The Play--The Russian--Petri--Rosalie at the Convent
When the marquis had gone, seeing Rosalie engaged with Veronique, I set
myself to translate the 'Ecossaise' for the actors at Genoa, who seemed
pretty good ones, to play.
I thought Rosalie looking sad at dinner, and said,
"What is the matter, dearest? You know I do not like to see you looking
melancholy."
"I am vexed at Veronique's being prettier than I."
"I see what you mean; I like that! But console your self, Veronique is
nothing compared to you, in my eyes at all events. You are my only
beauty; but to reassure you I will ask M. de Grimaldi to tell her mother
to come and fetch her away, and to get me another maid as ugly as
possible."
"Oh, no! pray do not do so; he will think I am jealous, and I wouldn't
have him think so for the world."
"Well, well, smile again if you do not wish to vex me."
"I shall soon do that, if, as you assure me, she will not make me lose
your love. But what made the old gentleman get me a girl like that? Do
you think he did it out of mischief?"
"No, I don't think so. I am sure, on the other hand, that he wanted to
let you know that you need not fear being compared with anybody. Are you
pleased with her in other respects?"
"She works well, and she is very respectful. She does not speak four
words without addressing me as signora, and she is careful to translate
what she says from Italian into French. I hope that in a month I shall
speak well enough for us to dispense with her services when we go to
Florence. I have ordered Le Duc to clear out the room I have chosen for
her, and I will send her her dinner from our own table. I will be kind to
her, but I hope you will not make me wretched."
"I could not do so; and I do not see what there can be in common between
the girl and myself."
"Then you will pardon my fears."
"The more readily as they shew your love."
"I thank you, but keep my secret."
I promised never to give a glance to Veronique, of whom I was already
afraid, but I loved Rosalie and would have done anything to save her the
least grief.
I set to at my translation after dinner; it was work I liked. I did not
go out that day, and I spent the whole of the next morning with M. de
Grimaldi.
I went to the banker Belloni and changed all my gold into gigliati
sequins. I made myself known after the money was changed, and the head
cashier treated me with great courtesy. I had bills on this banker for
forty thousand Roman crowns, and on Lepri bills for twenty thousand.
Rosalie did not want to go to the play again, so I got her a piece of
embroidery to amuse her in the evening. The theatre was a necessity for
me; I always went unless it interfered with some still sweeter pleasure.
I went by myself, and when I got home I found the marquis talking to my
mistress. I was pleased, and after I had embraced the worthy nobleman I
complimented Rosalie on having kept him till my arrival, adding gently
that she should have put down her work.
"Ask him," she replied, "if he did not make me keep on. He said he would
go if I didn't, so I gave in to keep him."
She then rose, stopped working, and in the course of an interesting
conversation she succeeded in making the marquis promise to stay to
supper, thus forestalling my intention. He was not accustomed to take
anything at that hour, and ate little; but I saw he was enchanted with my
treasure, and that pleased me, for I did not think I had anything to fear
from a man of sixty; besides, I was glad at the opportunity of
accustoming Rosalie to good society. I wanted her to be a little
coquettish, as a woman never pleases in society unless she shews a desire
to please.
Although the position was quite a strange one for her, she made me admire
the natural aptitude of women, which may be improved or spoiled by art
but which exists more or less in them all, from the throne to the
milk-pail. She talked to M. de Grimaldi in a way that seemed to hint she
was willing to give a little hope. As our guest did not eat, she said
graciously that he must come to dinner some day that she might have an
opportunity of seeing whether he really had any appetite.
When he had gone I took her on my knee, and covering her with kisses
asked her where she had learnt to talk to great people so well.
"It's an easy matter," she replied. "Your eyes speak to my soul, and tell
me what to do and what to say."
A professed rhetorician could not have answered more elegantly or more
flatteringly.
I finished the translation; I had it copied out by Costa and took it to
Rossi, the manager, who said he would put it on directly, when I told him
I was going to make him a present of the play. I named the actors of my
choice, and asked him to bring them to dine with me at my inn, that I
might read the play and distribute the parts.
As will be guessed, my invitation was accepted, and Rosalie enjoyed
dining with the actors and actresses, and especially hearing herself
called Madame Casanova every moment. Veronique explained everything she
did not understand.
When my actors were round me in a ring, they begged me to tell them their
parts, but I would not give in on this point.
"The first thing to be done," said I, "is for you to listen attentively
to the whole piece without minding about your parts. When you know the
whole play I will satisfy your curiosity."
I knew that careless or idle actors often pay no attention to anything
except their own parts, and thus a piece, though well played in its
parts, is badly rendered as a whole.
They submitted with a tolerably good grace, which the high and mighty
players of the Comedie Francaise would certainly not have done. Just as I
was beginning my heading the Marquis de Grimaldi and the banker Belloni
came in to call on me. I was glad for them to be present at the trial,
which only lasted an hour and a quarter.
After I had heard the opinion of the actors, who by their praise of
various situations shewed me that they had taken in the plot, I told
Costa to distribute the parts; but no sooner was this done than the first
actor and the first actress began to express their displeasure; she,
because I had given her the part of Lady Alton; he, because I had not
given him Murray's part; but they had to bear it as it was my will. I
pleased everybody by asking them all to dinner for the day after the
morrow, after dinner the piece to be rehearsed for the first time.
The banker Belloni asked me to dinner for the following day, including my
lady, who excused herself with great politeness, in the invitation; and
M. Grimaldi was glad to take my place at dinner at her request.
When I got to M. Belloni's, I was greatly surprised to see the impostor
Ivanoff, who instead of pretending not to know me, as he ought to have
done, came forward to embrace me. I stepped back and bowed, which might
be put down to a feeling of respect, although my coldness and scant
ceremony would have convinced any observant eye of the contrary. He was
well dressed, but seemed sad, though he talked a good deal, and to some
purpose, especially on politics. The conversation turned on the Court of
Russia, where Elizabeth Petrovna reigned; and he said nothing, but sighed
and turned away pretending to wipe the tears from his eyes. At dessert,
he asked me if I had heard anything of Madame Morin, adding, as if to
recall the circumstance to my memory, that we had supped together there:
"I believe she is quite well," I answered.
His servant, in yellow and red livery, waited on him at table. After
dinner he contrived to tell me that he had a matter of the greatest
importance he wanted to discuss with me.
"My only desire sir, is to avoid all appearance of knowing anything about
you."
"One word from you will gain me a hundred thousand crowns, and you shall
have half."
I turned my back on him, and saw him no more at Genoa.
When I got back to the inn I found M. de Grimaldi giving Rosalie a lesson
in Italian.
"She has given me an exquisite dinner," said he, "you must be very happy
with her."
In spite of his honest face, M. Grimaldi was in love with her, but I
thought I had nothing to fear. Before he went she invited him to come to
the rehearsal next day.
When the actors came I noticed amongst them a young man whose face I did
not know, and on my enquiring Rossi told me he was the prompter.
"I won't have any prompter; send him about his business."
"We can't get on without him."
"You'll have to; I will be the prompter."
The prompter was dismissed, but the three actresses began to complain.
"If we knew our parts as well as the 'pater noster' we should be certain
to come to a dead stop if the prompter isn't in his box."
"Very good," said I to the actress, who was to play Lindane, "I will
occupy the box myself, but I shall see your drawers."
"You would have some difficulty in doing that," said the first actor,
"she doesn't wear any."
"So much the better."
"You know nothing about it," said the actress.
These remarks put us all in high spirits, and the ministers of Thalia
ended by promising that they would dispense with a prompter. I was
pleased with the way the piece was read, and they said they would be
letter-perfect in three days. But something happened.
On the day fixed for the rehearsal they came without the Lindane and
Murray. They were not well, but Rossi said they would not fail us
eventually. I took the part of Murray, and asked Rosalie to be the
Lindane.
"I don't read Italian well enough," she whispered, "and I don't wish to
have the actors laughing at me; but Veronique could do it."
"Ask if she will read the part."
However, Veronique said that she could repeat it by heart.
"All the better," said I to her, laughing internally, as I thought of
Soleure, for I saw that I should thus be obliged to make love to the girl
to whom I had not spoken for the fortnight she had been with us. I had
not even had a good look at her face. I was so afraid of Rosalie (whom I
loved better every day) taking fright.
What I had feared happened. When I took Veronique's hand, and said, "Si,
bella Lindana, debbe adorarvi!" everybody clapped, because I gave the
words their proper expression; but glancing at Rosalie I saw a shadow on
her face, and I was angry at not having controlled myself better.
Nevertheless, I could not help feeling amazed at the way Veronique played
the part. When I told her that I adored her she blushed up to her eyes;
she could not have played the love-sick girl better.
We fixed a day for the dress-rehearsal at the theatre, and the company
announced the first night a week in advance to excite public curiosity.
The bills ran:
"We shall give Voltaire's Ecossaise, translated by an anonymous author:
no prompter will be present."
I cannot give the reader any idea of the trouble I had to quiet Rosalie.
She refused to be comforted; wept incessantly, and touched my heart by
gentle reproaches.
"You love Veronique," said she, "and you only translated that piece to
have an opportunity of declaring your love."
I succeeded in convincing her that she wronged me, and at last after I
had lavished caresses on her she suffered herself to be calmed. Next
morning she begged pardon for her jealousy, and to cure it insisted on my
speaking constantly to Veronique. Her heroism went farther. She got up
before me and sent me my coffee by Veronique, who was as astonished as I
was.
At heart Rosalie was a great creature, capable of noble resolves, but
like all women she gave way to sudden emotions. From that day she gave me
no more signs of jealousy, and treated her maid with more kindness than
ever. Veronique was an intelligent and well-mannered girl, and if my
heart had not been already occupied she would have reigned there.
The first night of the play I took Rosalie to a box, and she would have
Veronique with her. M. de Grimaldi did not leave her for a moment. The
play was praised to the skies; the large theatre was full of the best
people in Genoa. The actors surpassed themselves, though they had no
prompter, and were loudly applauded. The piece ran five nights and was
performed to full houses. Rossi, hoping perhaps that I would make him a
present of another play, asked my leave to give my lady a superb pelisse
of lynx-fur, which pleased her immensely.
I would have done anything to spare my sweetheart the least anxiety, and
yet from my want of thought I contrived to vex her. I should never have
forgiven myself if Providence had not ordained that I should be the cause
of her final happiness.
"I have reason to suspect," she said one day, "that I am with child, and
I am enchanted at the thought of giving you a dear pledge of my love."
"If it comes at such a time it will be mine, and I assure you I shall
love it dearly."
"And if it comes two or three weeks sooner you will not be sure that you
are the parent?"
"Not quite sure; but I shall love it just as well, and look upon it as my
child as well as yours."
"I am sure you must be the father. It is impossible the child can be
Petri's, who only knew me once, and then very imperfectly, whilst you and
I have lived in tender love for so long a time."
She wept hot tears.
"Calm yourself, dearest, I implore you! You are right; it cannot be
Petri's child. You know I love you, and I cannot doubt that you are with
child by me and by me alone. If you give me a baby as pretty as yourself,
it will be mine indeed. Calm yourself."
"How can I be calm when you can have such a suspicion?"
We said no more about it; but in spite of my tenderness, my caresses, and
all the trifling cares which bear witness to love, she was often sad and
thoughtful. How many times I reproached myself bitterly for having let
out my silly calculations.
A few days later she gave me a sealed letter, saying,--
"The servant has given me this letter when you were away. I am offended
by his doing so, and I want you to avenge me."
I called the man, and said,--
"Where did you get this letter?"
"From a young man, who is unknown to me. He gave me a crown, and begged
me to give the letter to the lady without your seeing me, and he promised
to give me two crowns more if I brought him a reply tomorrow. I did not
think I was doing wrong, sir, as the lady was at perfect liberty to tell
you."
"That's all very well, but you must go, as the lady, who gave me the
letter unopened, as you can see for yourself, is offended with you."
I called Le Duc, who paid the man and sent him away. I opened the letter,
and found it to be from Petri. Rosalie left my side, not wishing to read
the contents. The letter ran as follows:
"I have seen you, my dear Rosalie. It was just as you were coming out of
the theatre, escorted by the Marquis de Grimaldi, who is my godfather. I
have not deceived you; I was still intending to come and marry you at
Marseilles next spring, as I promised. I love you faithfully, and if you
are still my good Rosalie I am ready to marry you here in the presence of
my kinfolk. If you have done wrong I promise never to speak of it, for I
know that it was I who led you astray. Tell me, I entreat you, whether I
may speak to the Marquis de Grimaldi with regard to you. I am ready to
receive you from the hands of the gentleman with whom you are living,
provided you are not his wife. Be sure, if you are still free, that you
can only recover your honour by marrying your seducer."
"This letter comes from an honourable man who is worthy of Rosalie," I
thought to myself, "and that's more than I shall be, unless I marry her
myself. But Rosalie must decide."
I called her to me, gave her the letter, and begged her to read it
attentively. She did so, and gave it me back, asking me if I advised her
to accept Petri's offer.
"If you do dear Rosalie, I shall die of grief; but if I do not yield you,
my honour bids me marry you, and that I am quite ready to do."
At this the charming girl threw herself on my breast, crying in the voice
of true love, "I love you and you alone, darling; but it is not true that
your honour bids you marry me. Ours is a marriage of the heart; our love
is mutual, and that is enough for my happiness."
"Dear Rosalie, I adore you, but I am the best judge of my own honour. If
Petri is a well-to-do man and a man who would make you happy, I must
either give you up or take you myself."
"No, no; there is no hurry to decide. If you love me I am happy, for I
love you and none other. I shall not answer the letter, and I don't want
to hear anything more of Petri."
"You may be sure that I will say no more of him, but I am sure that the
marquis will have a hand in it."
"I daresay, but he won't speak to me twice on the subject."
After this treaty--a more sincere one than the Powers of Europe usually
make--I resolved to leave Genoa as soon as I got some letters for
Florence and Rome. In the meanwhile all was peace and love between myself
and Rosalie. She had not the slightest shadow of jealousy in her soul,
and M. de Grimaldi was the sole witness of our happiness.
Five or six days later I went to see the marquis at his casino at St.
Pierre d'Arena, and he accosted me by saying that he was happy to see me
as he had an important matter he wished to discuss with me. I guessed
what it would be, but begged him to explain himself. He then spoke as
follows:
"A worthy merchant of the town brought his nephew, a young man named
Petri, to see me two days ago. He told me that the young man is my
godson, and he asked me to protect him. I answered that as his godfather
I owed him my protection, and I promised to do what I could.
"He left my godson to talk it over with me, and he informed me that he
knew your mistress before you did at Marseilles, that he had promised to
marry her next spring, that he had seen her in my company, and that
having followed us he found out that she lived with you. He was told that
she was your wife, but not believing it, wrote her a letter saying that
he was ready to marry her; but this letter fell into your hands, and he
has had no reply to it.
"He could not make up his mind to lose a hope which made his happiness,
so he resolved to ascertain, through my good offices, whether Rosalie
would accept his proposition. He flatters himself that on his informing
me of his prosperous condition, I can tell you that he is a likely man to
make his wife happy. I told him that I knew you, and would speak to you
on the matter, and afterwards inform him of the result of our interview.
"I have made enquires into his condition, and find that he has already
amassed a considerable sum of money. His credit, morals, and reputation,
are all excellent; besides, he is his uncle's sole heir, and the uncle
passes for a man very comfortably off. And now, my dear M. Casanova, tell
me what answer I am to make."
"Tell him that Rosalie is much obliged to him, and begs him to forget
her. We are going away in three or four days. Rosalie loves me, and I
her, and I am ready to marry her whenever she likes."
"That's plain speaking; but I should have thought a man like you would
prefer freedom to a woman, however beautiful, to whom you would be bound
by indissoluble ties. Will you allow me to speak to Rosalie myself about
it?"
"You need not ask, my leave; speak to her, but in your own person and not
as representing my opinions. I adore her, and would not have her think
that I could cherish the thought of separating from her."
"If you don't want me to meddle in the matter, tell me so frankly."
"On the contrary, I wish you to see for yourself that I am not the tyrant
of the woman I adore."
"I will talk to her to-night."
I did not come home till supper-time, that the marquis might say what he
had to say in perfect freedom. The noble Genoese supped with us, and the
conversation turned on indifferent subjects. After he had gone, my
sweetheart told me what had passed between them. He had spoken to her in
almost the same words that he had addressed to me, and our replies were
nearly identical, though she had requested the marquis to say no more
about his godson, to which request he had assented.
We thought the matter settled, and busied ourselves with preparations for
our departure; but three or four days after, the marquis (who we imagined
had forgotten all about his godson) came and asked us to dine with him at
St. Pierre d'Arena, where Rosalie had never been.
"I want you to see my beautiful garden before you go," said M. Grimaldi
to her; "it will be one more pleasant recollection of your stay for me."
We went to see him at noon the next day. He was with an elderly man and
woman, to whom he introduced us. He introduced me by name, and Rosalie as
a person who belonged to me.
We proceeded to walk in the garden, where the two old people got Rosalie
between them, and overwhelmed her with politeness and complimentary
remarks. She, who was happy and in high spirits, answered in Italian, and
delighted them by her intelligence, and the grace which she gave to her
mistakes in grammar.
The servants came to tell us that dinner was ready, and what was my
astonishment on entering the room to see the table laid for six. I did
not want much insight now to see through the marquis's trick, but it was
too late. We sat down, and just then a young man came in.
"You are a little late," said the marquis; and then, without waiting for
his apology, he introduced him to me as M. Petri, his godson, and nephew
to his other guests, and he made him sit down at his left hand, Rosalie
being on his right. I sat opposite to her, and seeing that she turned as
pale as death the blood rushed to my face; I was terribly enraged. This
small despot's plot seemed disgraceful to me; it was a scandalous insult
to Rosalie and myself--an insult which should be washed away in blood. I
was tempted to stab him at his table, but in spite of my agitation I
constrained myself. What could I do? Take Rosalie's arm, and leave the
room with her? I thought it over, but foreseeing the consequences I could
not summon up courage.
I have never spent so terrible an hour as at that fatal dinner. Neither
Rosalie nor myself ate a morsel, and the marquis who helped all the
guests was discreet enough not to see that we left one course after
another untouched. Throughout dinner he only spoke to Petri and his
uncle, giving them opportunities for saying how large a trade they did.
At dessert the marquis told the young man that he had better go and look
after his affairs, and after kissing his hand he withdrew with a bow to
which nobody replied.
Petri was about twenty-four, of a moderate height, with ordinary but yet
good-natured and honest features; respectful in his manner, and sensible
though not witty in what he said. After all was said and done, I thought
him worthy of Rosalie, but I shuddered at the thought that if she became
his wife she was lost to me forever. After he had gone, the marquis said
he was sorry he had not known him before as he might be of use to him in
his business.
"However, we will see to that in the future," said he, meaningly, "I mean
to make his fortune."
At this the uncle and aunt, who no doubt knew what to say, began to laud
and extol their nephew, and ended by saying that as they had no children
they were delighted that Petri, who would be their heir, was to have his
excellency's patronage.
"We are longing," they added, "to see the girl from Marseilles he is
going to marry. We should welcome her as a beloved daughter."
Rosalie whispered to me that she could bear it no longer, and begged me
to take her away. We rose, and after we had saluted the company with cold
dignity we left the room. The marquis was visibly disconcerted. As he
escorted us to the door he stammered out compliments, for the want of
something to say, telling Rosalie that he should not have the honour of
seeing her that evening, but that he hoped to call on her the next day.
When we were by ourselves we seemed to breathe again, and spoke to one
another to relieve ourselves of the oppression which weighed on our
minds.
Rosalie thought, as well as I, that the marquis had played us a shameful
trick, and she told me I ought to write him a note, begging him not to
give himself the trouble of calling on us again.
"I will find some means of vengeance," said I; "but I don't think it
would be a good plan to write to him. We will hasten our preparations for
leaving, and receive him to-morrow with that cold politeness which bears
witness to indignation. Above all, we will not make the slightest
reference to his godson."
"If Petri really loves me," said she, "I pity him. I think he is a good
fellow, and I don't feel angry with him for being present at dinner, as
he may possibly be unaware that leis presence was likely to give me
offence. But I still shudder when I think of it: I thought I should have
died when our eyes met! Throughout dinner he could not see my eyes, as I
kept them nearly shut, and indeed he could hardly see me. Did he look at
me while he was talking?"
"No, he only looked at me. I am as sorry for him as you are, for, as you
say, he looks an honest fellow."
"Well, it's over now, and I hope I shall make a good supper. Did you
notice what the aunt said? I am sure she was in the plot. She thought she
would gain me over by saying she was ready to treat me like her own
child. She was a decent-looking woman, too."
We made a good supper, and a pleasant night inclined us to forget the
insult the marquis had put upon us. When we woke up in the morning we
laughed at it. The marquis came to see us in the evening, and greeting me
with an air of mingled confusion and vexation, he said that he knew he
had done wrong in surprising me as he had, but that he was ready to do
anything in his power by way of atonement, and to give whatever
satisfaction I liked.
Rosalie did not give me time to answer. "If you really feel," said she,
"that you have insulted us, that is enough; we are amply avenged. But all
the same, sir, we shall be on our guard against you for the future,
though that will be for a short while, as we are just leaving."
With this proud reply she made him a low bow and left the room.
When he was left alone with me M. Grimaldi addressed me as follows:
"I take a great interest in your mistress's welfare; and as I feel sure
that she cannot long be happy in her present uncertain position, while I
am sure that she would make my godson an excellent wife, I was determined
that both of you should make his acquaintance, for Rosalie herself knows
very little of him. I confess that the means I employed were
dishonourable, but you will pardon the means for the sake of the
excellent end I had in view. I hope you will have a pleasant journey, and
that you may live for a long time in uninterrupted happiness with your
charming mistress. I hope you will write to me, and always reckon on my
standing your friend, and doing everything in my power for you. Before I
go, I will tell you something which will give you an idea of the
excellent disposition of young Petri, to whose happiness Rosalie seems
essential.
"He only told me the following, after I had absolutely refused to take
charge of a letter he had written to Rosalie, despairing of being able to
send it any other way. After assuring me that Rosalie had loved him, and
that consequently she could not have any fixed aversion for him, he added
that if the fear of being with child was the reason why she would not
marry him he would agree to put off the marriage till after the child was
born, provided that she would agree to stay in Genoa in hiding, her
presence to be unknown to all save himself. He offers to pay all the
expenses of her stay. He made a remarkably wise reflection when we were
talking it over.
"'If she gave birth to a child too soon after our marriage,' said he,
'both her honour and mine would suffer hurt; she might also lose the
liking of my relations, and if Rosalie is to be my wife I want her to be
happy in everything."'
At this Rosalie, who had no doubt been listening at the door after the
manner of her sex, burst into the room, and astonished me by the
following speech:
"If M. Petri chid not tell you that it was possible that I might be with
child by him, he is a right honest man, but now I tell you so myself. I
do not think it likely, but still it is possible. Tell him, sir, that I
will remain at Genoa until the child is born, in the case of my being
pregnant, of which I have no certain knowledge, or until I am quite sure
that I am not with child. If I do have a child the truth will be made
known. In the case of there being no doubt of M. Petri's being the
parent, I am ready to marry him; but if he sees for himself that the
child is not his I hope he will be reasonable enough to let me alone for
the future. As to the expenses and my lodging at Genoa, tell him that he
need not trouble himself about either."
I was petrified. I saw the consequence of my own imprudent words, and my
heart seemed broken. The marquis asked me if this decision was given with
my authority, and I replied that as my sweetheart's will was mine he
might take her words for law. He went away in high glee, for he foresaw
that all would go well with his plans when once he was able to exert his
influence on Rosalie. The absent always fare ill.
"You want to leave me, then, Rosalie?" said I, when we were alone.
"Yes, dearest, but it will not be for long."
"I think we shall never see each other again."
"Why not, dearest? You have only to remain faithful to me. Listen to me.
Your honour and my own make it imperative that I should convince Petri
that I am not with child by him, and you that I am with child by you."
"I never doubted it, dear Rosalie."
"Yes, dear, you doubted it once and that is enough. Our parting will cost
me many a bitter tear, but these pangs are necessary to my future
happiness. I hope you will write to me, and after the child is born it
will be for you to decide on how I shall rejoin you. If I am not pregnant
I will rejoin you in a couple of months at latest."
"Though I may grieve at your resolve I will not oppose it, for I promised
I would never cross you. I suppose you will go into a convent; and the
marquis must find you a suitable one, and protect you like a father.
Shall I speak to him on the subject? I will leave you as much money as
you will want."
"That will not be much. As for M. de Grimaldi, he is bound in honour to
procure me an asylum. I don't think it will be necessary for you to speak
to him about it."
She was right, and I could not help admiring the truly astonishing tact
of this girl.
In the morning I heard that the self-styled Ivanoff had made his escape
an hour before the police were to arrest him at the suit of the banker,
who had found out that one of the bills he had presented was forged. He
had escaped on foot, leaving all his baggage behind him.
Next day the marquis came to tell Rosalie that his godson had no
objection to make to her plan. He added that the young man hoped she
would become his wife, whether the child proved to be his or not.
"He may hope as much as he likes," said Rosalie, with a smile.
"He also hopes that you will allow him to call on you now and then. I
have spoken to my kinswoman, the mother-superior of convent. You are to
have two rooms, and a very good sort of woman is to keep you company,
wait on you, and nurse you when the time comes. I have paid the amount
you are to pay every month for your board. Every morning I will send you
a confidential man, who will see your companion and will bring me your
orders. And I myself will come and see you at the grating as often as you
please."
It was then my sad duty, which the laws of politeness enjoined, to thank
the marquis for his trouble.
"'Tis to you, my lord," said I, "I entrust Rosalie. I am placing her, I
am sure, in good hands. I will go on my way as soon as she is in the
convent; I hope you will write a letter to the mother-superior for her to
take."
"I will write it directly," said he.
And as Rosalie had told him before that she would pay for everything
herself, he gave her a written copy of the agreement he had made.
"I have resolved," said Rosalie to the marquis, "to go into the convent
to-morrow, and I shall be very glad to have a short visit from you the
day after."
"I will be there," said the marquis, "and you may be sure that I will do
all in my power to make your stay agreeable."
The night was a sad one for both of us. Love scarcely made a pause amidst
our alternate complaints and consolations. We swore to be faithful for
ever, and our oaths were sincere, as ardent lovers' oaths always are. But
they are as nought unless they are sealed by destiny, and that no mortal
mind may know.
Rosalie, whose eyes were red and wet with tears, spent most of the
morning in packing up with Veronique, who cried too. I could not look at
her, as I felt angry with myself for thinking how pretty she was. Rosalie
would only take two hundred sequins, telling me that if she wanted more
she could easily let me know.
She told Veronique to look after me well for the two or three days I
should spend at Genoa, made me a mute curtsy, and went out with Costa to
get a sedan-chair. Two hours after, a servant of the marquis's came to
fetch her belongings, and I was thus left alone and full of grief till
the marquis came and asked me to give him supper, advising that Veronique
should be asked in to keep us company.
"That's a rare girl," said he, "you really don't know her, and you ought
to know her better."
Although I was rather surprised, I did not stop to consider what the
motives of the crafty Genoese might be, and I went and asked Veronique to
come in. She replied politely that she would do so, adding that she knew
how great an honour I did her.
I should have been the blindest of men if I had not seen that the clever
marquis had succeeded in his well-laid plans, and that he had duped me as
if I had been the merest freshman. Although I hoped with all my heart
that I should get Rosalie back again, I had good reasons for suspecting
that all the marquis's wit would be employed to seduce her, and I could
not help thinking that he would succeed.
Nevertheless, in the position I was in, I could only keep my fears to
myself and let him do his utmost.
He was nearly sixty, a thorough disciple of Epicurus, a heavy player,
rich, eloquent, a master of state-craft, highly popular at Genoa, and
well acquainted with the hearts of men, and still more so with the hearts
of women. He had spent a good deal of time at Venice to be more at
liberty, and to enjoy the pleasures of life at his ease. He had never
married, and when asked the reason would reply that he knew too well that
women would be either tyrants or slaves, and that he did not want to be a
tyrant to any woman, nor to be under any woman's orders. He found some
way of returning to his beloved Venice, in spite of the law forbidding
any noble who has filled the office of doge to leave his native soil.
Though he behaved to me in a very friendly manner he knew how to maintain
an air of superiority which imposed on me. Nothing else could have given
him the courage to ask me to dinner when Petri was to be present. I felt
that I had been tricked, and I thought myself in duty bound to make him
esteem me by my behaviour for the future. It was gratitude on his part
which made him smooth the way to my conquest of Veronique, who doubtless
struck him as a fit and proper person to console me for the loss of
Rosalie.
I did not take any part in the conversation at supper, but the marquis
drew out Veronique, and she shone. It was easy for me to see that she had
more wit and knowledge of the world than Rosalie, but in my then state of
mind this grieved rather than rejoiced me. M. de Grimaldi seemed sorry to
see me melancholy, and forced me, as it were, to join in the
conversation. As he was reproaching me in a friendly manner for my
silence, Veronique said with a pleasing smile that I had a good reason to
be silent after the declaration of love I had made to her, and which she
had received so ill. I was astonished at this, and said that I did not
remember having ever made her such a declaration; but she made me laugh
in spite of myself, when she said that her name that day was Lindane.
"Ah, that's in a play," said I, "in real life the man who declares his
love in words is a simpleton; 'tis with deeds the true lover shews his
love."
"Very true, but your lady was frightened all the same."
"No, no, Veronique; she is very fond of you."
"I know she is; but I have seen her jealous of me."
"If so, she was quite wrong."
This dialogue, which pleased me little, fell sweetly on the marquis's
ears; he told me that he was going to call on Rosalie next morning, and
that if I liked to give him a supper, he would come and tell me about her
in the evening. Of course I told him that he would be welcome.
After Veronique had lighted me to my room, she asked me to let my
servants wait on me, as if she did so now that my lady was gone, people
might talk about her.
"You are right," said I, "kindly send Le Duc to me."
Next morning I had a letter from Geneva. It came from my Epicurean
syndic, who had presented M. de Voltaire with my translation of his play,
with an exceedingly polite letter from me, in which I begged his pardon
for having taken the liberty of travestying his fine French prose in
Italian. The syndic told me plainly that M. de Voltaire had pronounced my
translation to be a bad one.
My self-esteem was so wounded by this, and by his impoliteness in not
answering my letter, with which he could certainly find no fault,
whatever his criticism of my translation might be, that I became the
sworn enemy of the great Voltaire. I have censured him in all the works I
have published, thinking that in wronging him I was avenging myself, to
such an extent did passion blind me. At the present time I feel that even
if my works survive, these feeble stings of mine can hurt nobody but
myself. Posterity will class me amongst the Zoiluses whose own impotence
made them attack this great man to whom civilization and human happiness
owe so much. The only crime that can truthfully be alleged against
Voltaire is his attacks on religion. If he had been a true philosopher he
would never have spoken on such matters, for, even if his attacks were
based on truth, religion is necessary to morality, without which there
can be no happiness.