The Beautiful O-Morphi--The Deceitful Painter--I Practice Cabalism for
the Duchess de Chartres I Leave Paris--My Stay in Dresden and My
Departure from that City
I went to St. Lawrence's Fair with my friend Patu, who, taking it into
his head to sup with a Flemish actress known by the name of Morphi,
invited me to go with him. I felt no inclination for the girl, but what
can we refuse to a friend? I did as he wished. After we had supped with
the actress, Patu fancied a night devoted to a more agreeable occupation,
and as I did not want to leave him I asked for a sofa on which I could
sleep quietly during the night.
Morphi had a sister, a slovenly girl of thirteen, who told me that if I
would give her a crown she would abandon her bed to me. I agreed to her
proposal, and she took me to a small closet where I found a straw
palliasse on four pieces of wood.
"Do you call this a bed, my child?"
"I have no other, sir."
"Then I do not want it, and you shall not have the crown."
"Did you intend undressing yourself?"
"Of course."
"What an idea! There are no sheets."
"Do you sleep with your clothes on?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, then, go to bed as usual, and you shall have the crown."
"Why?"
"I want to see you undressed."
"But you won't do anything to me?"
"Not the slightest thing."
She undressed, laid herself on her miserable straw bed, and covered
herself with an old curtain. In that state, the impression made by her
dirty tatters disappeared, and I only saw a perfect beauty. But I wanted
to see her entirely. I tried to satisfy my wishes, she opposed some
resistance, but a double crown of six francs made her obedient, and
finding that her only fault was a complete absence of cleanliness, I
began to wash her with my own hands.
You will allow me, dear reader, to suppose that you possess a simple and
natural knowledge, namely, that admiration under such circumstances is
inseparable from another kind of approbation; luckily, I found the young
Morphi disposed to let me do all I pleased, except the only thing for
which I did not care! She told me candidly that she would not allow me to
do that one thing, because in her sister's estimation it was worth
twenty-five louis. I answered that we would bargain on that capital point
another time, but that we would not touch it for the present. Satisfied
with what I said, all the rest was at my disposal, and I found in her a
talent which had attained great perfection in spite of her precocity.
The young Helene faithfully handed to her sister the six francs I had
given her, and she told her the way in which she had earned them. Before
I left the house she told me that, as she was in want of money, she felt
disposed to make some abatement on the price of twenty-five louis. I
answered with a laugh that I would see her about it the next day. I
related the whole affair to Patu, who accused me of exaggeration; and
wishing to prove to him that I was a real connoisseur of female beauty I
insisted upon his seeing Helene as I had seen her. He agreed with me that
the chisel of Praxiteles had never carved anything more perfect. As white
as a lily, Helene possessed all the beauties which nature and the art of
the painter can possibly combine. The loveliness of her features was so
heavenly that it carried to the soul an indefinable sentiment of ecstacy,
a delightful calm. She was fair, but her beautiful blue eyes equalled the
finest black eyes in brilliance.
I went to see her the next evening, and, not agreeing about the price, I
made a bargain with her sister to give her twelve francs every time I
paid her a visit, and it was agreed that we would occupy her room until I
should make up my mind to pay six hundred francs. It was regular usury,
but the Morphi came from a Greek race, and was above prejudices. I had no
idea of giving such a large sum, because I felt no wish to obtain what it
would have procured me; what I obtained was all I cared for.
The elder sister thought I was duped, for in two months I had paid three
hundred francs without having done anything, and she attributed my
reserve to avarice. Avarice, indeed! I took a fancy to possess a painting
of that beautiful body, and a German artist painted it for me splendidly
for six louis. The position in which he painted it was delightful. She
was lying on her stomach, her arms and her bosom leaning on a pillow, and
holding her head sideways as if she were partly on the back. The clever
and tasteful artist had painted her nether parts with so much skill and
truth that no one could have wished for anything more beautiful; I was
delighted with that portrait; it was a speaking likeness, and I wrote
under it, "O-Morphi," not a Homeric word, but a Greek one after all, and
meaning beautiful.
But who can anticipate the wonderful and secret decrees of destiny! My
friend Patu wished to have a copy of that portrait; one cannot refuse
such a slight service to a friend, and I gave an order for it to the same
painter. But the artist, having been summoned to Versailles, shewed that
delightful painting with several others, and M. de St. Quentin found it
so beautiful that he lost no time in shewing it the king. His Most
Christian Majesty, a great connoisseur in that line, wished to ascertain
with his own eyes if the artist had made a faithful copy; and in case the
original should prove as beautiful as the copy, the son of St. Louis knew
very well what to do with it.
M. de St. Quentin, the king's trusty friend, had the charge of that
important affair; it was his province: He enquired from the painter
whether the original could be brought to Versailles, and the artist, not
supposing there would be any difficulty, promised to attend to it.
He therefore called on me to communicate the proposal; I thought it was
delightful, and I immediately told the sister, who jumped for joy. She
set to work cleaning, washing and clothing the young beauty, and two or
three days after they went to Versailles with the painter to see what
could be done. M. de St. Quentin's valet, having received his
instructions from his master, took the two females to a pavilion in the
park, and the painter went to the hotel to await the result of his
negotiation. Half an hour afterwards the king entered the pavilion alone,
asked the young O-Morphi if she was a Greek woman, took the portrait out
of his pocket, and after a careful examination exclaimed,
"I have never seen a better likeness."
His majesty then sat down, took the young girl on his knees, bestowed a
few caresses on her, and having ascertained with his royal hand that the
fruit had not yet been plucked, he gave her a kiss.
O-Morphi was looking attentively at her master, and smiled.
"What are you laughing at?" said the king.
"I laugh because you and a crown of six francs are as like as two peas."
That naivete made the king laugh heartily, and he asked her whether she
would like to remain in Versailles.
"That depends upon my sister," answered the child.
But the sister hastened to tell the king that she could not aspire to a
greater honour. The king locked them up again in the pavilion and went
away, but in less than a quarter of an hour St. Quentin came to fetch
them, placed the young girl in an apartment under the care of a female
attendant, and with the sister he went to meet at the hotel the German
artist to whom he gave fifty Louis for the portrait, and nothing to
Morphi. He only took her address, promising her that she would soon hear
from him; the next day she received one thousand Louis. The worthy German
gave me twenty-five louis for my portrait, with a promise to make a
careful copy of the one I had given to Patu, and he offered to paint for
me gratuitously the likeness of every girl of whom I might wish to keep a
portrait.
I enjoyed heartily the pleasure of the good Fleeting, when she found
herself in possession of the thousand gold pieces which she had received.
Seeing herself rich, and considering me as the author of her fortune, she
did not know how to shew me her gratitude.
The young and lovely O-Morphi--for the king always called her by that
name--pleased the sovereign by her simplicity and her pretty ways more
even than by her rare beauty--the most perfect, the most regular, I
recollect to have ever seen. He placed her in one of the apartments of
his Parc-dux-cerfs--the voluptuous monarch's harem, in which no one could
get admittance except the ladies presented at the court. At the end of
one year she gave birth to a son who went, like so many others, God knows
where! for as long as Queen Mary lived no one ever knew what became of
the natural children of Louis XV.
O-Morphi fell into disgrace at the end of three years, but the king, as
he sent her away, ordered her to receive a sum of four hundred thousand
francs which she brought as a dowry to an officer from Britanny. In 1783,
happening to be in Fontainebleau, I made the acquaintance of a charming
young man of twenty-five, the offspring of that marriage and the living
portrait of his mother, of the history of whom he had not the slightest
knowledge, and I thought it my duty not to enlighten him. I wrote my name
on his tablets, and I begged him to present my compliments to his mother.
A wicked trick of Madame de Valentinois, sister-in-law of the Prince of
Monaco, was the cause of O-Morphi's disgrace. That lady, who was well
known in Paris, told her one day that, if she wished to make the king
very merry, she had only to ask him how he treated his old wife. Too
simple to guess the snare thus laid out for her, O-Morphi actually asked
that impertinent question; but Louis XV. gave her a look of fury, and
exclaimed,
"Miserable wretch! who taught you to address me that question?"
The poor O-Morphi, almost dead with fright, threw herself on her knees,
and confessed the truth.
The king left her and never would see her again. The Countess de
Valentinois was exiled for two years from the court. Louis XV., who knew
how wrongly he was behaving towards his wife as a husband, would not
deserve any reproach at her hands as a king, and woe to anyone who forgot
the respect due to the queen!
The French are undoubtedly the most witty people in Europe, and perhaps
in the whole world, but Paris is, all the same, the city for impostors
and quacks to make a fortune. When their knavery is found out people turn
it into a joke and laugh, but in the midst of the merriment another
mountebank makes his appearance, who does something more wonderful than
those who preceded him, and he makes his fortune, whilst the scoffing of
the people is in abeyance. It is the unquestionable effects of the power
which fashion has over that amiable, clever, and lively nation. If
anything is astonishing, no matter how extravagant it may be, the crowd
is sure to welcome it greedily, for anyone would be afraid of being taken
for a fool if he should exclaim, "It is impossible!" Physicians are,
perhaps, the only men in France who know that an infinite gulf yawns
between the will and the deed, whilst in Italy it is an axiom known to
everybody; but I do not mean to say that the Italians are superior to the
French.
A certain painter met with great success for some time by announcing a
thing which was an impossibility--namely, by pretending that he could
take a portrait of a person without seeing the individual, and only from
the description given. But he wanted the description to be thoroughly
accurate. The result of it was that the portrait did greater honour to
the person who gave the description than--to the painter himself, but at
the same time the informer found himself under the obligation of finding
the likeness very good; otherwise the artist alleged the most legitimate
excuse, and said that if the likeness was not perfect the fault was to be
ascribed to the person who had given an imperfect description.
One evening I was taking supper at Silvia's when one of the guests spoke
of that wonderful new artist, without laughing, and with every appearance
of believing the whole affair.
"That painter," added he, "has already painted more than one hundred
portraits, and they are all perfect likenesses."
Everybody was of the same opinion; it was splendid. I was the only one
who, laughing heartily, took the liberty of saying it was absurd and
impossible. The gentleman who had brought the wonderful news, feeling
angry, proposed a wager of one hundred louis. I laughed all the more
because his offer could not be accepted unless I exposed myself to being
made a dupe.
"But the portraits are all admirable likenesses."
"I do not believe it, or if they are then there must be cheating
somewhere."
But the gentleman, being bent upon convincing Silvia and me--for she had
taken my part proposed to make us dine with the artist; and we accepted.
The next day we called upon the painter, where we saw a quantity of
portraits, all of which the artist claimed to be speaking likenesses; as
we did not know the persons whom they represented we could not deny his
claim.
"Sir," said Silvia to the artist, "could you paint the likeness of my
daughter without seeing her?"
"Yes, madam, if you are certain of giving me an exact description of the
expression of her features."
We exchanged a glance, and no more was said about it. The painter told us
that supper was his favourite meal, and that he would be delighted if we
would often give him the pleasure of our company. Like all quacks, he
possessed an immense quantity of letters and testimonials from Bordeaux,
Toulouse, Lyons, Rouen, etc., which paid the highest compliments to the
perfection of his portraits, or gave descriptions for new pictures
ordered from him. His portraits, by the way, had to be paid for in
advance.
Two or three days afterwards I met his pretty niece, who obligingly
upbraided me for not having yet availed myself of her uncle's invitation
to supper; the niece was a dainty morsel worthy of a king, and, her
reproaches being very flattering to my vanity I promised I would come the
next day. In less than a week it turned out a serious engagement. I fell
in love with the interesting niece, who, being full of wit and well
disposed to enjoy herself, had no love for me, and granted me no favour.
I hoped, and, feeling that I was caught, I felt it was the only thing I
could do.
One day that I was alone in my room, drinking my coffee and thinking of
her, the door was suddenly opened without anyone being announced, and a
young man came in. I did not recollect him, but, without giving me time
to ask any questions, he said to me,
"Sir, I have had the honour of meeting you at the supper-table of M.
Samson, the painter."
"Ah! yes; I beg you to excuse me, sir, I did not at first recollect you."
"It is natural, for your eyes are always on Mdlle. Samson."
"Very likely, but you must admit that she is a charming creature."
"I have no difficulty whatever in agreeing with you; to my misery, I know
it but too well."
"You are in love with her?"
"Alas, yes! and I say, again, to my misery."
"To your misery? But why, do not you gain her love?"
"That is the very thing I have been striving for since last year, and I
was beginning to have some hope when your arrival has reduced me to
despair."
"I have reduced you to despair?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am very sorry, but I cannot help it."
"You could easily help it; and, if you would allow me, I could suggest to
you the way in which you could greatly oblige me."
"Speak candidly."
"You might never put your foot in the house again."
"That is a rather singular proposal, but I agree that it is truly the
only thing I can do if I have a real wish to oblige you. Do you think,
however, that in that case you would succeed in gaining her affection?"
"Then it will be my business to succeed. Do not go there again, and I
will take care of the rest."
"I might render you that very great service; but you must confess that
you must have a singular opinion of me to suppose that I am a man to do
such a thing."
"Yes, sir, I admit that it may appear singular; but I take you for a man
of great sense and sound intellect, and after considering the subject
deeply I have thought that you would put yourself in my place; that you
would not wish to make me miserable, or to expose your own life for a
young girl who can have inspired you with but a passing fancy, whilst my
only wish is to secure the happiness or the misery of my life, whichever
it may prove, by uniting her existence with mine."
"But suppose that I should intend, like you, to ask her in marriage?"
"Then we should both be worthy of pity, and one of us would have ceased
to exist before the other obtained her, for as long as I shall live
Mdlle. Samson shall not be the wife of another."
This young man, well-made, pale, grave, as cold as a piece of marble,
madly in love, who, in his reason mixed with utter despair, came to speak
to me in such a manner with the most surprising calm, made me pause and
consider. Undoubtedly I was not afraid, but although in love with Mdlle.
Samson I did not feel my passion sufficiently strong to cut the throat of
a man for the sake of her beautiful eyes, or to lose my own life to
defend my budding affection. Without answering the young man, I began to
pace up and down my room, and for a quarter of an hour I weighed the
following question which I put to myself: Which decision will appear more
manly in the eyes of my rival and will win my own esteem to the deeper
degree, namely-to accept coolly his offer to cut one another's throats,
or to allay his anxiety by withdrawing from the field with dignity?
Pride whispered, Fight; Reason said, Compel thy rival to acknowledge thee
a wiser man than he is.
"What would you think of me, sir," I said to him, with an air of
decision, "if I consented to give up my visits to Mdlle. Samson?"
"I would think that you had pity on a miserable man, and I say that in
that case you will ever find me ready to shed the last drop of my blood
to prove my deep gratitude."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Garnier, I am the only son of M. Garnier, wine merchant in
the Rue de Seine."
"Well, M. Gamier, I will never again call on Mdlle. Samson. Let us be
friends."
"Until death. Farewell, sir."
"Adieu, be happy!"
Patu came in five minutes after Garnier had left me: I related the
adventure to him, and he thought I was a hero.
"I would have acted as you have done," he observed, "but I would not have
acted like Garnier."
It was about that time that the Count de Melfort, colonel of the Orleans
regiment, entreated me through Camille, Coraline's sister, to answer two
questions by means of my cabalism. I gave two answers very vague, yet
meaning a great deal; I put them under a sealed envelope and gave them to
Camille, who asked me the next day to accompany her to a place which she
said she could not name to me. I followed her; she took me to the
Palais-Royal, and then, through a narrow staircase, to the apartments of
the Duchess de Chartres. I waited about a quarter of an hour, at the end
of which time the duchess came in and loaded Camille with caresses for
having brought me. Then addressing herself to me, she told me, with
dignity yet very graciously, the difficulty she experienced in
understanding the answers I had sent and which she was holding in her
hand. At first I expressed some perplexity at the questions having
emanated from her royal highness, and I told her afterwards that I
understood cabalism, but that I could not interpret the meaning of the
answers obtained through it, and that her highness must ask new questions
likely to render the answers easier to be understood. She wrote down all
she could not make out and all she wanted to know.
"Madam, you must be kind enough to divide the questions, for the
cabalistic oracle never answers two questions at the same time."
"Well, then, prepare the questions yourself."
"Your highness will excuse me, but every word must be written with your
own hand. Recollect, madam, that you will address yourself to a superior
intelligence knowing all your secrets."
She began to write, and asked seven or eight questions. She read them
over carefully, and said, with a face beaming with noble confidence,
"Sir, I wish to be certain that no one shall ever know what I have just
written."
"Your highness may rely on my honour."
I read attentively, and I saw that her wish for secrecy was reasonable,
and that if I put the questions in my pocket I should run the risk of
losing them and implicating myself.
"I only require three hours to complete my task," I said to the duchess,
"and I wish your highness to feel no anxiety. If you have any other
engagement you can leave me here alone, provided I am not disturbed by
anybody. When it is completed, I will put it all in a sealed envelope; I
only want your highness to tell me to whom I must deliver the parcel."
"Either to me or to Madame de Polignac, if you know her."
"Yes, madam, I have the honour to know her."
The duchess handed me a small tinder-box to enable me to light a
wax-candle, and she went away with Camille. I remained alone locked up in
the room, and at the end of three hours, just as I had completed my task,
Madame de Polignac came for the parcel and I left the palace.
The Duchess de Chartres, daughter of the Prince of Conti, was twenty-six
years of age. She was endowed with that particular sort of wit which
renders a woman adorable. She was lively, above the prejudices of rank,
cheerful, full of jest, a lover of pleasure, which she preferred to a
long life. "Short and sweet," were the words she had constantly on her
lips. She was pretty but she stood badly, and used to laugh at Marcel,
the teacher of graceful deportment, who wanted to correct her awkward
bearing. She kept her head bent forward and her feet turned inside when
dancing; yet she was a charming dancer. Unfortunately her face was
covered with pimples, which injured her beauty very greatly. Her
physicians thought that they were caused by a disease of the liver, but
they came from impurity of the blood, which at last killed her, and from
which she suffered throughout her life.
The questions she had asked from my oracle related to affairs connected
with her heart, and she wished likewise to know how she could get rid of
the blotches which disfigured her. My answers were rather obscure in such
matters as I was not specially acquainted with, but they were very clear
concerning her disease, and my oracle became precious and necessary to
her highness.
The next day, after dinner, Camille wrote me a note, as I expected,
requesting me to give up all other engagements in order to present myself
at five o'clock at the Palais-Royal, in the same room in which the
duchess had already received me the day before. I was punctual.
An elderly valet de chambre, who was waiting for me, immediately went to
give notice of my arrival, and five minutes after the charming princess
made her appearance. After addressing me in a very complimentary manner,
she drew all my answers from her pocket, and enquired whether I had any
pressing engagements.
"Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important
business than to attend to your wishes."
"Very well; I do not intend to go out, and we can work."
She then shewed me all the questions which she had already prepared on
different subjects, and particularly those relating to the cure of her
pimples. One circumstance had contributed to render my oracle precious to
her, because nobody could possibly know it, and I had guessed it. Had I
not done so, I daresay it would have been all the same. I had laboured
myself under the same disease, and I was enough of a physician to be
aware that to attempt the cure of a cutaneous disease by active remedies
might kill the patient.
I had already answered that she could not get rid of the pimples on her
face in less than a week, but that a year of diet would be necessary to
effect a radical cure.
We spent three hours in ascertaining what she was to do, and, believing
implicitly in the power and in the science of the oracle, she undertook
to follow faithfully everything ordered. Within one week all the ugly
pimples had entirely disappeared.
I took care to purge her slightly; I prescribed every day what she was to
eat, and forbade the use of all cosmetics; I only advised her to wash
herself morning and evening with plantain water. The modest oracle told
the princess to make use of the same water for her ablutions of every
part of her body where she desired to obtain the same result, and she
obeyed the prescription religiously.
I went to the opera on purpose on the day when the duchess shewed herself
there with a smooth and rosy shin. After the opera, she took a walk in
the great alley of the Palais-Royal, followed by the ladies of her suite
and flattered by everybody. She saw me, and honoured me with a smile. I
was truly happy. Camille, Madame de Polignac, and M. de Melfort were the
only persons who knew that I was the oracle of the duchess, and I enjoyed
my success. But the next day a few pimples reappeared on her beautiful
complexion, and I received an order to repair at once to the
Palais-Royal.
The valet, who did not know me, shewed me into a delightful boudoir near
a closet in which there was a bath. The duchess came in; she looked sad,
for she had several small pimples on the forehead and the chin. She held
in her hand a question for the oracle, and as it was only a short one I
thought it would give her the pleasure of finding the answer by herself.
The numbers translated by the princess reproached her with having
transgressed the regimen prescribed; she confessed to having drunk some
liquors and eaten some ham; but she was astounded at having found that
answer herself, and she could not understand how such an answer could
result from an agglomeration of numbers. At that moment, one of her women
came in to whisper a few words to her; she told her to wait outside, and
turning towards me, she said,
"Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who is as delicate
as discreet?"
With these words, she hastily concealed in her pocket all the papers
which did not relate to her disease; then she called out.
A man entered the room, whom I took for a stableboy; it was M. de
Melfort.
"See," said the princess to him, "M. Casanova has taught me the
cabalistic science."
And she shewed him the answer she had obtained herself. The count could
not believe it.
"Well," said the duchess to me, "we must convince him. What shall I ask?"
"Anything your highness chooses."
She considered for one instant, and, drawing from her pocket a small
ivory box, she wrote, "Tell me why this pomatum has no longer any effect."
She formed the pyramid, the columns, and the key, as I had taught her,
and as she was ready to get the answer, I told her how to make the
additions and subtractions which seem to come from the numbers, but which
in reality are only arbitrary; then I told her to interpret the numbers
in letters, and I left the room under some pretext. I came back when I
thought that she had completed her translation, and I found her wrapped
in amazement.
"Ah, sir!" she exclaimed, "what an answer!"
"Perhaps it is not the right one; but that will sometimes happen, madam."
"Not the right one, sir? It is divine! Here it is: That pomatum has no
effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother."
"I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madam."
"Very likely, sir, but it is because you do not know that the pomatum in
question was given to me five years ago by the Abbe de Brosses; it cured
me at that time, but it was ten months before the birth of the Duke de
Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly
acquainted with that sublime cabalistic science."
"What!" said the count, "is it the pomatum the history of which I know?"
"Precisely."
"It is astonishing."
"I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman the name of whom I
would rather not give."
"Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts."
She then asked this question: "What disease is that woman suffering
from?" She made the calculation, and the answer which I made her bring
forth was this: "She wants to deceive her husband." This time the duchess
fairly screamed with astonishment.
It was getting very late, and I was preparing to take leave, when M. de
Melfort, who was speaking to her highness, told me that we might go
together. When we were out, he told me that the cabalistic answer
concerning the pomatum was truly wonderful. This was the history of it:
"The duchess, pretty as you see her now, had her face so fearfully
covered with pimples that the duke, thoroughly disgusted, had not the
courage to come near her to enjoy his rights as a husband, and the poor
princess was pining with useless longing to become a mother. The Abbe de
Brosses cured her with that pomatum, and her beautiful face having
entirely recovered it original bloom she made her appearance at the
Theatre Francais, in the queen's box. The Duke de Chartres, not knowing
that his wife had gone to the theatre, where she went but very seldom,
was in the king's box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her
very handsome he enquired who she was, and when he was told he would not
believe it; he left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her,
and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit
was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the Duke of Montpensier, who is
now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her
pregnancy the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately
after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the pomatum remained
without any effect."
As he concluded his explanation, the count offered me a tortoise-shell
box with a very good likeness of her royal highness, and said,
"The duchess begs your acceptance of this portrait, and, in case you
would like to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that
purpose."
It was a purse of one hundred Louis. I accepted both, and entreated the
count to offer the expressions of my profound gratitude to her highness.
I never had the portrait mounted, for I was then in want of money for
some other purpose.
After that, the duchess did me the honour of sending for me several
times; but her cure remained altogether out of the question; she could
not make up her mind to follow a regular diet. She would sometimes keep
me at work for five or six hours, now in one corner, now in another,
going in and out herself all the time, and having either dinner or supper
brought to me by the old valet, who never uttered a word.
Her questions to the oracle alluded only to secret affairs which she was
curious to know, and she often found truths with which I was not myself
acquainted, through the answers. She wished me to teach her the
cabalistic science, but she never pressed her wish upon me. She, however,
commissioned M. de Melfort to tell me that, if I would teach her, she
would get me an appointment with an income of twenty-five thousand
francs. Alas! it was impossible! I was madly in love with her, but I
would not for the world have allowed her to guess my feelings. My pride
was the corrective of my love. I was afraid of her haughtiness
humiliating me, and perhaps I was wrong. All I know is that I even now
repent of having listened to a foolish pride. It is true that I enjoyed
certain privileges which she might have refused me if she had known my
love.
One day she wished my oracle to tell her whether it was possible to cure
a cancer which Madame de la Popeliniere had in the breast; I took it in
my head to answer that the lady alluded to had no cancer, and was
enjoying excellent health.
"How is that?" said the duchess; "everyone in Paris believes her to be
suffering from a cancer, and she has consultation upon consultation. Yet
I have faith in the oracle."
Soon afterwards, seeing the Duke de Richelieu at the court, she told him
she was certain that Madame de la Popeliniere was not ill. The marshal,
who knew the secret, told her that she was mistaken; but she proposed a
wager of a hundred thousand francs. I trembled when the duchess related
the conversation to me.
"Has he accepted your wages?" I enquired, anxiously.
"No; he seemed surprised; you are aware that he ought to know the truth."
Three or four days after that conversation, the duchess told me
triumphantly that M. de Richelieu had confessed to her that the cancer
was only a ruse to excite the pity of her husband, with whom Madame de la
Popeliniere wanted to live again on good terms; she added that the
marshal had expressed his willingness to pay one thousand Louis to know
how she had discovered the truth.
"If you wish to earn that sum," said the duchess to me, "I will tell him
all about it."
But I was afraid of a snare; I knew the temper of the marshal, and the
story of the hole in the wall through which he introduced himself into
that lady's apartment, was the talk of all Paris. M. de la Popeliniere
himself had made the adventure more public by refusing to live with his
wife, to whom he paid an income of twelve thousand francs.
The Duchess de Chartres had written some charming poetry on that amusing
affair; but out of her own coterie no one knew it except the king, who
was fond of the princess, although she was in the habit of scoffing at
him. One day, for instance, she asked him whether it was true that the
king of Prussia was expected in Paris. Louis XV. having answered that it
was an idle rumour,
"I am very sorry," she said, "for I am longing to see a king."
My brother had completed several pictures and having decided on
presenting one to M. de Marigny, we repaired one morning to the apartment
of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in
the habit of paying their court to him. We were shewn into a hall
adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early we waited for
M. de Marigny. My brother's picture was exposed there; it was a battle
piece in the style of Bourguignon.
The first person who passed through the room stopped before the picture,
examined it attentively, and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a
poor painting; a moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at
the picture, smiled, and said,
"That's the work of a beginner."
I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me; he was in a fever. In
less than a quarter of an hour the room was full of people, and the
unfortunate picture was the butt of everybody's laughter. My poor brother
felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally.
The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitied him; I rose with
the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him
that M. de Marigny would soon come, and that his approbation of the
picture would avenge him for the insults of the crowd. Fortunately, this
was not my brother's opinion; we left the room hurriedly, took a coach,
went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting. As soon as it
had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for
he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces. He made up his mind to
settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to
study an art which he loved to idolatry; we resolved on going to Dresden
together.
Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris I dined
alone at the house of the gate-keeper of the Tuileries; his name was
Conde. After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the
bill, on which every item was reckoned at double its value. I pointed it
out to her, but she answered very curtly that she could not abate one
sou. I paid, and as the bill was receipted with the words 'femme Conde',
I took the pen and to the word 'Conde' I added 'labre', and I went away
leaving the bill on the table.
I was taking a walk in the Tuileries, not thinking any more of my female
extortioner, when a small man, with his hat cocked on one side of his
head and a large nosegay in his button-hole, and sporting a long sword,
swaggered up to me and informed me, without any further explanation, that
he had a fancy to cut my throat.
"But, my small specimen of humanity," I said, "you would require to jump
on a chair to reach my throat. I will cut your ears."
"Sacre bleu, monsieur!"
"No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied."
I walked rapidly towards the Porte de l'Etoile, where, seeing that the
place was deserted, I abruptly asked the fellow what he wanted, and why
he had attacked me.
"I am the Chevalier de Talvis," he answered. "You have insulted an honest
woman who is under my protection; unsheath!"
With these words he drew his long sword; I unsheathed mine; after a
minute or two I lunged rapidly, and wounded him in the breast. He jumped
backward, exclaiming that I had wounded him treacherously.
"You lie, you rascally mannikin! acknowledge it, or I thrust my sword
through your miserable body."
"You will not do it, for I am wounded; but I insist upon having my
revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges."
"Miserable wrangler, wretched fighter, if you are not satisfied, I will
cut off your ears!"
I left him there, satisfied that I had acted according to the laws of the
duello, for he had drawn his sword before me, and if he had not been
skilful enough to cover himself in good time, it was not, of course, my
business to teach him. Towards the middle of August I left Paris with my
brother. I had made a stay of two years in that city, the best in the
world. I had enjoyed myself greatly, and had met with no unpleasantness
except that I had been now and then short of money. We went through Metz,
Mayence, and Frankfort, and arrived in Dresden at the end of the same
month. My mother offered us the most affectionate welcome, and was
delighted to see us again. My brother remained four years in that
pleasant city, constantly engaged in the study of his art, and copying
all the fine paintings of battles by the great masters in the celebrated
Electoral Gallery.
He went back to Paris only when he felt certain that he could set
criticism at defiance; I shall say hereafter how it was that we both
reached that city about the same time. But before that period, dear,
reader, you will see what good and adverse fortune did for or against me.
My life in Dresden until the end of the carnival in 1753 does not offer
any extraordinary adventure. To please the actors, and especially my
mother, I wrote a kind of melodrama, in which I brought out two
harlequins. It was a parody of the 'Freres Ennemis', by Racine. The king
was highly amused at the comic fancies which filled my play, and he made
me a beautiful present. The king was grand and generous, and these
qualities found a ready echo in the breast of the famous Count de Bruhl.
I left Dresden soon after that, bidding adieu to my mother, to my brother
Francois, and to my sister, then the wife of Pierre Auguste, chief player
of the harpsichord at the Court, who died two years ago, leaving his
widow and family in comfortable circumstances.
My stay in Dresden was marked by an amorous souvenir of which I got rid,
as in previous similar circumstances, by a diet of six weeks. I have
often remarked that the greatest part of my life was spent in trying to
make myself ill, and when I had succeeded, in trying to recover my
health. I have met with equal success in both things; and now that I
enjoy excellent health in that line, I am very sorry to be physically
unable to make myself ill again; but age, that cruel and unavoidable
disease, compels me to be in good health in spite of myself. The illness
I allude to, which the Italians call 'mal francais', although we might
claim the honour of its first importation, does not shorten life, but it
leaves indelible marks on the face. Those scars, less honourable perhaps
than those which are won in the service of Mars, being obtained through
pleasure, ought not to leave any regret behind.
In Dresden I had frequent opportunities of seeing the king, who was very
fond of the Count de Bruhl, his minister, because that favourite
possessed the double secret of shewing himself more extravagant even than
his master, and of indulging all his whims.
Never was a monarch a greater enemy to economy; he laughed heartily when
he was plundered and he spent a great deal in order to have occasion to
laugh often. As he had not sufficient wit to amuse himself with the
follies of other kings and with the absurdities of humankind, he kept
four buffoons, who are called fools in Germany, although these degraded
beings are generally more witty than their masters. The province of those
jesters is to make their owner laugh by all sorts of jokes which are
usually nothing but disgusting tricks, or low, impertinent jests.
Yet these professional buffoons sometimes captivate the mind of their
master to such an extent that they obtain from him very important favours
in behalf of the persons they protect, and the consequence is that they
are often courted by the highest families. Where is the man who will not
debase himself if he be in want? Does not Agamemnon say, in Homer, that
in such a case man must necessarily be guilty of meanness? And Agamemnon
and Homer lived long before our time! It evidently proves that men are at
all times moved by the same motive-namely, self-interest.
It is wrong to say that the Count de Bruhl was the ruin of Saxony, for he
was only the faithful minister of his royal master's inclinations. His
children are poor, and justify their father's conduct.
The court at Dresden was at that time the most brilliant in Europe; the
fine arts flourished, but there was no gallantry, for King Augustus had
no inclination for the fair sex, and the Saxons were not of a nature to
be thus inclined unless the example was set by their sovereign.
At my arrival in Prague, where I did not intend to stop, I delivered a
letter I had for Locatelli, manager of the opera, and went to pay a visit
to Madame Morelli, an old acquaintance, for whom I had great affection,
and for two or three days she supplied all the wants of my heart.
As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend
Fabris, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with
him. After 'embracing him, I represented to him, but in vain, that I had
made all my arrangements to go away immediately.
"You will go this evening," he said, "with a friend of mine, and you will
catch the coach."
I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder
of the day passed in the most agreeable manner. Fabris was longing for
war, and his wishes were gratified two years afterwards; he covered
himself with glory.
I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well
worthy to be known. He took his meals every day at a table laid out for
thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of
both sexes, and a few friends. He did the honours of his well-supplied
board nobly, and his real passion was good living. I shall have occasion
to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I
met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety.