My Blunders in the French Language, My Success, My Numerous
Acquaintances--Louis XV.--My Brother Arrives in Paris.
All the Italian actors in Paris insisted upon entertaining me, in order
to shew me their magnificence, and they all did it in a sumptuous style.
Carlin Bertinazzi who played Harlequin, and was a great favourite of the
Parisians, reminded me that he had already seen me thirteen years before
in Padua, at the time of his return from St. Petersburg with my mother.
He offered me an excellent dinner at the house of Madame de la Caillerie,
where he lodged. That lady was in love with him. I complimented her upon
four charming children whom I saw in the house. Her husband, who was
present, said to me;
"They are M. Carlin's children."
"That may be, sir, but you take care of them, and as they go by your
name, of course they will acknowledge you as their father."
"Yes, I should be so legally; but M. Carlin is too honest a man not to
assume the care of his children whenever I may wish to get rid of them.
He is well aware that they belong to him, and my wife would be the first
to complain if he ever denied it."
The man was not what is called a good, easy fellow, far from it; but he
took the matter in a philosophical way, and spoke of it with calm, and
even with a sort of dignity. He was attached to Carlin by a warm
friendship, and such things were then very common in Paris amongst people
of a certain class. Two noblemen, Boufflers and Luxembourg, had made a
friendly exchange of each other's wives, and each had children by the
other's wife. The young Boufflers were called Luxembourg, and the young
Luxembourg were called Boufflers. The descendants of those tiercelets are
even now known in France under those names. Well, those who were in the
secret of that domestic comedy laughed, as a matter of course, and it did
not prevent the earth from moving according to the laws of gravitation.
The most wealthy of the Italian comedians in Paris was Pantaloon, the
father of Coraline and Camille, and a well-known usurer. He also invited
me to dine with his family, and I was delighted with his two daughters.
The eldest, Coraline, was kept by the Prince of Monaco, son of the Duke
of Valentinois, who was still alive; and Camille was enamoured of the
Count of Melfort, the favourite of the Duchess of Chartres, who had just
become Duchess of Orleans by the death of her father-in-law.
Coraline was not so sprightly as Camille, but she was prettier. I began
to make love to her as a young man of no consequence, and at hours which
I thought would not attract attention: but all hours belong by right to
the established lover, and I therefore found myself sometimes with her
when the Prince of Monaco called to see her. At first I would bow to the
prince and withdraw, but afterwards I was asked to remain, for as a
general thing princes find a tete-a-tete with their mistresses rather
wearisome. Therefore we used to sup together, and they both listened,
while it was my province to eat, and to relate stories.
I bethought myself of paying my court to the prince, and he received my
advances very well. One morning, as I called on Coraline, he said to me,
"Ah! I am very glad to see you, for I have promised the Duchess of Rufe
to present you to her, and we can go to her immediately."
Again a duchess! My star is decidedly in the ascendant. Well, let us go!
We got into a 'diable', a sort of vehicle then very fashionable, and at
eleven o'clock in the morning we were introduced to the duchess.
Dear reader, if I were to paint it with a faithful pen, my portrait of
that lustful vixen would frighten you. Imagine sixty winters heaped upon
a face plastered with rouge, a blotched and pimpled complexion, emaciated
and gaunt features, all the ugliness of libertinism stamped upon the
countenance of that creature relining upon the sofa. As soon as she sees
me, she exclaims with rapid joy,
"Ah! this is a good-looking man! Prince, it is very amiable on your part
to bring him to me. Come and sit near me, my fine fellow!"
I obeyed respectfully, but a noxious smell of musk, which seemed to me
almost corpse-like, nearly upset me. The infamous duchess had raised
herself on the sofa and exposed all the nakedness of the most disgusting
bosom, which would have caused the most courageous man to draw back. The
prince, pretending to have some engagement, left us, saying that he would
send his carriage for me in a short time.
As soon as we were alone, the plastered skeleton thrust its arms forward,
and, without giving me time to know what I was about, the creature gave
me a horrible kiss, and then one of her hands began to stray with the
most bare-faced indecency.
"Let me see, my fine cock," she said, "if you have a fine...."
I was shuddering, and resisted the attempt.
"Well, well! What a baby you are!" said the disgusting Messaline; "are
you such a novice?"
"No, madam; but...."
"But what?"
"I have...."
"Oh, the villain!" she exclaimed, loosing her hold; "what was I going to
expose myself to!"
I availed myself of the opportunity, snatched my hat, and took to my
heels, afraid lest the door-keeper should stop me.
I took a coach and drove to Coraline's, where I related the adventure.
She laughed heartily, and agreed with me that the prince had played me a
nasty trick. She praised the presence of mind with which I had invented
an impediment, but she did not give me an opportunity of proving to her
that I had deceived the duchess.
Yet I was not without hope, and suspected that she did not think me
sufficiently enamoured of her.
Three or four days afterwards, however, as we had supper together and
alone, I told her so many things, and I asked her so clearly to make me
happy or else to dismiss me, that she gave me an appointment for the next
day.
"To-morrow," she said, "the prince goes to Versailles, and he will not
return until the day after; we will go together to the warren to hunt
ferrets, and have no doubt we shall come back to Paris pleased with one
another."
"That is right."
The next day at ten o'clock we took a coach, but as we were nearing the
gate of the city a vis-a-vis, with servants in a foreign livery came tip
to us, and the person who was in it called out, "Stop! Stop!"
The person was the Chevalier de Wurtemburg, who, without deigning to cast
even one glance on me, began to say sweet words to Coraline, and
thrusting his head entirely out of his carriage he whispered to her. She
answered him likewise in a whisper; then taking my hand, she said to me,
laughingly,
"I have some important business with this prince; go to the warren alone,
my dear friend, enjoy the hunt, and come to me to-morrow."
And saying those words she got out, took her seat in the vis-a-vis, and I
found myself very much in the position of Lot's wife, but not motionless.
Dear reader, if you have ever been in such a predicament you will easily
realize the rage with which I was possessed: if you have never been
served in that way, so much the better for you, but it is useless for me
to try to give you an idea of my anger; you would not understand me.
I was disgusted with the coach, and I jumped out of it, telling the
driver to go to the devil. I took the first hack which happened to pass,
and drove straight to Patu's house, to whom I related my adventure,
almost foaming with rage. But very far from pitying me or sharing my
anger, Patu, much wiser, laughed and said,
"I wish with all my heart that the same thing might happen to me; for you
are certain of possessing our beautiful Coraline the very first time you
are with her."
"I would not have her, for now I despise her heartily."
"Your contempt ought to have come sooner. But, now that is too late to
discuss the matter, I offer you, as a compensation, a dinner at the
Hotel du Roule."
"Most decidedly yes; it is an excellent idea. Let us go."
The Hotel du Roule was famous in Paris, and I had not been there yet. The
woman who kept it had furnished the place with great elegance, and she
always had twelve or fourteen well-chosen nymphs, with all the
conveniences that could be desired. Good cooking, good beds, cleanliness,
solitary and beautiful groves. Her cook was an artist, and her
wine-cellar excellent. Her name was Madame Paris; probably an assumed
name, but it was good enough for the purpose. Protected by the police,
she was far enough from Paris to be certain that those who visited her
liberally appointed establishment were above the middle class. Everything
was strictly regulated in her house and every pleasure was taxed at a
reasonable tariff. The prices were six francs for a breakfast with a
nymph, twelve for dinner, and twice that sum to spend a whole night. I
found the house even better than its reputation, and by far superior to
the warren.
We took a coach, and Patu said to the driver,
"To Chaillot."
"I understand, your honour."
After a drive of half an hour, we stopped before a gate on which could be
read, "Hotel du Roule."
The gate was closed. A porter, sporting long mustachioes, came out
through a side-door and gravely examined us. He was most likely pleased
with our appearance, for the gate was opened and we went in. A woman,
blind of one eye, about forty years old, but with a remnant of beauty,
came up, saluted us politely, and enquired whether we wished to have
dinner. Our answer being affirmative, she took us to a fine room in which
we found fourteen young women, all very handsome, and dressed alike in
muslin. As we entered the room, they rose and made us a graceful
reverence; they were all about the same age, some with light hair, some
with dark; every taste could be satisfied. We passed them in review,
addressing a few words to each, and made our choice. The two we chose
screamed for joy, kissed us with a voluptuousness which a novice might
have mistaken for love, and took us to the garden until dinner would be
ready. That garden was very large and artistically arranged to minister
to the pleasures of love. Madame Paris said to us,
"Go, gentlemen, enjoy the fresh air with perfect security in every way;
my house is the temple of peace and of good health."
The girl I had chosen was something like Coraline, and that made me find
her delightful. But in the midst of our amorous occupations we were
called to dinner. We were well served, and the dinner had given us new
strength, when our single-eyed hostess came, watch in hand, to announce
that time was up. Pleasure at the "Hotel du Roule" was measured by the
hour.
I whispered to Patu, and, after a few philosophical considerations,
addressing himself to madame la gouvernante, he said to her,
"We will have a double dose, and of course pay double."
"You are quite welcome, gentlemen."
We went upstairs, and after we had made our choice a second time, we
renewed our promenade in the garden. But once more we were disagreeably
surprised by the strict punctuality of the lady of the house. "Indeed!
this is too much of a good thing, madam."
"Let us go up for the third time, make a third choice, and pass the whole
night here."
"A delightful idea which I accept with all my heart."
"Does Madame Paris approve our plan?"
"I could not have devised a better one, gentlemen; it is a masterpiece."
When we were in the room, and after we had made a new choice, the girls
laughed at the first ones who had not contrived to captivate us, and by
way of revenge these girls told their companions that we were lanky
fellows.
This time I was indeed astonished at my own choice. I had taken a true
Aspasia, and I thanked my stars that I had passed her by the first two
times, as I had now the certainty of possessing her for fourteen hours.
That beauty's name was Saint Hilaire; and under that name she became
famous in England, where she followed a rich lord the year after. At
first, vexed because I had not remarked her before, she was proud and
disdainful; but I soon proved to her that it was fortunate that my first
or second choice had not fallen on her, as she would now remain longer
with me. She then began to laugh, and shewed herself very agreeable.
That girl had wit, education and talent-everything, in fact, that is
needful to succeed in the profession she had adopted. During the supper
Patu told me in Italian that he was on the point of taking her at the
very moment I chose her, and the next morning he informed me that he had
slept quietly all night. The Saint Hilaire was highly pleased with me,
and she boasted of it before her companions. She was the cause of my
paying several visits to the Hotel du Roule, and all for her; she was
very proud of my constancy.
Those visits very naturally cooled my ardour for Coraline. A singer from
Venice, called Guadani, handsome, a thorough musician, and very witty,
contrived to captivate her affections three weeks after my quarrel with
her. The handsome fellow, who was a man only in appearance, inflamed her
with curiosity if not with love, and caused a rupture with the prince,
who caught her in the very act. But Coraline managed to coax him back,
and, a short time after, a reconciliation took place between them, and
such a good one, that a babe was the consequence of it; a girl, whom the
prince named Adelaide, and to whom he gave a dowry. After the death of
his father, the Duke of Valentinois, the prince left her altogether and
married Mlle. de Brignole, from Genoa. Coraline became the mistress of
Count de la Marche, now Prince de Conti. Coraline is now dead, as well as
a son whom she had by the count, and whom his father named Count de
Monreal.
Madame la Dauphine was delivered of a princess, who received the title of
Madame de France.
In the month of August the Royal Academy had an exhibition at the Louvre,
and as there was not a single battle piece I conceived the idea of
summoning my brother to Paris. He was then in Venice, and he had great
talent in that particular style. Passorelli, the only painter of battles
known in France, was dead, and I thought that Francois might succeed and
make a fortune. I therefore wrote to M. Grimani and to my brother; I
persuaded them both, but Francois did not come to Paris till the
beginning of the following year.
Louis XV., who was passionately fond of hunting, was in the habit of
spending six weeks every year at the Chateau of Fontainebleau. He always
returned to Versailles towards the middle of November. That trip cost
him, or rather cost France, five millions of francs. He always took with
him all that could contribute to the amusement of the foreign ambassadors
and of his numerous court. He was followed by the French and the Italian
comedians, and by the actors and actresses of the opera.
During those six weeks Fontainebleau was more brilliant than Versailles;
nevertheless, the artists attached to the theatres were so numerous that
the Opera, the French and Italian Comedies, remained open in Paris.
Baletti's father, who had recovered his health, was to go to
Fontainebleau with Silvia and all his family. They invited me to
accompany them, and to accept a lodging in a house hired by them.
It was a splendid opportunity; they were my friends, and I accepted, for
I could not have met with a better occasion to see the court and all the
foreign ministers. I presented myself to M. de Morosini, now Procurator
at St. Mark's, and then ambassador from the Republic to the French court.
The first night of the opera he gave me permission to accompany him; the
music was by Lulli. I had a seat in the pit precisely under the private
box of Madame de Pompadour, whom I did not know. During the first scene
the celebrated Le Maur gave a scream so shrill and so unexpected that I
thought she had gone mad. I burst into a genuine laugh, not supposing
that any one could possibly find fault with it. But a knight of the Order
of the Holy Ghost, who was near the Marquise de Pompadour, dryly asked me
what country I came from. I answered, in the same tone,
"From Venice."
"I have been there, and have laughed heartily at the recitative in your
operas."
"I believe you, sir, and I feel certain that no one ever thought of
objecting to your laughing."
My answer, rather a sharp one, made Madame de Pompadour laugh, and she
asked me whether I truly came from down there.
"What do you mean by down there?"
"I mean Venice."
"Venice, madam, is not down there, but up there."
That answer was found more singular than the first, and everybody in the
box held a consultation in order to ascertain whether Venice was down or
up. Most likely they thought I was right, for I was left alone.
Nevertheless, I listened to the opera without laughing; but as I had a
very bad cold I blew my nose often. The same gentleman addressing himself
again to me, remarked that very likely the windows of my room did not
close well. That gentleman, who was unknown to me was the Marechal de
Richelieu. I told him he was mistaken, for my windows were well
'calfoutrees'. Everyone in the box burst into a loud laugh, and I felt
mortified, for I knew my mistake; I ought to have said 'calfeutrees'. But
these 'eus' and 'ous' cause dire misery to all foreigners.
Half an hour afterwards M. de Richelieu asked me which of the two
actresses pleased me most by her beauty.
"That one, sir."
"But she has ugly legs."
"They are not seen, sir; besides, whenever I examine the beauty of a
woman, 'la premiere chose que j'ecarte, ce sont les jambes'."
That word said quite by chance, and the double meaning of which I did not
understand, made at once an important personage of me, and everybody in
the box of Madame de Pompadour was curious to know me. The marshal
learned who I was from M. de Morosini, who told me that the duke would be
happy to receive me. My 'jeu de mots' became celebrated, and the marshal
honoured me with a very gracious welcome. Among the foreign ministers,
the one to whom I attached myself most was Lord Keith, Marshal of
Scotland and ambassador of the King of Prussia. I shall have occasion to
speak of him.
The day after my arrival in Fontainebleau I went alone to the court, and
I saw Louis XV., the handsome king, go to the chapel with the royal
family and all the ladies of the court, who surprised me by their
ugliness as much as the ladies of the court of Turin had astonished me by
their beauty. Yet in the midst of so many ugly ones I found out a regular
beauty. I enquired who she was.
"She is," answered one of my neighbours, "Madame de Brionne, more
remarkable by her virtue even than by her beauty. Not only is there no
scandalous story told about her, but she has never given any opportunity
to scandal-mongers of inventing any adventure of which she was the
heroine."
"Perhaps her adventures are not known."
"Ah, monsieur! at the court everything is known."
I went about alone, sauntering through the apartments, when suddenly I
met a dozen ugly ladies who seemed to be running rather than walking;
they were standing so badly upon their legs that they appeared as if they
would fall forward on their faces. Some gentleman happened to be near me,
curiosity impelled me to enquire where they were coming from, and where
they were going in such haste.
"They are coming from the apartment of the queen who is going to dine,
and the reason why they walk so badly is that their shoes have heels six
inches high, which compel them to walk on their toes and with bent knees
in order to avoid falling on their faces."
"But why do they not wear lower heels?"
"It is the fashion."
"What a stupid fashion!"
I took a gallery at random, and saw the king passing along, leaning with
one arm on the shoulder of M. d'Argenson. "Oh, base servility!" I thought
to myself. "How can a man make up his mind thus to bear the yoke, and how
can a man believe himself so much above all others as to take such
unwarrantable liberties!"
Louis XV. had the most magnificent head it was possible to see, and he
carried it with as much grace as majesty. Never did even the most skilful
painter succeed in rendering justice to the expression of that beautiful
head, when the king turned it on one side to look with kindness at
anyone. His beauty and grace compelled love at once. As I saw him, I
thought I had found the ideal majesty which I had been so surprised not
to find in the king of Sardinia, and I could not entertain a doubt of
Madame de Pompadour having been in love with the king when she sued for
his royal attention. I was greatly mistaken, perhaps, but such a thought
was natural in looking at the countenance of Louis XV.
I reached a splendid room in which I saw several courtiers walking about,
and a table large enough for twelve persons, but laid out only for one.
"For whom is this table?"
"For the queen. Her majesty is now coming in."
It was the queen of France, without rouge, and very simply dressed; her
head was covered with a large cap; she looked old and devout. When she
was near the table, she graciously thanked two nuns who were placing a
plate with fresh butter on it. She sat down, and immediately the
courtiers formed a semicircle within five yards of the table; I remained
near them, imitating their respectful silence.
Her majesty began to eat without looking at anyone, keeping her eyes on
her plate. One of the dishes being to her taste, she desired to be helped
to it a second time, and she then cast her eyes round the circle of
courtiers, probably in order to see if among them there was anyone to
whom she owed an account of her daintiness. She found that person, I
suppose, for she said,
"Monsieur de Lowendal!"
At that name, a fine-looking man came forward with respectful
inclination, and said,
"Your majesty?"
"I believe this is a fricassee of chickens."
"I am of the same opinion, madam."
After this answer, given in the most serious tone, the queen continued
eating, and the marshal retreated backward to his original place. The
queen finished her dinner without uttering a single word, and retired to
her apartments the same way as she had come. I thought that if such was
the way the queen of France took all her meals, I would not sue for the
honour of being her guest.
I was delighted to have seen the famous captain who had conquered
Bergen-op-Zoom, but I regretted that such a man should be compelled to
give an answer about a fricassee of chickens in the serious tone of a
judge pronouncing a sentence of death.
I made good use of this anecdote at the excellent dinner Silvia gave to
the elite of polite and agreeable society.
A few days afterwards, as I was forming a line with a crowd of courtiers
to enjoy the ever new pleasure of seeing the king go to mass, a pleasure
to which must be added the advantage of looking at the naked and entirely
exposed arms and bosoms of Mesdames de France, his daughters, I suddenly
perceived the Cavamacchia, whom I had left in Cesena under the name of
Madame Querini. If I was astonished to see her, she was as much so in
meeting me in such a place. The Marquis of Saint Simon, premier
'gentilhomme' of the Prince de Conde, escorted her.
"Madame Querini in Fontainebleau?"
"You here? It reminds me of Queen Elizabeth saying,
"'Pauper ubique facet.'"
"An excellent comparison, madam."
"I am only joking, my dear friend; I am here to see the king, who does
not know me; but to-morrow the ambassador will present me to his
majesty."
She placed herself in the line within a yard or two from me, beside the
door by which the king was to come. His majesty entered the gallery with
M. de Richelieu, and looked at the so-called Madame Querini. But she very
likely did not take his fancy, for, continuing to walk on, he addressed
to the marshal these remarkable words, which Juliette must have
overheard,
"We have handsomer women here."
In the afternoon I called upon the Venetian ambassador. I found him in
numerous company, with Madame Querini sitting on his right. She addressed
me in the most flattering and friendly manner; it was extraordinary
conduct on the part of a giddy woman who had no cause to like me, for she
was aware that I knew her thoroughly, and that I had mastered her vanity;
but as I understood her manoeuvring I made up my mind not to disoblige
her, and even to render her all the good offices I could; it was a noble
revenge.
As she was speaking of M. Querini, the ambassador congratulated her upon
her marriage with him, saying that he was glad M. Querini had rendered
justice to her merit, and adding,
"I was not aware of your marriage."
"Yet it took place more than two years since," said Juliette.
"I know it for a fact," I said, in my turn; "for, two years ago, the lady
was introduced as Madame Querini and with the title of excellency by
General Spada to all the nobility in Cesena, where I was at that time."
"I have no doubt of it," answered the ambassador, fixing his eyes upon
me, "for Querini has himself written to me on the subject."
A few minutes afterwards, as I was preparing to take my leave, the
ambassador, under pretense of some letters the contents of which he
wished to communicate to me, invited me to come into his private room,
and he asked me what people generally thought of the marriage in Venice.
"Nobody knows it, and it is even rumoured that the heir of the house of
Querini is on the point of marrying a daughter of the Grimani family; but
I shall certainly send the news to Venice."
"What news?"
"That Juliette is truly Madame Querini, since your excellency will
present her as such to Louis XV."
"Who told you so?"
"She did."
"Perhaps she has altered her mind."
I repeated to the ambassador the words which the king had said to M. de
Richelieu after looking at Juliette.
"Then I can guess," remarked the ambassador, "why Juliette does not wish
to be presented to the king."
I was informed some time afterwards that M. de Saint Quentin, the king's
confidential minister, had called after mass on the handsome Venetian,
and had told her that the king of France had most certainly very bad
taste, because he had not thought her beauty superior to that of several
ladies of his court. Juliette left Fontainebleau the next morning.
In the first part of my Memoirs I have spoken of Juliette's beauty; she
had a wonderful charm in her countenance, but she had already used her
advantages too long, and her beauty was beginning to fade when she
arrived in Fontainebleau.
I met her again in Paris at the ambassador's, and she told me with a
laugh that she had only been in jest when she called herself Madame
Querini, and that I should oblige her if for the future I would call her
by her real name of Countess Preati. She invited me to visit her at the
Hotel de Luxembourg, where she was staying. I often called on her, for
her intrigues amused me, but I was wise enough not to meddle with them.
She remained in Paris four months, and contrived to infatuate M. Ranchi,
secretary of the Venetian Embassy, an amiable and learned man. He was so
deeply in love that he had made up his mind to marry her; but through a
caprice which she, perhaps, regretted afterwards, she ill-treated him,
and the fool died of grief. Count de Canes, ambassador of Maria Theresa,
had some inclination for her, as well as the Count of Zinzendorf. The
person who arranged these transient and short-lived intrigues was a
certain Guasco, an abbe not over-favoured with the gifts of Plutus. He
was particularly ugly, and had to purchase small favours with great
services.
But the man whom she really wished to marry was Count Saint Simon. He
would have married her if she had not given him false addresses to make
enquiries respecting her birth. The Preati family of Verona denied all
knowledge of her, as a matter of course, and M. de Saint Simon, who, in
spite of all his love, had not entirely lost his senses, had the courage
to abandon her. Altogether, Paris did not prove an 'el dorado' for my
handsome countrywoman, for she was obliged to pledge her diamonds, and to
leave them behind her. After her return to Venice she married the son of
the Uccelli, who sixteen years before had taken her out of her poverty.
She died ten years ago.
I was still taking my French lessons with my good old Crebillon; yet my
style, which was full of Italianisms, often expressed the very reverse of
what I meant to say. But generally my 'quid pro quos' only resulted in
curious jokes which made my fortune; and the best of it is that my
gibberish did me no harm on the score of wit: on the contrary, it
procured me fine acquaintances.
Several ladies of the best society begged me to teach them Italian,
saying that it would afford them the opportunity of teaching me French;
in such an exchange I always won more than they did.
Madame Preodot, who was one of my pupils, received me one morning; she
was still in bed, and told me that she did not feel disposed to have a
lesson, because she had taken medicine the night previous. Foolishly
translating an Italian idiom, I asked her, with an air of deep interest,
whether she had well 'decharge'?
"Sir, what a question! You are unbearable."
I repeated my question; she broke out angrily again.
"Never utter that dreadful word."
"You are wrong in getting angry; it is the proper word."
"A very dirty word, sir, but enough about it. Will you have some
breakfast?"
"No, I thank you. I have taken a 'cafe' and two 'Savoyards'."
"Dear me! What a ferocious breakfast! Pray, explain yourself."
"I say that I have drunk a cafe and eaten two Savoyards soaked in it, and
that is what I do every morning."
"You are stupid, my good friend. A cafe is the establishment in which
coffee is sold, and you ought to say that you have drunk 'use tasse de
cafe'"
"Good indeed! Do you drink the cup? In Italy we say a 'caffs', and we are
not foolish enough to suppose that it means the coffee-house."
"He will have the best of it! And the two 'Savoyards', how did you
swallow them?"
"Soaked in my coffee, for they were not larger than these on your table."
"And you call these 'Savoyards'? Say biscuits."
"In Italy, we call them 'Savoyards' because they were first invented in
Savoy; and it is not my fault if you imagined that I had swallowed two of
the porters to be found at the corner of the streets--big fellows whom
you call in Paris Savoyards, although very often they have never been in
Savoy."
Her husband came in at that moment, and she lost no time in relating the
whole of our conversation. He laughed heartily, but he said I was right.
Her niece arrived a few minutes after; she was a young girl about
fourteen years of age, reserved, modest, and very intelligent. I had
given her five or six lessons in Italian, and as she was very fond of
that language and studied diligently she was beginning to speak.
Wishing to pay me her compliments in Italian, she said to me,
"'Signore, sono in cantata di vi Vader in bona salute'."
"I thank you, mademoiselle; but to translate 'I am enchanted', you must
say 'ho pacer', and for to see you, you must say 'di vedervi'."
"I thought, sir, that the 'vi' was to be placed before."
"No, mademoiselle, we always put it behind."
Monsieur and Madame Preodot were dying with laughter; the young lady was
confused, and I in despair at having uttered such a gross absurdity; but
it could not be helped. I took a book sulkily, in the hope of putting a
stop to their mirth, but it was of no use: it lasted a week. That uncouth
blunder soon got known throughout Paris, and gave me a sort of reputation
which I lost little by little, but only when I understood the double
meanings of words better. Crebillon was much amused with my blunder, and
he told me that I ought to have said after instead of behind. Ah! why
have not all languages the same genius! But if the French laughed at my
mistakes in speaking their language, I took my revenge amply by turning
some of their idioms into ridicule.
"Sir," I once said to a gentleman, "how is your wife?"
"You do her great honour, sir."
"Pray tell me, sir, what her honour has to do with her health?"
I meet in the Bois de Boulogne a young man riding a horse which he cannot
master, and at last he is thrown. I stop the horse, run to the assistance
of the young man and help him up.
"Did you hurt yourself, sir?"
"Oh, many thanks, sir, au contraire."
"Why au contraire! The deuce! It has done you good? Then begin again,
sir."
And a thousand similar expressions entirely the reverse of good sense.
But it is the genius of the language.
I was one day paying my first visit to the wife of President de N----,
when her nephew, a brilliant butterfly, came in, and she introduced me to
him, mentioning my name and my country.
"Indeed, sir, you are Italian?" said the young man. "Upon my word, you
present yourself so gracefully that I would have betted you were French."
"Sir, when I saw you, I was near making the same mistake; I would have
betted you were Italian."
Another time, I was dining at Lady Lambert's in numerous and brilliant
company. Someone remarked on my finger a cornelian ring on which was
engraved very beautifully the head of Louis XV. My ring went round the
table, and everybody thought that the likeness was striking.
A young marquise, who had the reputation of being a great wit, said to me
in the most serious tone,
"It is truly an antique?"
"The stone, madam, undoubtedly."
Everyone laughed except the thoughtless young beauty, who did not take
any notice of it. Towards the end of the dinner, someone spoke of the
rhinoceros, which was then shewn for twenty-four sous at the St.
Germain's Fair.
"Let us go and see it!" was the cry.
We got into the carriages, and reached the fair. We took several turns
before we could find the place. I was the only gentleman; I was taking
care of two ladies in the midst of the crowd, and the witty marquise was
walking in front of us. At the end of the alley where we had been told
that we would find the animal, there was a man placed to receive the
money of the visitors. It is true that the man, dressed in the African
fashion, was very dark and enormously stout, yet he had a human and very
masculine form, and the beautiful marquise had no business to make a
mistake. Nevertheless, the thoughtless young creature went up straight to
him and said,
"Are you the rhinoceros, sir?"
"Go in, madam, go in."
We were dying with laughing; and the marquise, when she had seen the
animal, thought herself bound to apologize to the master; assuring him
that she had never seen a rhinoceros in her life, and therefore he could
not feel offended if she had made a mistake.
One evening I was in the foyer of the Italian Comedy, where between the
acts the highest noblemen were in the habit of coming, in order to
converse and joke with the actresses who used to sit there waiting for
their turn to appear on the stage, and I was seated near Camille,
Coraline's sister, whom I amused by making love to her. A young
councillor, who objected to my occupying Camille's attention, being a
very conceited fellow, attacked me upon some remark I made respecting an
Italian play, and took the liberty of shewing his bad temper by
criticizing my native country. I was answering him in an indirect way,
looking all the time at Camille, who was laughing. Everybody had
congregated around us and was attentive to the discussion, which, being
carried on as an assault of wit, had nothing to make it unpleasant.
But it seemed to take a serious turn when the young fop, turning the
conversation on the police of the city, said that for some time it had
been dangerous to walk alone at night through the streets of Paris.
"During the last month," he added, "the Place de Greve has seen the
hanging of seven men, among whom there were five Italians. An
extraordinary circumstance."
"Nothing extraordinary in that," I answered; "honest men generally
contrive to be hung far away from their native country; and as a proof of
it, sixty Frenchmen have been hung in the course of last year between
Naples, Rome, and Venice. Five times twelve are sixty; so you see that it
is only a fair exchange."
The laughter was all on my side, and the fine councillor went away rather
crestfallen. One of the gentlemen present at the discussion, finding my
answer to his taste, came up to Camille, and asked her in a whisper who I
was. We got acquainted at once.
It was M. de Marigni, whom I was delighted to know for the sake of my
brother whose arrival in Paris I was expecting every day. M. de Marigni
was superintendent of the royal buildings, and the Academy of Painting
was under his jurisdiction. I mentioned my brother to him, and he
graciously promised to protect him. Another young nobleman, who conversed
with me, invited me to visit him. It was the Duke de Matalona.
I told him that I had seen him, then only a child, eight years before in
Naples, and that I was under great obligations to his uncle, Don Lelio.
The young duke was delighted, and we became intimate friends.
My brother arrived in Paris in the spring of 1751, and he lodged with me
at Madame Quinson's. He began at once to work with success for private
individuals; but his main idea being to compose a picture to be submitted
to the judgment of the Academy, I introduced him to M. de Marigni, who
received him with great distinction, and encouraged him by assuring him
of his protection. He immediately set to work with great diligence.
M. de Morosini had been recalled, and M. de Mocenigo had succeeded him as
ambassador of the Republic. M. de Bragadin had recommended me to him, and
he tendered a friendly welcome both to me and to my brother, in whose
favour he felt interested as a Venetian, and as a young artist seeking to
build up a position by his talent.
M. de Mocenigo was of a very pleasant nature; he liked gambling although
he was always unlucky at cards; he loved women, and he was not more
fortunate with them because he did not know how to manage them. Two years
after his arrival in Paris he fell in love with Madame de Colande, and,
finding it impossible to win her affections, he killed himself.
Madame la Dauphine was delivered of a prince, the Duke of Burgundy, and
the rejoicings indulged in at the birth of that child seem to me
incredible now, when I see what the same nation is doing against the
king. The people want to be free; it is a noble ambition, for mankind are
not made to be the slaves of one man; but with a nation populous, great,
witty, and giddy, what will be the end of that revolution? Time alone can
tell us.
The Duke de Matalona procured me the acquaintance of the two princes, Don
Marc Antoine and Don Jean Baptiste Borghese, from Rome, who were enjoying
themselves in Paris, yet living without display. I had occasion to remark
that when those Roman princes were presented at the court of France they
were only styled "marquis:" It was the same with the Russian princes, to
whom the title of prince was refused when they wanted to be presented;
they were called "knees," but they did not mind it, because that word
meant prince. The court of France has always been foolishly particular on
the question of titles, and is even now sparing of the title of monsieur,
although it is common enough everywhere every man who was not titled was
called Sieur. I have remarked that the king never addressed his bishops
otherwise than as abbes, although they were generally very proud of their
titles. The king likewise affected to know a nobleman only when his name
was inscribed amongst those who served him.
Yet the haughtiness of Louis XV. had been innoculated into him by
education; it was not in his nature. When an ambassador presented someone
to him, the person thus presented withdrew with the certainty of having
been seen by the king, but that was all. Nevertheless, Louis XV. was very
polite, particularly with ladies, even with his mistresses, when in
public. Whoever failed in respect towards them in the slightest manner
was sure of disgrace, and no king ever possessed to a greater extent the
grand royal virtue which is called dissimulation. He kept a secret
faithfully, and he was delighted when he knew that no one but himself
possessed it.
The Chevalier d'Eon is a proof of this, for the king alone knew and had
always known that the chevalier was a woman, and all the long discussions
which the false chevalier had with the office for foreign affairs was a
comedy which the king allowed to go on, only because it amused him.
Louis XV. was great in all things, and he would have had no faults if
flattery had not forced them upon him. But how could he possibly have
supposed himself faulty in anything when everyone around him repeated
constantly that he was the best of kings? A king, in the opinion of which
he was imbued respecting his own person, was a being of a nature by far
too superior to ordinary men for him not to have the right to consider
himself akin to a god. Sad destiny of kings! Vile flatterers are
constantly doing everything necessary to reduce them below the condition
of man.
The Princess of Ardore was delivered about that time of a young prince.
Her husband, the Neapolitan ambassador, entreated Louis XV. to be
god-father to the child; the king consented and presented his god-son
with a regiment; but the mother, who did not like the military career for
her son, refused it. The Marshal de Richelieu told me that he had never
known the king laugh so heartily as when he heard of that singular
refusal.
At the Duchess de Fulvie's I made the acquaintance of Mdlle. Gaussin, who
was called Lolotte. She was the mistress of Lord Albemarle, the English
ambassador, a witty and very generous nobleman. One evening he complained
of his mistress praising the beauty of the stars which were shining
brightly over her head, saying that she ought to know he could not give
them to her. If Lord Albemarle had been ambassador to the court of France
at the time of the rupture between France and England, he would have
arranged all difficulties amicably, and the unfortunate war by which
France lost Canada would not have taken place. There is no doubt that the
harmony between two nations depends very often upon their respective
ambassadors, when there is any danger of a rupture.
As to the noble lord's mistress, there was but one opinion respecting
her. She was fit in every way to become his wife, and the highest
families of France did not think that she needed the title of Lady
Albemarle to be received with distinction; no lady considered it debasing
to sit near her, although she was well known as the mistress of the
English lord. She had passed from her mother's arms to those of Lord
Albemarle at the age of thirteen, and her conduct was always of the
highest respectability. She bore children whom the ambassador
acknowledged legally, and she died Countess d'Erouville. I shall have to
mention her again in my Memoirs.
I had likewise occasion to become acquainted at the Venetian Embassy with
a lady from Venice, the widow of an English baronet named Wynne. She was
then coming from London with her children, where she had been compelled
to go in order to insure them the inheritance of their late father, which
they would have lost if they had not declared themselves members of the
Church of England. She was on her way back to Venice, much pleased with
her journey. She was accompanied by her eldest daughter--a young girl of
twelve years, who, notwithstanding her youth, carried on her beautiful
face all the signs of perfection.
She is now living in Venice, the widow of Count de Rosenberg, who died in
Venice ambassador of the Empress-Queen Maria Theresa. She is surrounded
by the brilliant halo of her excellent conduct and of all her social
virtues. No one can accuse her of any fault, except that of being poor,
but she feels it only because it does not allow her to be as charitable
as she might wish.
The reader will see in the next chapter how I managed to embroil myself
with the French police.