I Leave Marseilles--Henriette at Aix--Irene at Avignon--Treachery of
Possano--Madame d'Urfe Leaves Lyon
The wedding only interested me because of the bride. The plentiful rather
than choice repast, the numerous and noisy company, the empty
compliments, the silly conversation, the roars of laughter at very poor
jokes--all this would have driven me to despair if it had not been for
Madame Audibert, whom I did not leave for a moment. Marcoline followed
the young bride about like a shadow, and the latter, who was going to
Genoa in a week, wanted Marcoline to come in her train, promising to have
her taken to Venice by a person of trust, but my sweetheart would listen
to no proposal for separating her from me,--
"I won't go to Venice," she said, "till you send me there."
The splendours of her friend's marriage did not make her experience the
least regret at having refused the young wine merchant. The bride beamed
with happiness, and on my congratulating her she confessed her joy to be
great, adding that it was increased by the fact that she owed it all to
me. She was also very glad to be going to Genoa, where she was sure of
finding a true friend in Rosalie, who would sympathize with her, their
fortunes having been very similar.
The day after the wedding I began to make preparations for my departure.
The first thing I disposed of was the box containing the planetary
offerings. I kept the diamonds and precious stones, and took all the gold
and silver to Rousse de Cosse, who still held the sum which Greppi had
placed to my credit. I took a bill of exchange on Tourton and Bauer, for
I should not be wanting any money at Lyons as Madame d'Urfe was there,
and consequently the three hundred louis I had about me would be ample. I
acted differently where Marcoline was concerned. I added a sufficient sum
to her six hundred louis to give her a capital in round numbers of
fifteen thousand francs. I got a bill drawn on Lyons for that amount, for
I intended at the first opportunity to send her back to Venice, and with
that idea had her trunks packed separately with all the linen and dresses
which I had given her in abundance.
On the eve of our departure we took leave of the newly-married couple and
the whole family at supper, and we parted with tears, promising each
other a lifelong friendship.
The next day we set out intending to travel all night and not to stop
till we got to Avignon, but about five o'clock the chain of the carriage
broke, and we could go no further until a wheelwright had repaired the
damage. We settled ourselves down to wait patiently, and Clairmont went
to get information at a fine house on our right, which was approached by
an alley of trees. As I had only one postillion, I did not allow him to
leave his horses for a moment. Before long we saw Clairmont reappear with
two servants, one of whom invited me, on behalf of his master, to await
the arrival of the wheelwright at his house. It would have been churlish
to refuse this invitation which was in the true spirit of French
politeness, so leaving Clairmont in charge Marcoline and I began to wend
our way towards the hospitable abode.
Three ladies and two gentleman came to meet us, and one of the gentlemen
said they congratulated themselves on my small mishap, since it enabled
madam to offer me her house and hospitality. I turned towards the lady
whom the gentleman had indicated, and thanked her, saying, that I hoped
not to trouble her long, but that I was deeply grateful for her kindness.
She made me a graceful curtsy, but I could not make out her features, for
a stormy wind was blowing, and she and her two friends had drawn their
hoods almost entirely over their faces. Marcoline's beautiful head was
uncovered and her hair streaming in the breeze. She only replied by
graceful bows and smiles to the compliments which were addressed to her
on all sides. The gentleman who had first accosted me asked me, as he
gave her his arm, if she were my daughter. Marcoline smiled and I
answered that she was my cousin, and that we were both Venetians.
A Frenchman is so bent on flattering a pretty woman that he will always
do so, even if it be at the expense of a third party. Nobody could really
think that Marcoline was my daughter, for though I was twenty years older
than she was, I looked ten years younger than my real age, and so
Marcoline smiled suggestively.
We were just going into the house when a large mastiff ran towards us,
chasing a pretty spaniel, and the lady, being afraid of getting bitten,
began to run, made a false step, and fell to the ground. We ran to help
her, but she said she had sprained her ankle, and limped into the house
on the arm of one of the gentlemen. Refreshments were brought in, and I
saw that Marcoline looked uneasy in the company of a lady who was talking
to her. I hastened to excuse her, saying that she did not speak French.
As a matter of fact, Marcoline had begun to talk a sort of French, but
the most charming language in the world will not bear being spoken badly,
and I had begged her not to speak at all till she had learned to express
herself properly. It is better to remain silent than to make strangers
laugh by odd expressions and absurd equivocations.
The less pretty, or rather the uglier, of the two ladies said that it was
astonishing that the education of young ladies was neglected in such a
shocking manner at Venice. "Fancy not teaching them French!"
"It is certainly very wrong, but in my country young ladies are neither
taught foreign languages nor round games. These important branches of
education are attended to afterwards."
"Then you are a Venetian, too?"
"Yes, madam."
"Really, I should not have thought so."
I made a bow in return for this compliment, which in reality was only an
insult; for if flattering to me it was insulting to the rest of my
fellow-countrymen, and Marcoline thought as much for she made a little
grimace accompanied by a knowing smile.
"I see that the young lady understands French," said our flattering
friend, "she laughs exactly in the right place."
"Yes, she understands it, and as for her laughter it was due to the fact
that she knows me to be like all other Venetians."
"Possibly, but it is easy to see that you have lived a long time in
France."
"Yes, madam," said Marcoline; and these words in her pretty Venetian
accent were a pleasure to hear.
The gentleman who had taken the lady to her room said that she found her
foot to be rather swollen, and had gone to bed hoping we would all come
upstairs.
We found her lying in a splendid bed, placed in an alcove which the thick
curtains of red satin made still darker. I could not see whether she was
young or old, pretty or ugly. I said that I was very sorry to be the
indirect cause of her mishap, and she replied in good Italian that it was
a matter of no consequence, and that she did not think she could pay too
dear for the privilege of entertaining such pleasant guests.
"Your ladyship must have lived in Venice to speak the language with so
much correctness."
"No, I have never been there, but I have associated a good deal with
Venetians."
A servant came and told me that the wheelwright had arrived, and that he
would take four hours to mend my carriage, so I went downstairs. The man
lived at a quarter of a league's distance, and by tying the carriage pole
with ropes, I could drive to his place, and wait there for the carriage
to be mended. I was about to do so, when the gentleman who did the
honours of the house came and asked me, on behalf of the lady, to sup and
pass the night at her house, as to go to the wheelwright's would be out
of my way; the man would have to work by night, I should be
uncomfortable, and the work would be ill done. I assented to the
countess's proposal, and having agreed with the man to come early the
next day and bring his tools with him, I told Clairmont to take my
belongings into the room which was assigned to me.
When I returned to the countess's room I found everyone laughing at
Marcoline's sallies, which the countess translated. I was not astonished
at seeing the way in which my fair Venetian caressed the countess, but I
was enraged at not being able to see her, for I knew Marcoline would not
treat any woman in that manner unless she were pretty.
The table was spread in the bedroom of the countess, whom I hoped to see
at supper-time, but I was disappointed; for she declared that she could
not take anything, and all supper-time she talked to Marcoline and
myself, shewing intelligence, education, and a great knowledge of
Italian. She let fall the expression, "my late husband," so I knew her
for a widow, but as I did not dare to ask any questions, my knowledge
ended at that point. When Clairmont was undressing me he told me her
married name, but as I knew nothing of the family that was no addition to
my information.
When we had finished supper, Marcoline took up her old position by the
countess's bed, and they talked so volubly to one another that nobody
else could get in a word.
When politeness bade me retire, my pretended cousin said she was going to
sleep with the countess. As the latter laughingly assented, I refrained
from telling my madcap that she was too forward, and I could see by their
mutual embraces that they were agreed in the matter. I satisfied myself
with saying that I could not guarantee the sex of the countess's
bed-fellow, but she answered,
"Never mind; if there be a mistake I shall be the gainer."
This struck me as rather free, but I was not the man to be scandalized. I
was amused at the tastes of my fair Venetian, and at the manner in which
she contrived to gratify them as she had done at Genoa with my last
niece. As a rule the Provencal women are inclined this way, and far from
reproaching them I like them all the better for it.
The next day I rose at day-break to hurry on the wheelwright, and when
the work was done I asked if the countess were visible. Directly after
Marcoline came out with one of the gentlemen, who begged me to excuse the
countess, as she could not receive me in her present extremely scanty
attire; "but she hopes that whenever you are in these parts you will
honour her and her house by your company, whether you are alone or with
friends."
This refusal, gilded as it was, was a bitter pill for me to swallow, but
I concealed my disgust, as I could only put it down to Marcoline's
doings; she seemed in high spirits, and I did not like to mortify her. I
thanked the gentleman with effusion, and placing a Louis in the hands of
all the servants who were present I took my leave.
I kissed Marcoline affectionately, so that she should not notice my ill
humour, and asked how she and the countess spent the night.
"Capitally," said she. "The countess is charming, and we amused ourselves
all night with the tricks of two amorous women."
"Is she pretty or old?"
"She is only thirty-three, and, I assure you, she is as pretty as my
friend Mdlle. Crosin. I can speak with authority for we saw each other in
a state of nature."
"You are a singular creature; you were unfaithful to me for a woman, and
left me to pass the night by myself."
"You must forgive me, and I had to sleep with her as she was the first to
declare her love."
"Really? How was that?"
"When I gave her the first of my kisses she returned it in the Florentine
manner, and our tongues met. After supper, I confess, I was the first to
begin the suggestive caresses, but she met me half-way. I could only make
her happy by spending the night with her. Look, this will shew you how
pleased she was."
With these words Marcoline drew a superb ring, set with brilliants, from
her finger. I was astonished.
"Truly," I said, "this woman is fond of pleasure and deserves to have
it."
I gave my Lesbian (who might have vied with Sappho) a hundred kisses,
and forgave her her infidelity.
"But," I remarked, "I can't think why she did not want me to see her; I
think she has treated me rather cavalierly."
"No, I think the reason was that she was ashamed to be seen by my lover
after having made me unfaithful to him; I had to confess that we were
lovers."
"Maybe. At all events you have been well paid; that ring is worth two
hundred louis:"
"But I may as well tell you that I was well enough paid for the pleasure
I gave by the pleasure I received."
"That's right; I am delighted to see you happy."
"If you want to make me really happy, take me to England with you. My
uncle will be there, and I could go back to Venice with him."
"What! you have an uncle in England? Do you really mean it? It sounds
like a fairy-tale. You never told me of it before."
"I have never said anything about it up to now, because I have always
imagined that this might prevent your accomplishing your desire."
"Is your uncle a Venetian? What is he doing in England? Are you sure that
he will welcome you?"
"Yes."
"What is his name? And how are we to find him in a town of more than a
million inhabitants?"
"He is ready found. His name is Mattio Boisi, and he is valet de chambre
to M. Querini, the Venetian ambassador sent to England to congratulate
the new king; he is accompanied by the Procurator Morosini. My uncle is
my mother's brother; he is very fond of me, and will forgive my fault,
especially when he finds I am rich. When he went to England he said he
would be back in Venice in July, and we shall just catch him on the point
of departure."
As far as the embassy went I knew it was all true, from the letters I had
received from M. de Bragadin, and as for the rest Marcoline seemed to me
to be speaking the truth. I was flattered by her proposal and agreed to
take her to England so that I should possess her for five or six weeks
longer without committing myself to anything.
We reached Avignon at the close of the day, and found ourselves very
hungry. I knew that the "St. Omer" was an excellent inn, and when I got
there I ordered a choice meal and horses for five o'clock the next
morning. Marcoline, who did not like night travelling, was in high glee,
and threw her arms around my neck, saying,--
"Are we at Avignon now?"
"Yes, dearest."
"Then I conscientiously discharge the trust which the countess placed in
me when she embraced me for the last time this morning. She made me swear
not to say a word about it till we got to Avignon."
"All this puzzles me, dearest; explain yourself."
"She gave me a letter for you."
"A letter?"
"Will you forgive me for not placing it in your hands sooner?"
"Certainly, if you passed your word to the countess; but where is this
letter?"
"Wait a minute."
She drew a large bundle of papers from her pocket, saying,--
"This is my certificate of baptism."
"I see you were born in 1746."
"This is a certificate of 'good conduct.'"
"Keep it, it may be useful to you."
"This is my certificate of virginity."
"That's no use. Did you get it from a midwife?"
"No, from the Patriarch of Venice."
"Did he test the matter for himself?"
"No, he was too old; he trusted in me."
"Well, well, let me see the letter."
"I hope I haven't lost it."
"I hope not, to God."
"Here is your brother's promise of marriage; he wanted to be a
Protestant."
"You may throw that into the fire."
"What is a Protestant?"
"I will tell you another time. Give me the letter."
"Praised be God, here it is!"
"That's lucky; but it has no address."
My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address,
these words in Italian:
"To the most honest man of my acquaintance."
Could this be meant for me? I turned down the leaf, and read one
word--Henriette! Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank.
At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.
"Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo."
Henriette! It was her style, eloquent in its brevity. I recollected her
last letter from Pontarlier, which I had received at Geneva, and which
contained only one word--Farewell!
Henriette, whom I had loved so well, whom I seemed at that moment to love
as well as ever. "Cruel Henriette," said I to myself, "you saw me and
would not let me see you. No doubt you thought your charms would not have
their old power, and feared lest I should discover that after all you
were but mortal. And yet I love you with all the ardour of my early
passion. Why did you not let me learn from your own mouth that you were
happy? That is the only question I should have asked you, cruel fair one.
I should not have enquired whether you loved me still, for I feel my
unworthiness, who have loved other women after loving the most perfect of
her sex. Adorable Henriette, I will fly to you to-morrow, since you told
me that I should be always welcome."
I turned these thoughts over in my own mind, and fortified myself in this
resolve; but at last I said,--
"No, your behaviour proves that you do not wish to see me now, and your
wishes shall be respected; but I must see you once before I die."
Marcoline scarcely dared breathe to see me thus motionless and lost in
thought, and I do not know when I should have come to myself if the
landlord had not come in saying that he remembered my tastes, and had got
me a delicious supper. This brought me to my senses, and I made my fair
Venetian happy again by embracing her in a sort of ecstacy.
"Do you know," she said, "you quite frightened me? You were as pale and
still as a dead man, and remained for a quarter of an hour in a kind of
swoon, the like of which I have never seen. What is the reason? I knew
that the countess was acquainted with you, but I should never have
thought that her name by itself could have such an astonishing effect."
"Well, it is strange; but how did you find out that the countess knew
me?"
"She told me as much twenty times over in the night, but she made me
promise to say nothing about it till I had given you the letter."
"What did she say to you about me?"
"She only repeated in different ways what she has written for an
address."
"What a letter it is! Her name, and nothing more."
"It is very strange."
"Yes, but the name tells all."
"She told me that if I wanted to be happy I should always remain with
you. I said I knew that well; but that you wanted to send me back to
Venice, though you were very fond of me. I can guess now that you were
lovers. How long ago was it?"
"Sixteen or seventeen years."
"She must have been very young, but she cannot have been prettier than
she is now."
"Be quiet, Marcoline."
"Did your union with her last long?"
"We lived together four months in perfect happiness."
"I shall not be happy for so long as that."
"Yes you will, and longer, too; but with another man, and one more
suitable to you in age. I am going to England to try to get my daughter
from her mother."
"Your daughter? The countess asked me if you were married, and I said
no."
"You were right; she is my illegitimate daughter. She must be ten now,
and when you see her you will confess that she must belong to me."
Just as we were sitting down to table we heard someone going downstairs
to the table d'hote in the room where I had made Madame Stuard's
acquaintance, our door was open, and we could see the people on the
stairs; and one of them seeing us gave a cry of joy, and came running in,
exclaiming, "My dear papa!" I turned to the light and saw Irene, the same
whom I had treated so rudely at Genoa after my discussion with her father
about biribi. I embraced her effusively, and the sly little puss,
pretending to be surprised to see Marcoline, made her a profound bow,
which was returned with much grace. Marcoline listened attentively to our
conversation.
"What are you doing here, fair Irene?"
"We have been here for the last fortnight. Good heavens! how lucky I am
to find you again. I am quite weak. Will you allow me to sit down,
madam?"
"Yes, yes, my dear," said I, "sit down;" and I gave her a glass of wine
which restored her.
A waiter came up, and said they were waiting for her at supper, but she
said, "I won't take any supper;" and Marcoline, always desirous of
pleasing me, ordered a third place to be laid. I made her happy by giving
an approving nod.
We sat down to table, and ate our meal with great appetite. "When we have
done," I said to Irene, "you must tell us what chance has brought you to
Avignon."
Marcoline, who had not spoken a word hitherto, noticing how hungry Irene
was, said pleasantly that it would have been a mistake if she had not
taken any supper. Irene was delighted to hear Venetian spoken, and
thanked her for her kindness, and in three or four minutes they had
kissed and become friends.
It amused me to see the way in which Marcoline always fell in love with
pretty women, just as if she had been a man.
In the course of conversation I found that Irene's father and mother were
at the table d'hote below, and from sundry exclamations, such as "you
have been brought to Avignon out of God's goodness," I learned that they
were in distress. In spite of that Irene's mirthful countenance matched
Marcoline's sallies, and the latter was delighted to hear that Irene had
only called me papa because her mother had styled her my daughter at
Milan.
We had only got half-way through our supper when Rinaldi and his wife
came in. I asked them to sit down, but if it had not been for Irene I
should have given the old rascal a very warm reception. He began to chide
his daughter for troubling me with her presence when I had such fair
company already, but Marcoline hastened to say that Irene could only have
given me pleasure, for in my capacity of her uncle I was always glad when
she was able to enjoy the society of a sweet young girl.
"I hope," she added, "that if she doesn't mind she will sleep with me."
"Yes, yes," resounded on all sides, and though I should have preferred to
sleep with Marcoline by herself, I laughed and agreed; I have always been
able to accommodate myself to circumstances.
Irene shared Marcoline's desires, for when it was settled that they
should sleep together they seemed wild with joy, and I added fuel to the
fire by plying them with punch and champagne.
Rinaldi and his wife did not leave us till they were quite drunk. When we
had got rid of them, Irene told us how a Frenchman had fallen in love
with her at Genoa, and had persuaded her father to go to Nice where high
play was going on, but meeting with no luck there she had been obliged to
sell what she had to pay the inn-keeper. Her lover had assured her that
he would make it up to her at Aix, where there was some money owing to
him, and she persuaded her father to go there; but the persons who owed
the money having gone to Avignon, there had to be another sale of goods.
"When we got here the luck was no better, and the poor young man, whom my
father reproached bitterly, would have killed himself if I had not given
him the mantle you gave me that he might pawn it and go on his quest. He
got four louis for it, and sent me the ticket with a very tender letter,
in which he assured me that he would find some money at Lyons, and that
he would then return and take us to Bordeaux, where we are to find
treasures. In the meanwhile we are penniless, and as we have nothing more
to sell the landlord threatens to turn us out naked."
"And what does your father mean to do?"
"I don't know. He says Providence will take care of us."
"What does your mother say?"
"Oh! she was as quiet as usual."
"How about yourself?"
"Alas! I have to bear a thousand mortifications every day. They are
continually reproaching me with having fallen in love with this
Frenchman, and bringing them to this dreadful pass."
"Were you really in love with him?"
"Yes, really."
"Then you must be very unhappy."
"Yes, very; but not on account of my love, for I shall get over that in
time, but because of that which will happen to-morrow."
"Can't you make any conquests at the table-d'hote?"
"Some of the men say pretty things to me, but as they all know how poor
we are they are afraid to come to our room."
"And yet in spite of all you keep cheerful; you don't look sad like most
of the unhappy. I congratulate you on your good spirits." Irene's tale
was like the fair Stuard's story over again, and Marcoline, though she
had taken rather too much champagne, was deeply moved at this picture of
misery. She kissed the girl, telling her that I would not forsake her,
and that in the meanwhile they would spend a pleasant night.
"Come! let us to bed!" said she; and after taking off her clothes she
helped Irene to undress. I had no wish to fight, against two, and said
that I wanted to rest. The fair Venetian burst out laughing and said,--
"Go to bed and leave us alone."
I did so, and amused myself by watching the two Bacchantes; but Irene,
who had evidently never engaged in such a combat before, was not nearly
so adroit as Marcoline.
Before long Marcoline brought Irene in her arms to my bedside, and told
me to kiss her.
"Leave me alone, dearest," said I, "the punch has got into your head, and
you don't know what you are doing."
This stung her; and urging Irene to follow her example, she took up a
position in my bed by force; and as there was not enough room for three,
Marcoline got on top of Irene, calling her her wife.
I was virtuous enough to remain a wholly passive spectator of the scene,
which was always new to me, though I had seen it so often; but at last
they flung themselves on me with such violence that I was obliged to give
way, and for the most part of the night I performed my share of the work,
till they saw that I was completely exhausted. We fell asleep, and I did
not wake up till noon, and then I saw my two beauties still asleep, with
their limbs interlaced like the branches of a tree. I thought with a sigh
of the pleasures of such a sleep, and got out of bed gently for fear of
rousing them. I ordered a good dinner to be prepared, and countermanded
the horses which had been waiting several hours.
The landlord remembering what I had done for Madame Stuard guessed I was
going to do the same for the Rinaldis, and left them in peace.
When I came back I found my two Lesbians awake, and they gave me such an
amorous welcome that I felt inclined to complete the work of the night
with a lover's good morning; but I began to feel the need of husbanding
my forces, so I did nothing, and bore their sarcasms in silence till one
o'clock, when I told them to get up, as we ought to have done at five
o'clock, and here was two o'clock and breakfast not done.
"We have enjoyed ourselves," said Marcoline, "and time that is given to
enjoyment is never lost."
When they were dressed, I had coffee brought in, and I gave Irene sixteen
louis, four of which were to redeem her cloak. Her father and mother who
had just dined came in to bid us good-day, and Irene proudly gave her
father twelve Louis telling him to scold her a little less in future. He
laughed, wept, and went out, and then came back and said he found a good
way of getting to Antibes at a small cost, but they would have to go
directly, as the driver wanted to get to St. Andiol by nightfall.
"I am quite ready."
"No, dear Irene," said I, "you shall not go; you shall dine with your
friend, and your driver can wait. Make him do so, Count Rinaldi; my niece
will pay, will you not, Marcoline?"
"Certainly. I should like to dine here, and still better to put off our
departure till the next day."
Her wishes were my orders. We had a delicious supper at five o'clock, and
at eight we went to bed and spent the night in wantonness, but at five in
the morning all were ready to start. Irene, who wore her handsome cloak,
shed hot tears at parting from Marcoline, who also wept with all her
heart. Old Rinaldi, who proved himself no prophet, told me that I should
make a great fortune in England, and his daughter sighed to be in
Marcoline's place. We shall hear of Rinaldi later on.
We drove on for fifteen posts without stopping, and passed the night at
Valence. The food was bad, but Marcoline forgot her discomfort in talking
of Irene.
"Do you know," said she, "that if it had been in my power I should have
taken her from her parents. I believe she is your daughter, though she is
not like you."
"How can she be my daughter when I have never known her mother?"
"She told me that certainly."
"Didn't she tell you anything else?"
"Yes, she told me that you lived with her for three days and bought her
maidenhead for a thousand sequins."
"Quite so, but did she tell you that I paid the money to her father?"
"Yes, the little fool doesn't keep anything for herself. I don't think I
should ever be jealous of your mistresses, if you let me sleep with them.
Is not that a mark of a good disposition? Tell me."
"You have, no doubt, a good disposition, but you could be quite as good
without your dominant passion."
"It is not a passion. I only have desires for those I love."
"Who gave you this taste?"
"Nature. I began at seven, and in the last ten years I have certainly had
four hundred sweethearts."
"You begin early. But when did you begin to have male sweethearts?"
"At eleven."
"Tell me all about it."
"Father Molini, a monk, was my confessor, and he expressed a desire to
know the girl who was then my sweetheart. It was in the carnival time,
and he gave us a moral discourse, telling us that he would take us to the
play if we would promise to abstain for a week. We promised to do so, and
at the end of the week we went to tell him that we had kept our word
faithfully. The next day Father Molini called on my sweetheart's aunt in
a mask, and as she knew him, and as he was a monk and a confessor, we
were allowed to go with him. Besides, we were mere children; my
sweetheart was only a year older than I.
"After the play the father took us to an inn, and gave us some supper;
and when the meal was over he spoke to us of our sin, and wanted to see
our privates. 'It's a great sin between two girls,' said he, 'but between
a man and a woman it is a venial matter. Do you know how men are made?'
We both knew, but we said no with one consent. 'Then would you like to
know?' said he. We said we should like to know very much, and he added,
'If you will promise to keep it a secret, I may be able to satisfy your
curiosity.' We gave our promises, and the good father proceeded to
gratify us with a sight of the riches which nature had lavished on him,
and in the course of an hour he had turned us into women. I must confess
that he understood so well how to work on our curiosity that the request
came from us. Three years later, when I was fourteen, I became the
mistress of a young jeweller. Then came your brother; but he got nothing
from me, because he began by saying that he could not ask me to give him
any favours till we were married."
"You must have been amused at that."
"Yes, it did make me laugh, because I did not know that a priest could
get married; and he excited my curiosity by telling me that they managed
it at Geneva. Curiosity and wantonness made me escape with him; you know
the rest."
Thus did Marcoline amuse me during the evening, and then we went to bed
and slept quietly till the morning. We started from Valence at five, and
in the evening we were set down at the "Hotel du Parc" at Lyons.
As soon as I was settled in the pleasant apartments allotted to me I went
to Madame d'Urfe, who was staying in the Place Bellecour, and said, as
usual, that she was sure I was coming on that day. She wanted to know if
she had performed the ceremonies correctly, and Paralis, of course,
informed her that she had, whereat she was much flattered. The young
Aranda was with her, and after I had kissed him affectionately I told the
marchioness that I would be with her at ten o'clock the next morning, and
so I left her.
I kept the appointment and we spent the whole of the day in close
conference, asking of the oracle concerning her being brought to bed, how
she was to make her will, and how she should contrive to escape poverty
in her regenerated shape. The oracle told her that she must go to Paris
for her lying-in, and leave all her possessions to her son, who would not
be a bastard, as Paralis promised that as soon as I got to London an
English gentleman should be sent over to marry her. Finally, the oracle
ordered her to prepare to start in three days, and to take Aranda with
her. I had to take the latter to London and return him to his mother, for
his real position in life was no longer a mystery, the little rascal
having confessed all; however, I had found a remedy for his indiscretion
as for the treachery of the Corticelli and Possano.
I longed to return him to the keeping of his mother, who constantly wrote
me impertinent letters. I also wished to take my daughter, who, according
to her mother, had become a prodigy of grace and beauty.
After the oracular business had been settled, I returned to the "Hotel du
Parc" to dine with Marcoline. It was very late, and as I could not take
my sweetheart to the play I called on M. Bono to enquire whether he had
sent my brother to Paris. He told me that he had gone the day before, and
that my great enemy, Possano, was still in Lyons, and that I would do
well to be on my guard as far as he was concerned.
"I have seen him," said Bono; "he looks pale and undone, and seems
scarcely able to stand. 'I shall die before long,' said he, 'for that
scoundrel Casanova has had me poisoned; but I will make him pay dearly
for his crime, and in this very town of Lyons, where I know he will come,
sooner or later.'
"In fact, in the course of half an hour, he made some terrible
accusations against you, speaking as if he were in a fury. He wants all
the world to know that you are the greatest villain unhung, that you are
ruining Madame d'Urfe with your impious lies; that you are a sorcerer, a
forger, an utter of false moneys, a poisoner--in short, the worst of men.
He does not intend to publish a libellous pamphlet upon you, but to
accuse you before the courts, alleging that he wants reparation for the
wrongs you have done his person, his honour, and his life, for he says
you are killing him by a slow poison. He adds that for every article he
possesses the strongest proof.
"I will say nothing about the vague abuse he adds to these formal
accusations, but I have felt it my duty to warn you of his treacherous
designs that you may be able to defeat them. It's no good saying he is a
miserable wretch, and that you despise him; you know how strong a thing
calumny is."
"Where does the fellow live?"
"I don't know in the least."
"How can I find out?"
"I can't say, for if he is hiding himself on purpose it would be hard to
get at him."
"Nevertheless, Lyons is not so vast a place."
"Lyons is a perfect maze, and there is no better hiding-place, especially
to a man with money, and Possano has money."
"But what can he do to me?"
"He can institute proceedings against you in the criminal court, which
would cause you immense anxiety and bring down your good name to the
dust, even though you be the most innocent, the most just of men."
"It seems to me, then, that the best thing I can do will be to be first
in the field."
"So I think, but even then you cannot avoid publicity."
"Tell me frankly if you feel disposed to bear witness to what the rascal
has said in a court of justice."
"I will tell all I know with perfect truth."
"Be kind enough to tell me of a good advocate."
"I will give you the address of one of the best; but reflect before you
do anything. The affair will make a noise."
"As I don't know where he lives, I have really no choice in the matter."
If I had known where he lived I could have had Possano expelled from
Lyons through the influence of Madame d'Urfe, whose relative, M. de la
Rochebaron, was the governor; but as it was, I had no other course than
the one I took.
Although Possano was a liar and an ungrateful, treacherous hound, yet I
could not help being uneasy. I went to my hotel, and proceeded to ask for
police protection against a man in hiding in Lyons, who had designs
against my life and honour.
The next day M. Bono came to dissuade me from the course I had taken.
"For," said he, "the police will begin to search for him, and as soon as
he hears of it he will take proceedings against you in the criminal
courts, and then your positions will be changed. It seems to me that if
you have no important business at Lyons you had better hasten your
departure."
"Do you think I would do such a thing for a miserable fellow like
Possano? No! I would despise myself if I did. I would die rather than
hasten my departure on account of a rascal whom I loaded with kindnesses,
despite his unworthiness! I would give a hundred louis to know where he
is now."
"I am delighted to say that I do not know anything about it, for if I did
I would tell you, and then God knows what would happen! You won't go any
sooner; well, then, begin proceedings, and I will give my evidence by
word of mouth or writing whenever you please."
I went to the advocate whom M. Bono had recommended to me, and told him
my business. When he heard what I wanted he said,----
"I can do nothing for you, sir, as I have undertaken the case of your
opponent. You need not be alarmed, however, at having spoken to me, for I
assure you that I will make no use whatever of the information. Possano's
plea or accusation will not be drawn up till the day after to-morrow, but
I will not tell him to make baste for fear of your anticipating him, as I
have only been informed of your intentions by hazard. However, you will
find plenty of advocates at Lyons as honest as I am, and more skilled."
"Could you give me the name of one?"
"That would not be etiquette, but M. Bono, who seems to have kindly
spoken of me with some esteem, will be able to serve you."
"Can you tell me where your client lives?"
"Since his chief aim is to remain hidden, and with good cause, you will
see that I could not think of doing such a thing."
In bidding him farewell I put a louis on the table, and though I did it
with the utmost delicacy he ran after me and made me take it back.
"For once in a way," I said to myself, "here's an honest advocate."
As I walked along I thought of putting a spy on Possano and finding out
his abode, for I felt a strong desire to have him beaten to death; but
where was I to find a spy in a town of which I knew nothing? M. Bono gave
me the name of another advocate, and advised me to make haste.
"'Tis in criminal matters," said he, "and in such cases the first comer
always has the advantage."
I asked him to find me a trusty fellow to track out the rascally Possano,
but the worthy man would not hear of it. He shewed me that it would be
dishonourable to set a spy on the actions of Possano's advocate. I knew
it myself; but what man is there who has not yielded to the voice of
vengeance, the most violent and least reasonable of all the passions.
I went to the second advocate, whom I found to be a man venerable not
only in years but in wisdom. I told him all the circumstances of the
affair, which he agreed to take up, saying he would present my plea in
the course of the day.
"That's just what I want you to do," said I, "for his own advocate told
me that his pleas would be presented the day after to-morrow."
"That, sir," said her "would not induce me to act with any greater
promptness, as I could not consent to your abusing the confidence of my
colleague."
"But there is nothing dishonourable in making use of information which
one has acquired by chance."
"That may be a tenable position in some cases, but in the present
instance the nature of the affair justifies prompt action. 'Prior in
tempore, Potior in jure'. Prudence bids us attack our enemy. Be so kind,
if you please, to call here at three o'clock in the afternoon."
"I will not fail to do so, and in the meanwhile here are six louis."
"I will keep account of my expenditure on your behalf."
"I want you not to spare money."
"Sir, I shall spend only what is absolutely necessary."
I almost believed that probity had chosen a home for herself amongst the
Lyons advocates, and here I may say, to the honour of the French bar,
that I have never known a more honest body of men than the advocates of
France.
At three o'clock, having seen that the plan was properly drawn up, I went
to Madame d'Urfe's, and for four hours I worked the oracle in a manner
that filled her with delight, and in spite of my vexation I could not
help laughing at her insane fancies on the subject of her pregnancy. She
was certain of it; she felt all the symptoms. Then she said how sorry she
felt that she would not be alive to laugh at all the hypotheses of the
Paris doctors as to her being delivered of a child, which would be
thought very extraordinary in a woman of her age.
When I got back to the inn I found Marcoline very melancholy. She said
she had been waiting for me to take her to the play, according to my
promise, and that I should not have made her wait in vain.
"You are right, dearest, but an affair of importance has kept me with the
marchioness. Don't be put out."
I had need of some such advice myself, for the legal affair worried me,
and I slept very ill. Early the next morning I saw my counsel, who told
me that my plea had been laid before the criminal lieutenant.
"For the present," said he, "there is nothing more to be done, for as we
don't know where he is we can't cite him to appear."
"Could I not set the police on his track?"
"You might, but I don't advise you to do so. Let us consider what the
result would be. The accuser finding himself accused would have to defend
himself and prove the accusation he has made against you. But in the
present state of things, if he does not put in an appearance we will get
judgment against him for contempt of court and also for libel. Even his
counsel will leave him in the lurch if he persistently refuses to shew
himself."
This quieted my fears a little, and I spent the rest of the day with
Madame d'Urfe, who was going to Paris on the morrow. I promised to be
with her as soon as I had dealt with certain matters which concerned the
honour of the Fraternity R. C..
Her great maxim was always to respect my secrets, and never to trouble me
with her curiosity. Marcoline, who had been pining by herself all day,
breathed again when I told her that henceforth I should be all for her.
In the morning M. Bono came to me and begged me to go with him to
Possano's counsel, who wanted to speak to me. The advocate said that his
client was a sort of madman who was ready to do anything, as he believed
himself to be dying from the effects of a slow poison.
"He says that even if you are first in the field he will have you
condemned to death. He says he doesn't care if he is sent to prison, as
he is certain of coming out in triumph as he has the proof of all his
accusations. He shews twenty-five louis which you gave him, all of which
are clipped, and he exhibits documents dated from Genoa stating that you
clipped a number of gold pieces, which were melted by M. Grimaldi in
order that the police might not find them in your possession. He has even
a letter from your brother, the abbe, deposing against you. He is a
madman, a victim to syphilis, who wishes to send you to the other world
before himself, if he can. Now my advice to you is to give him some money
and get rid of him. He tells me that he is the father of a family, and
that if M. Bono would give him a thousand louis he would sacrifice
vengeance to necessity. He told me to speak to M. Bono about it; and now,
sir what do you say?"
"That which my just indignation inspires me to say regarding a rascal
whom I rescued from poverty, and who nevertheless pursues me with
atrocious calumnies; he shall not have one single farthing of mine."
I then told the Genoa story, putting things in their true light, and
adding that I could call M. Grimaldi as a witness if necessary.
"I have delayed presenting the plea," said the counsel, "to see if the
scandal could be hushed up in any way, but I warn you that I shall now
present it."
"Do so; I shall be greatly obliged to you."
I immediately called on my advocate, and told him of the rascal's
proposal; and he said I was quite right to refuse to have any dealings
with such a fellow. He added that as I had M. Bono as a witness I ought
to make Possano's advocate present his plea, and I authorized him to take
proceedings in my name.
A clerk was immediately sent to the criminal lieutenant, praying him to
command the advocate to bring before him, in three days, the plea of one
Anami, alias Pogomas, alias Possano, the said plea being against Jacques
Casanova, commonly called the Chevalier de Seingalt. This document, to
which I affixed my signature, was laid before the criminal lieutenant.
I did not care for the three days' delay, but my counsel told me it was
always given, and that I must make up my mind to submit to all the
vexation I should be obliged to undergo, even if we were wholly
successful.
As Madame d'Urfe had taken her departure in conformity with the orders of
Paralis, I dined with Marcoline at the inn, and tried to raise my spirits
by all the means in my power. I took my mistress to the best milliners
and dressmakers in the town, and bought her everything she took a fancy
to; and then we went to the theatre, where she must have been pleased to
see all eyes fixed on her. Madame Pernon, who was in the next box to
ours, made me introduce Marcoline to her; and from the way they embraced
each other when the play was over I saw they were likely to become
intimate, the only obstacle to their friendship being that Madame Pernon
did not know a word of Italian, and that Marcoline did not dare to speak
a word of French for fear of making herself ridiculous. When we got back
to the inn, Marcoline told me that her new friend had given her the
Florentine kiss: this is the shibboleth of the sect.
The pretty nick-nacks I had given her had made her happy; her ardour was
redoubled, and the night passed joyously.
I spent the next day in going from shop to shop, making fresh purchases
for Marcoline, and we supped merrily at Madame Pernon's.
The day after, M. Bono came to see me at an early hour with a smile of
content on his face.
"Let us go and breakfast at a coffee-house," said he; "we will have some
discussion together."
When we were breakfasting he shewed me a letter written by Possano, in
which the rascal said that he was ready to abandon proceedings provided
that M. de Seingalt gave him a hundred louis, on receipt of which he
promised to leave Lyons immediately.
"I should be a great fool," said I, "if I gave the knave more money to
escape from the hands of justice. Let him go if he likes, I won't prevent
him; but he had better not expect me to give him anything. He will have a
writ out against him to-morrow. I should like to see him branded by the
hangman. He has slandered me, his benefactor, too grievously; let him
prove what he says, or be dishonoured before all men."
"His abandoning the proceedings," said M. Bono, "would in my opinion
amount to the same thing as his failing to prove his charges, and you
would do well to prefer it to a trial which would do your reputation no
good, even if you were completely successful. And the hundred louis is
nothing in comparison with the costs of such a trial."
"M. Bono, I value your advice very highly, and still more highly the
kindly feelings which prompt you, but you must allow me to follow my own
opinion in this case."
I went to my counsel and told him of the fresh proposal that Possano had
made, and of my refusal to listen to it, begging him to take measures for
the arrest of the villain who had vowed my death.
The same evening I had Madame Pernon and M. Bono, who was her lover, to
sup with me; and as the latter had a good knowledge of Italian Marcoline
was able to take part in the merriment of the company.
The next day Bono wrote to tell me that Possano had left Lyons never to
return, and that he had signed a full and satisfactory retraction. I was
not surprised to hear of his flight, but the other circumstance I could
not understand. I therefore hastened to call on Bono, who showed me the
document, which was certainly plain enough.
"Will that do?" said he.
"So well that I forgive him, but I wonder he did not insist on the
hundred Louis."
"My dear sir, I gave him the money with pleasure, to prevent a scandalous
affair which would have done us all harm in becoming public. If I had
told you nothing, you couldn't have taken any steps in the matter, and I
felt myself obliged to repair the mischief I had done in this way. You
would have known nothing about it, if you had said that you were not
satisfied. I am only too glad to have been enabled to skew my friendship
by this trifling service. We will say no more about it."
"Very good," said I, embracing him, "we will say no more, but please to
receive the assurance of my gratitude."
I confess I felt much relieved at being freed from this troublesome
business.