"Then you will allow me to come too."
"Certainly with pleasure."
As we were going down the stairs, I asked the innkeeper what I owed him.
"Nothing, sir, I have just received orders to serve you in everything,
and to take no money from you."
"The prince is really magnificent!" During this short dialogue, the
ladies had gone on with the fop. I hastened to rejoin them, and my niece
took my arm, laughing heartily to hear the officer making love to
Marcoline, who did not understand a word he said. He did not notice it in
the least, for his tongue kept going like the wheel of a mill, and he did
not pause for any answers.
"We shall have some fun at dinner," said my niece, "but what are we going
to do on the felucca?"
"We are leaving. Say nothing."
"Leaving?"
"Immediately."
"What a jest! it is worth its weight in gold."
We went on board the felucca, and the officer, who was delighted with the
pretty vessel, proceeded to examine it. I told my niece to keep him
company, and going to the master, whispered to him to let go directly.
"Directly?"
"Yes, this moment."
"But the abbe and your secretary are gone for a walk, and two of my men
are on shore, too."
"That's no matter; we shall pick them up again at Antibes; it's only ten
leagues, and they have plenty of money. I must go, and directly. Make
haste."
"All right."
He tripped the anchor, and the felucca began to swing away from the
shore. The officer asked me in great astonishment what it meant.
"It means that I am going to Antibes and I shall be very glad to take you
there for nothing."
"This is a fine jest! You are joking, surely?"
"Your company will be very pleasant on the journey."
"Pardieu! put me ashore, for with your leave, ladies, I cannot go to
Antibes."
"Put the gentleman ashore," said I to the master, "he does not seem to
like our company."
"It's not that, upon my honour. These ladies are charming, but the prince
would think that I was in the plot to play this trick upon him, which you
must confess is rather strong."
"I never play a weak trick."
"But what will the prince say?"
"He may say what he likes, and I shall do as I like."
"Well, it's no fault of mine. Farewell, ladies! farewell, sir!"
"Farewell, and you may thank the prince for me for paying my bill."
Marcoline who did not understand what was passing gazed in astonishment,
but my niece laughed till her sides ached, for the way in which the poor
officer had taken the matter was extremely comic.
Clairmont brought us an excellent dinner, and we laughed incessantly
during its progress, even at the astonishment of the abbe and Possano
when they came to the quay and found the felucca had flown. However, I
was sure of meeting them again at Antibes, and we reached that port at
six o'clock in the evening.
The motion of the sea had tired us without making us feel sick, for the
air was fresh, and our appetites felt the benefits of it, and in
consequence we did great honour to the supper and the wine. Marcoline
whose stomach was weakened by the sickness she had undergone soon felt
the effects of the Burgundy, her eyes were heavy, and she went to sleep.
My niece would have imitated her, but I reminded her tenderly that we
were at Antibes, and said I was sure she would keep her word. She did not
answer me, but gave me her hand, lowering her eyes with much modesty.
Intoxicated with her submission which was so like love, I got into bed
beside her, exclaiming,--
"At last the hour of my happiness has come!
"And mine too, dearest."
"Yours? Have you not continually repulsed me?"
"Never! I always loved you, and your indifference has been a bitter grief
to me."
"But the first night we left Milan you preferred being alone to sleeping
with me."
"Could I do otherwise without passing in your eyes for one more a slave
to sensual passion than to love? Besides you might have thought I was
giving myself to you for the benefits I had received; and though
gratitude be a noble feeling, it destroys all the sweet delights of love.
You ought to have told me that you loved me and subdued me by those
attentions which conquer the hearts of us women. Then you would have seen
that I loved you too, and our affection would have been mutual. On my
side I should have known that the pleasure you had of me was not given
out of a mere feeling of gratitude. I do not know whether you would have
loved me less the morning after, if I had consented, but I am sure I
should have lost your esteem."
She was right, and I applauded her sentiments, while giving her to
understand that she was to put all notions of benefits received out of
her mind. I wanted to make her see that I knew that there was no more
need for gratitude on her side than mine.
We spent a night that must be imagined rather than described. She told me
in the morning that she felt all had been for the best, as if she had
given way at first she could never have made up her mind to accept the
young Genoese, though he seemed likely to make her happy.
Marcoline came to see us in the morning, caressed us, and promised to
sleep by herself the rest of the voyage.
"Then you are not jealous?" said I.
"No, for her happiness is mine too, and I know she will make you happy."
She became more ravishingly beautiful every day.
Possano and the abbe came in just as we were sitting down to table, and
my niece having ordered two more plates I allowed them to dine with us.
My brother's face was pitiful and yet ridiculous. He could not walk any
distance, so he had been obliged to come on horseback, probably for the
first time in his life.
"My skin is delicate," said he, "so I am all blistered. But God's will be
done! I do not think any of His servants have endured greater torments
than mine during this journey. My body is sore, and so is my soul."
So saying he cast a piteous glance at Marcoline, and we had to hold our
sides to prevent ourselves laughing. My niece could bear it no more, and
said,--
"How I pity you, dear uncle!"
At this he blushed, and began to address the most absurd compliments to
her, styling her "my dear niece." I told him to be silent, and not to
speak French till he was able to express himself in that equivocal
language without making a fool of himself. But the poet Pogomas spoke no
better than he did.
I was curious to know what had happened at Mentone after we had left, and
Pogomas proceeded to tell the story.
"When we came back from our walk we were greatly astonished not to find
the felucca any more. We went to the inn, where I knew you had ordered
dinner; but the inn-keeper knew nothing except that he was expecting the
prince and a young officer to dine with you. I told him he might wait for
you in vain, and just then the prince came up in a rage, and told the
inn-keeper that now you were gone he might look to you for his payment.
'My lord,' said the inn-keeper, 'the gentleman wanted to pay me, but I
respected the orders I had received from your highness and would not take
the money.' At this the prince flung him a louis with an ill grace, and
asked us who we were. I told him that we belonged to you, and that you
had not waited for us either, which put us to great trouble. 'You will
get away easily enough,' said he; and then he began to laugh, and swore
the jest was a pleasant one. He then asked me who the ladies were. I told
him that the one was your niece, and that I knew nothing of the other;
but the abbe interfered, and said she was your cuisine. The prince
guessed he meant to say 'cousin,' and burst out laughing, in which he was
joined by the young officer. 'Greet him from me,' said he, as he went
away, 'and tell him that we shall meet again, and that I will pay him out
for the trick he has played me.' The worthy host laughed, too, when the
prince had gone, and gave us a good dinner, saying that the prince's
Louis would pay for it all. When we had dined we hired two horses, and
slept at Nice. In the morning we rode on again, being certain of finding
you here." Marcoline told the abbe in a cold voice to take care not to
tell anyone else that she was his cuisine, or his cousin, or else it
would go ill with him, as she did not wish to be thought either the one
or the other. I also advised him seriously not to speak French for the
future, as the absurd way in which he had committed himself made everyone
about him ashamed.
Just as I was ordering post-horses to take us to Frejus, a man appeared,
and told me I owed him ten louis for the storage of a carriage which I
had left on his hands nearly three years ago. This was when I was taking
Rosalie to Italy. I laughed, for the carriage itself was not worth five
louis. "Friend," said I, "I make you a present of the article."
"I don't want your present. I want the ten louis you owe me."
"You won't get the ten louis. I will see you further first."
"We will see about that;" and so saying he took his departure.
I sent for horses that we might continue our journey.
A few moments after, a sergeant summoned me to the governor's presence. I
followed him, and was politely requested to pay the ten louis that my
creditor demanded. I answered that, in the agreement I had entered into
for six francs a month, there was no mention of the length of the term,
and that I did not want to withdraw my carriage.
"But supposing you were never to withdraw it?"
"Then the man could bequeath his claim to his heir."
"I believe he could oblige you to withdraw it, or to allow it to be sold
to defray expenses."
"You are right, sir, and I wish to spare him that trouble. I make him a
present of the carriage."
"That's fair enough. Friend, the carriage is yours."
"But sir," said the plaintiff, "it is not enough; the carriage is not
worth ten louis, and I want the surplus."
"You are in the wrong. I wish you a pleasant journey, sir, and I hope you
will forgive the ignorance of these poor people, who would like to shape
the laws according to their needs."
All this trouble had made me lose a good deal of time, and I determined
to put off my departure till the next day. However, I wanted a carriage
for Possano and the abbe, and I got my secretary to buy the one I had
abandoned for four louis. It was in a deplorable state, and I had to have
it repaired, which kept us till the afternoon of the next day; however,
so far as pleasure was concerned, the time was not lost.