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The Project Gutenberg Etext of South of France, by Jacgues Casanova
#21 in our series by Jacques Casanova de Seingalt

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Title: South of France, Casanova, v21

Author: Jacques Casanova de Seingalt

Release Date: December, 2001 [Etext #2971]
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THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA DE SEINGALT

THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR
MACHEN TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR
SYMONS.



MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
IN LONDON AND MOSCOW, Volume 5a--SOUTH OF FRANCE




SOUTH OF FRANCE



CHAPTER I

I Find Rosalie Happy--The Signora Isola-Bella--The Cook--Biribi
--Irene--Possano in Prison--My Niece Proves to be an Old Friend of
Rosalie's


At Genoa, where he was known to all, Pogomas called himself Possano.
He introduced me to his wife and daughter, but they were so ugly and
disgusting in every respect that I left them on some trifling
pretext, and went to dine with my new niece.  Afterwards I went to
see the Marquis Grimaldi, for I longed to know what had become of
Rosalie.  The marquis was away in Venice, and was not expected back
till the end of April; but one of his servants took me to Rosalie,
who had become Madame Paretti six months after my departure.

My heart beat fast as I entered the abode of this woman, of whom I
had such pleasant recollections.  I first went to M. Paretti in his
shop, and he received me with a joyful smile, which shewed me how
happy he was.  He took me to his wife directly, who cried out with
delight, and ran to embrace me.

M. Paretti was busy, and begged me to excuse him, saying his wife
would entertain me.

Rosalie shewed me a pretty little girl of six months old, telling me
that she was happy, that she loved her husband, and was loved by him,
that he was industrious and active in business, and under the
patronage of the Marquis Grimaldi had prospered exceedingly.

The peaceful happiness of marriage had improved her wonderfully; she
had become a perfect beauty in every sense of the word.

"My dear friend," she said, "you are very good to call on me directly
you arrive, and I hope you will dine with us to-morrow.  I owe all my
happiness to you, and that is even a sweeter thought than the
recollection of the passionate hours we have spent together.  Let us
kiss, but no more; my duty as an honest wife forbids me from going
any further, so do not disturb the happiness you have given."

I pressed her hand tenderly, to skew that I assented to the
conditions she laid down.

"Oh! by the way," she suddenly exclaimed, "I have a pleasant surprise
for you."

She went out, and a moment afterward returned with Veronique, who had
become her maid.  I was glad to see her and embraced her
affectionately, asking after Annette.  She said her sister was well,
and was working with her mother.

"I want her to come and wait on my niece while we are here," said I.

At this Rosalie burst out laughing.

"What! another niece?  You have a great many relations!  But as she
is your niece, I hope you will bring her with you to-morrow."

"Certainly, and all the more willingly as she is from Marseilles."

"From Marseilles?  Why, we might know each other.  Not that that
would matter, for all your nieces are discreet young persons.  What
is her name?"

"Crosin."

"I don't know it."

"I daresay you don't.  She is the daughter of a cousin of mine who
lived at Marseilles."

"Tell that to someone else; but, after all, what does it matter?  You
choose well, amuse yourself, and make them happy.  It may be wisdom
after all, and at any rate I congratulate you.  I shall be delighted
to see your niece, but if she knows me you must see that she knows
her part as well."

On leaving Madame Paretti I called on the Signora Isola-Bella, and
gave her the Marquis Triulzi's letter.  Soon after she came into the
room and welcomed me, saying that she had been expecting me, as
Triulzi had written to her on the subject.  She introduced me to the
Marquis Augustino Grimaldi delta Pietra, her 'cicisbeoin-chief'
during the long absence of her husband, who lived at Lisbon.

The signora's apartments were very elegant.  She was pretty with
small though regular features, her manner was pleasant, her voice
sweet, and her figure well shaped, though too thin.  She was nearly
thirty.  I say nothing of her complexion, for her face was plastered
with white and red, and so coarsely, that these patches of paint were
the first things that caught my attention.  I was disgusted at this,
in spite of her fine expressive eyes.  After an hour spent in
question and reply, in which both parties were feeling their way, I
accepted her invitation to come to supper on the following day.  When
I got back I complimented my niece on the way in which she had
arranged her room, which was only separated from mine by a small
closet which I intended for her maid, who, I told her, was coming the
next day.  She was highly pleased with this attention, and it paved
the way for my success.  I also told her that the next day she was to
dine with me at a substantial merchant's as my niece, and this piece
of news made her quite happy.

This girl whom Croce had infatuated and deprived of her senses was
exquisitely beautiful, but more charming than all her physical
beauties were the nobleness of her presence and the sweetness of her
disposition.  I was already madly in love with her, and I repented
not having taken possession of her on the first day of our journey.
If I had taken her at her word I should have been a steadfast lover,
and I do not think it would have taken me long to make her forget her
former admirer.

I had made but a small dinner, so I sat down to supper famishing with
hunger; and as my niece had an excellent appetite we prepared
ourselves for enjoyment, but instead of the dishes being delicate, as
we had expected, they were detestable.  I told Clairmont to send for
the landlady, and she said that she could not help it, as everything
had been done by my own cook.

"My cook?" I repeated.

"Yes, sir, the one your secretary, M. Possano, engaged for you.  I
could have got a much better one and a much cheaper one myself."

"Get one to-morrow."

"Certainly; but you must rid yourself and me of the present cook, for
he has taken up his position here with his wife and children.  Tell
Possano to send for him."

"I will do so, and in the meanwhile do you get me a fresh cook.  I
will try him the day after to-morrow."

I escorted my niece into her room, and begged her to go to bed
without troubling about me, and so saying I took up the paper and
began to read it.  When I had finished, I went up to bed, and said,

"You might spare me the pain of having to sleep by myself."

She lowered her eyes but said nothing, so I gave her a kiss and left
her.

In the morning my fair niece came into my room just as Clairmont was
washing my feet, and begged me to let her have some coffee as
chocolate made her hot.  I told my man to go and fetch some coffee,
and as soon as he was gone she went down on her knees and would have
wiped my feet.

"I cannot allow that, my dear young lady."

"Why not? it is a mark of friendship."

"That may be, but such marks cannot be given to anyone but your lover
without your degrading yourself."

She got up and sat down on a chair quietly, but saying nothing.

Clairmont came back again, and I proceeded with my toilette.

The landlady came in with our breakfast, and asked my niece if she
would like to buy a fine silk shawl made in the Genoese fashion.  I
did not let her be confused by having to answer, but told the
landlady to let us see it.  Soon after the milliner came in, but by
that time I had given my young friend twenty Genoese sequins, telling
her that she might use them for her private wants.  She took the
money, thanking me with much grace, and letting me imprint a
delicious kiss on her lovely lips.

I had sent away the milliner after having bought the shawl, when
Possano took it upon himself to remonstrate with me in the matter of
the cook.

"I engaged the man by your orders," said he, "for the whole time you
stayed at Genoa, at four francs a day, with board and lodging."

"Where is my letter?"

"Here it is: 'Get me a good cook; I will keep him while I stay in
Genoa.'"

"Perhaps you did not remark the expression, d good cook?  Well, this
fellow is a very bad cook; and, at all events, I am the best judge
whether he is good or bad."

"You are wrong, for the man will prove his skill.  He will cite you
in the law courts, and win his case."

"Then you have made a formal agreement with him?"

"Certainly; and your letter authorized me to do so."

"Tell him to come up; I want to speak to him."

While Possano was downstairs I told Clairmont to go and fetch me an
advocate.  The cook came upstairs, I read the agreement, and I saw
that it was worded in such a manner that I should be in the wrong
legally; but I did not change my mind for all that.

"Sir," said the cook, "I am skilled in my business, and I can get
four thousand Genoese to swear as much."

"That doesn't say much for their good taste; but whatever they may-
say, the execrable supper you gave me last night proves that you are
only fit to keep a low eating-house."

As there is nothing more irritable than the feelings of a culinary
artist, I was expecting a sharp answer; but just then the advocate
came in.  He had heard the end of our dialogue, and told me that not
only would the man find plenty of witnesses to his skill, but that I
should find a very great difficulty in getting anybody at all to
swear to his want of skill.

"That may be," I replied, "but as I stick to my own opinion, and
think his cooking horrible, he must go, for I want to get another,
and I will pay that fellow as if he had served me the whole time."

"That won't do," said the cook; "I will summon you before the judge
and demand damages for defamation of character."

At this my bile overpowered me, and I was going to seize him anti
throw him out of the window, when Don Antonio Grimaldi came in.  When
he heard what was the matter, he laughed and said, with a shrug of
his shoulders,

"My dear sir, you had better not go into court, or you will be cast
in costs, for the evidence is against you.  Probably this man makes a
slight mistake in believing himself to be an excellent cook, but the
chief mistake is in the agreement, which ought to have stipulated
that he should cook a trial dinner.  The person who drew up the
agreement is either a great knave or a great fool."

At this Possano struck in in his rude way, and told the nobleman that
he was neither knave nor fool.

"But you are cousin to the cook," said the landlady.

This timely remark solved the mystery.  I paid and dismissed the
advocate, and having sent the cook out of the room I said,

"Do I owe you any money, Possano?"

"On the contrary, you paid me a month in advance, and there are ten
more days of the month to run."

"I will make you a present of the ten days and send you away this
very moment, unless your cousin does not leave my house to-day, and
give you the foolish engagement which you signed in my name."

"That's what I call cutting the Gordian knot," said M. Grimaldi.

He then begged me to introduce him to the lady he had seen with me,
and I did so, telling him she was my niece.

"Signora Isola-Bella will be delighted to see her."

"As the marquis did not mention her in his letter, I did not take the
liberty of bringing her."

The marquis left a few moments afterwards, and soon after Annette
came in with her mother.  The girl had developed in an incredible
manner while I was away.  Her cheeks blossomed like the rose, her
teeth were white as pearls, and her breasts, though modestly
concealed from view, were exquisitely rounded.  I presented her to
her mistress, whose astonishment amused me.

Annette, who looked pleased to be in my service again, went to dress
her new mistress; and, after giving a few sequins to the mother I
sent her away, and proceeded to make my toilette.

Towards noon, just as I was going out with my niece to dine at
Rosalie's, my landlady brought me the agreement Possano had made, and
introduced the new cook.  I ordered the next day's dinner, and went
away much pleased with my comic victory.

A brilliant company awaited us at the Paretti's, but I was agreeably
surprised on introducing my niece to Rosalie to see them recognize
each other.  They called each other by their respective names, and
indulged in an affectionate embrace.  After this they retired to
another room for a quarter of an hour, and returned looking very
happy.  Just then Paretti entered, and on Rosalie introducing him to
my niece under her true name he welcomed her in the most cordial
manner.  Her father was a correspondent of his, and drawing a letter
he had just received from him from his pocket, he gave it to her to
read.  My niece read it eagerly, with tears in her eyes, and gave the
signature a respectful pressure with her lips.  This expression of
filial love, which displayed all the feelings of her heart, moved me
to such an extent that I burst into tears.  Then taking Rosalie
aside, I begged her to ask her husband not to mention the fact to his
correspondent that he had seen his daughter.

The dinner was excellent, and Rosalie did the honours with that grace
which was natural to her.  However, the guests did not by any means
pay her all their attentions, the greater portion of which was
diverted in the direction of my supposed niece.  Her father, a
prosperous merchant of Marseilles, was well known in the commercial
circles of Genoa, and besides this her wit and beauty captivated
everybody, and one young gentleman fell madly in love with her.  He
was an extremely good match, and proved to be the husband whom Heaven
had destined for my charming friend.  What a happy thought it was for
me that I had been the means of rescuing her from the gulf of shame,
misery, and despair, and placing her on the high road to happiness.
I own that I have always felt a keener pleasure in doing good than in
anything else, though, perhaps, I may not always have done good from
strictly disinterested motives.

When we rose from the table in excellent humour with ourselves and
our surroundings, cards were proposed, and Rosalie, who knew my
likings, said it must be trente-quarante.  This was agreed to, and we
played till supper, nobody either winning or losing to any extent.
We did not go till midnight, after having spent a very happy day.

When we were in our room I asked my niece how she had known Rosalie.

"I knew her at home; she and her mother used to bring linen from the
wash.  I always liked her."

"You must be nearly the same age."

"She is two years older than I am.  I recognized her directly."

"What did she tell you?"

"That it was you who brought her from Marseilles and made her
fortune."

"She has not made you the depositary of any other confidences?"

"No, but there are some things which don't need telling."

"You are right.  And what did you tell her?"

"Only what she could have guessed for herself.  I told her that you
were not my uncle, and if she thought you were my lover I was not
sorry.  You do not know how I have enjoyed myself to-day, you must
have been born to make me happy."

"But how about La Croix?"

"For heaven's sake say nothing about him."

This conversation increased my ardour.  She called Annette, and I
went to my room.

As I had expected, Annette came to me as soon as her mistress was in
bed.

"If the lady is really your niece," said she, "may I hope that you
still love me?"

"Assuredly, dear Annette, I shall always love you.  Undress, and let
us have a little talk."

I had not long to wait, and in the course of two voluptuous hours I
quenched the flames that another woman had kindled in my breast.

Next morning Possano came to tell me that he had arranged matters
with the cook with the help of six sequins.  I gave him the money,
and told him to be more careful for the future.

I went to Rosalie's for my breakfast, which she was delighted to give
me: and I asked her and her husband to dinner on the following day,
telling her to bring any four persons she liked.

"Your decision," said I, "will decide the fate of my cook; it will be
his trial dinner."

She promised to come, and then pressed me to tell her the history of
my amours with her fair country-woman.

"Alas!" I said, "you may not believe me, but I assure you I am only
beginning with her."

"I shall certainly believe you, if you tell me so, though it seems
very strange."

"Strange but true.  You must understand, however, that I have only
known her for a very short time; and, again, I would not be made
happy save through love, mere submission would kill me."

"Good! but what did she say of me?"

I gave her a report of the whole conversation I had had with my niece
the night before, and she was delighted."

"As you have not yet gone far with your niece, would you object if
the young man who shewed her so much attention yesterday were of the
party to-morrow?"

"Who is he?  I should like to know him."

"M. N----, the only son of a rich merchant."

"Certainly, bring him with you."

When I got home I went to my niece, who was still in bed, and told
her that her fellow-countryman would dine with us to-morrow.  I
comforted her with the assurance that M. Paretti would not tell her
father that she was in Genoa.  She had been a good deal tormented
with the idea that the merchant would inform her father of all.

As I was going out to supper I told her that she could go and sup
with Rosalie, or take supper at home if she preferred it.

"You are too kind to me, my dear uncle.  I will go to Rosalie's."

"Very good.  Are you satisfied with Annette?"

"Oh! by the way, she told me that you spent last night with her, and
that you had been her lover and her sister's at the same time."

"It is true, but she is very indiscreet to say anything about it."

"We must forgive her, though.  She told me that she only consented to
sleep with you on the assurance that I was really your niece.  I am
sure she only made this confession out of vanity, and in the hope of
gaining my favour, which would be naturally bestowed on a woman you
love."

"I wish you had the right to be jealous of her; and I swear that if
she does not comport herself with the utmost obedience to you in
every respect, I will send her packing, in despite of our relations.
As for you, you may not be able to love me, and I have no right to
complain; but I will not have you degrade yourself by becoming my
submissive victim."

I was not sorry for my niece to know that I made use of Annette, but
my vanity was wounded at the way she took it.  It was plain that she
was not at all in love with me, and that she was glad that there was
a safeguard in the person of her maid, and that thus we could be
together without danger, for she could not ignore the power of her
charms.

We dined together, and augured well of the skill of the new cook.
M. Paretti had promised to get me a good man, and he presented
himself just as we were finishing dinner, and I made a present of him
to my niece.  We went for a drive together, and I left my niece at
Rosalie's, and I then repaired to Isola-Bella's, where I found a
numerous and brilliant company had assembled consisting of all the
best people in Genoa.

Just then all the great ladies were mad over 'biribi', a regular
cheating game.  It was strictly forbidden at Genoa, but this only
made it more popular, and besides, the prohibition had no force in
private houses, which are outside of the jurisdiction of the
Government; in short, I found the game in full swing at the Signora
Isola-Bella's.  The professional gamesters who kept the bank went
from house to house, and the amateurs were advised of their presence
at such a house and at such a time.

Although I detested the game, I began to play--to do as the others
did.

In the room there was a portrait of the mistress of the house in
harlequin costume, and there happened to be the same picture on one
of the divisions of the biribi-table: I chose this one out of
politeness, and did not play on any other.  I risked a sequin each
time.  The board had thirty-six compartments, and if one lost, one
paid thirty-two tines the amount of the stake; this, of course, was
an enormous advantage for the bank.

Each player drew three numbers in succession, and there were three
professionals; one kept the bag, another the bank, and the third the
board, and the last took care to gather in the winnings as soon as
the result was known, and the bank amounted to two thousand sequins
or thereabouts.  The table, the cloth, and four silver candlesticks
belonged to the players.

I sat at the left of Madame Isola-Bella, who began to play, and as
there were fifteen or sixteen of us I had lost about fifty sequins
when my turn came, for my harlequin had not appeared once.  Everybody
pitied me, or pretended to do so, for selfishness is the predominant
passion of gamesters.

My turn came at last.  I drew my harlequin and received thirty-two
sequins.  I left them on the same figure, and got a thousand sequins.
I left fifty still on the board, and the harlequin came out for the
third time.  The bank was broken, and the table, the cloth, the
candlesticks, and the board all belonged to me.  Everyone
congratulated me, and the wretched bankrupt gamesters were hissed,
hooted, and turned out of doors.

After the first transports were over, I saw that the ladies were in
distress; for as there could be no more gaming they did not know what
to do.  I consoled them by declaring that I would be banker, but with
equal stakes, and that I would pay winning cards thirty-six times the
stake instead of thirty-two.  This was pronounced charming of me, and
I amused everybody till supper-time, without any great losses or
gains on either side.  By dint of entreaty I made the lady of the
house accept the whole concern as a present, and a very handsome one
it was.

The supper was pleasant enough, and my success at play was the chief
topic of conversation.  Before leaving I asked Signora Isola-Bella
and her marquis to dine with me, and they eagerly accepted the
invitation.  When I got home I went to see my niece, who told me she
had spent a delightful evening.

"A very pleasant young man," said she, "who is coming to dine with us
to-morrow, paid me great attention."

"The same, I suppose, that did so yesterday?"

"Yes.  Amongst other pretty things he told me that if I liked he
would go to Marseilles and ask my hand of my father.  I said nothing,
but I thought to myself that if the poor young man gave himself all
this trouble he would be woefully misled, as he would not see me."

"Why not?"

"Because I should be in a nunnery.  My kind good father will forgive
me, but I must punish myself."

"That is a sad design, which I hope you will abandon.  You have all
that would make the happiness of a worthy husband.  The more I think
it over, the more I am convinced of the truth of what I say."

We said no more just then, for she needed rest.  Annette came to
undress her, and I was glad to see the goodness of my niece towards
her, but the coolness with which the girl behaved to her mistress did
not escape my notice.  As soon as she came to sleep with me I gently
remonstrated with her, bidding her to do her duty better for the
future.  Instead of answering with a caress, as she ought to have
done, she began to cry.

"My dear child," said I, "your tears weary me.  You are only here to
amuse me, and if you can't do that, you had better go."

This hurt her foolish feelings of vanity, and she got up and went
away without a word, leaving me to go to sleep in a very bad temper.

In the morning I told her, in a stern voice, that if she played me
such a trick again I would send her away.  Instead of trying to
soothe me with a kiss the little rebel burst out crying again.  I
sent her out of the room impatiently, and proceeded to count my
gains.

I thought no more about it, but presently my niece came in and asked
me why I had vexed poor Annette.

"My dear niece," said I, "tell her to behave better or else I will
send her back to her mother's."

She gave me no reply, but took a handful of silver and fled.  I had
not time to reflect on this singular conduct, for Annette came in
rattling her crowns in her pocket, and promised, with a kiss, not to
make me angry any more.

Such was my niece.  She knew I adored her, and she loved me; but she
did not want me to be her lover, though she made use of the
ascendancy which my passion gave her.  In the code of feminine
coquetry such cases are numerous.

Possano came uninvited to see me, and congratulated me on my victory
of the evening before.

"Who told you about it?"

"I have just been at the coffee-house, where everybody is talking of
it.  It was a wonderful victory, for those biribanti are knaves of
the first water.  Your adventure is making a great noise, for
everyone says that you could not have broken their bank unless you
had made an agreement with the man that kept the bag."

"My dear fellow, I am tired of you.  Here, take this piece of money
for your wife and be off."

The piece of money I had given him was a gold coin worth a hundred
Genoese livres, which the Government had struck for internal
commerce; there were also pieces of fifty and twenty-five livres.

I was going on with my calculations when Clairmont brought me a note.
It was from Irene, and contained a tender invitation to breakfast
with her.  I did not know that she was in Genoa, and the news gave me
very great pleasure.  I locked up my money, dressed in haste, and
started out to see her.  I found her in good and well-furnished
rooms, and her old father, Count Rinaldi, embraced me with tears of
joy.

After the ordinary compliments had been passed, the old man proceeded
to congratulate me on my winnings of the night before.

"Three thousand sequins!" he exclaimed, "that is a grand haul
indeed."

"Quite so."

"The funny part of it is that the man who keeps the bag is in the pay
of the others."

"What strikes you as funny in that?"

"Why, he gained half without any risk, otherwise he would not have
been likely to have entered into an agreement with you."

"You think, then, that it was a case of connivance?"

"Everybody says so; indeed what else could it be?  The rascal has
made his fortune without running any risk.  All the Greeks in Genoa
are applauding him and you."

"As the greater rascal of the two?"

"They don't call you a rascal; they say you're a great genius; you
are praised and envied."

"I am sure I ought to be obliged to them."

"I heard it all from a gentleman who was there.  He says that the
second and the third time the man with the bag gave you the office."

"And you believe this?"

"I am sure of it.  No man of honour in your position could have acted
otherwise.  However, when you come to settle up with the fellow I
advise you to be very careful, for there will be spies on your
tracks.  If you like, I will do the business for you."

I had enough self-restraint to repress the indignation and rage I
felt.  Without a word I took my hat and marched out of the room,
sternly repulsing Irene who tried to prevent me from going as she had
done once before.  I resolved not to have anything more to do with
the wretched old count.

This calumnious report vexed me extremely, although I knew that most
gamesters would consider it an honour.  Possano and Rinaldi had said
enough to shew me that all the town was talking over it, and I was
not surprised that everyone believed it; but for my part I did not
care to be taken for a rogue when I had acted honourably.

I felt the need of unbosoming myself to someone, and walked towards
the Strada Balbi to call on the Marquis Grimaldi, and discuss the
matter with him.  I was told he was gone to the courts, so I followed
him there and was ushered into vast hall, where he waited on me.  I
told him my story, and he said,

"My dear chevalier, you ought to laugh at it, and I should not advise
you to take the trouble to refute the calumny."

"Then you advise me to confess openly that I am a rogue?"

"No, for only fools will think that of you.  Despise them, unless
they tell you you are a rogue to your face."

"I should like to know the name of the nobleman who was present and
sent this report about the town."

"I do not know who it is.  He was wrong to say anything, but you
would be equally wrong in taking any steps against him, for I am sure
he did not tell the story with any intention of giving offence; quite
the contrary."

"I am lost in wonder at his course of reasoning.  Let us suppose that
the facts were as he told them, do you think they are to my honour?"

"Neither to your honour nor shame.  Such are the morals and such the
maxims of gamesters.  The story will be laughed at, your skill will
be applauded, and you will be admired, for each one will say that in
your place he would have done likewise!"

"Would you?"

"Certainly.  If I had been sure that the ball would have gone to the
harlequin, I would have broken the rascal's bank, as you did.  I will
say honestly that I do not know whether you won by luck or skill, but
the most probable hypothesis, to my mind, is that you knew the
direction of the ball.  You must confess that there is something to
be said in favour of the supposition."

"I confess that there is, but it is none the less a dishonourable
imputation on me, and you in your turn must confess that those who
think that I won by sleight of hand, or by an agreement with a
rascal, insult me grievously."

"That depends on the way you look at it.  I confess they insult you,
if you think yourself insulted; but they are not aware of that, and
their intention being quite different there is no insult at all in
the matter.  I promise you no one will tell you to your face that you
cheated, but how are you going to prevent them thinking so?"

"Well, let them think what they like, but let them take care not to
tell me their thoughts."

I went home angry with Grimaldi, Rinaldi, and everyone else.  My
anger vexed me, I should properly have only laughed, for in the state
of morals at Genoa, the accusation, whether true or false, could not
injure my honour.  On the contrary I gained by it a reputation for
being a genius, a term which the Genoese prefer to that Methodistical
word, "a rogue," though the meaning is the same.  Finally I was
astonished to find myself reflecting that I should have had no
scruple in breaking the bank in the way suggested, if it had only
been for the sake of making the company laugh.  What vexed me most
was that I was credited with an exploit I had not performed.

When dinner-time drew near I endeavoured to overcome my ill temper
for the sake of the company I was going to receive.  My niece was
adorned only with her native charms, for the rascal Croce had sold
all her jewels; but she was elegantly dressed, and her beautiful hair
was more precious than a crown of rubies.

Rosalie came in richly dressed and looking very lovely.  Her husband,
her uncle, and her aunt were with her, and also two friends, one of
whom was the aspirant for the hand of my niece.

Madame Isola-Bella and her shadow, M. Grimaldi, came late, like great
people.  Just as we were going to sit down, Clairmont told me that a
man wanted to speak to me.

"Shew him in."

As soon as he appeared M. Grimaldi exclaimed:

"The man with the bag!"

"What do you want?" I said, dryly.

"Sir, I am come to ask you to help me.  I am a family man, and it is
thought that .  .  ."

I did not let him finish.

"I have never refused to aid the unfortunate," said I.  "Clairmont,
give him ten sequins.  Leave the room."

This incident spoke in my favour, and made me in a better temper.

We sat down to table, and a letter was handed to me.  I recognized
Possano's writing, and put it in my pocket without reading it.

The dinner was delicious, and my cook was pronounced to have won his
spurs.  Though her exalted rank and the brilliance of her attire gave
Signora Isoia-Bella the first place of right, she was nevertheless
eclipsed by my two nieces.  The young Genoese was all attention for
the fair Marseillaise, and I could see that she was not displeased.
I sincerely wished to see her in love with someone, and I liked her
too well to bear the idea of her burying herself in a convent.  She
could never be happy till she found someone who would make her forget
the rascal who had brought her to the brink of ruin.

I seized the opportunity, when all my guests were engaged with each
other, to open Possano's letter.  It ran as follows:

"I went to the bank to change the piece of gold you gave me.  It was
weighed, and found to be ten carats under weight.  I was told to name
the person from whom I got it, but of course I did not do so.  I then
had to go to prison, and if you do not get me out of the scrape I
shall be prosecuted, though of course I am not going to get myself
hanged for anybody."

I gave the letter to Grimaldi, and when we had left the table he took
me aside, and said,--

"This is a very serious matter, for it may end in the gallows for the
man who clipped the coin."

"Then they can hang the biribanti!  That won't hurt me much."

"No, that won't do; it would compromise Madame Isola-Bella, as biribi
is strictly forbidden.  Leave it all to me, I will speak to the State
Inquisitors about it.  Tell Possano to persevere in his silence, and
that you will see him safely through.  The laws against coiners and
clippers are only severe with regard to these particular coins, as
the Government has special reasons for not wishing them to be
depreciated."

I wrote to Possano, and sent for a pair of scales.  We weighed the
gold I had won at biribi, and every single piece had been clipped.
M. Grimaldi said he would have them defaced and sold to a jeweller.

When we got back to the dining-room we found everybody at play.
M. Grimaldi proposed that I should play at quinze with him.  I
detested the game, but as he was my guest I felt it would be impolite
to refuse, and in four hours I had lost five hundred sequins.

Next morning the marquis told me that Possano was out of prison, and
that he had been given the value of the coin.  He brought me thirteen
hundred sequins which had resulted from the sale of the gold.  We
agreed that I was to call on Madame Isola-Bella the next day, when he
would give me my revenge at quinze.

I kept the appointment, and lost three thousand sequins.  I paid him
a thousand the next day, and gave him two bills of exchange, payable
by myself, for the other two thousand.  When these bills were
presented I was in England, and being badly off I had to have them
protested.  Five years later, when I was at Barcelona, M. de Grimaldi
was urged by a traitor to have me imprisoned, but he knew enough of
me to be sure that if I did not meet the bills it was from sheer
inability to do so.  He even wrote me a very polite letter, in which
he gave the name of my enemy, assuring me that he would never take
any steps to compel me to pay the money.  This enemy was Possano, who
was also at Barcelona, though I was not aware of his presence.  I
will speak of the circumstance in due time, but I cannot help
remarking that all who aided me in my pranks with Madame d'Urfe
proved traitors, with the exception of a Venetian girl, whose
acquaintance the reader will make in the following chapter.

In spite of my losses I enjoyed myself, and had plenty of money, for
after all I had only lost what I had won at biribi.  Rosalie often
dined with us, either alone or with her husband, and I supped
regularly at her home with my niece, whose love affair seemed quite
promising.  I congratulated her upon the circumstance, but she
persisted in her determination to take refuge from the world in a
cloister.  Women often do the most idiotic things out of sheer
obstinacy; possibly they deceive even themselves, and act in good
faith; but unfortunately, when the veil falls from before their eyes,
they see but the profound abyss into which their folly had plunged
them.

In the meanwhile, my niece had become so friendly and familiar that
she would often come and sit on my bed in the morning when Annette
was still in my arms.  Her presence increased my ardour, and I
quenched the fires on the blonde which the brunette was kindling.  My
niece seemed to enjoy the sight, and I could see that her senses were
being pleasantly tortured.  Annette was short-sighted, and so did not
perceive my distractions, while my fair niece caressed me slightly,
knowing that it would add to my pleasures.  When she thought I was
exhausted she told Annette to get up and leave me alone with her, as
she wanted to tell me something.  She then began to jest and toy, and
though her dress was extremely disordered she seemed to think that
her charms would exercise no power over me.  She was quite mistaken,
but I was careful not to undeceive her for fear of losing her
confidence.  I watched the game carefully, and noting how little by
little her familiarity increased, I felt sure that she would have to
surrender at last, if not at Genoa, certainly on the journey, when we
would be thrown constantly in each other's society with nobody to spy
upon our actions, and with nothing else to do but to make love.  It
is the weariness of a journey, the constant monotony, that makes one
do something to make sure of one's existence; and when it comes to
the reckoning there is usually more joy than repentance.

But the story of my journey from Genoa to Marseilles was written in
the book of fate, and could not be read by me.  All I knew was that I
must soon go as Madame d'Urfe was waiting for me at Marseilles.  I
knew not that in this journey would be involved the fate of a
Venetian girl of whom I had never heard, who had never seen me, but
whom I was destined to render happy.  My fate seemed to have made me
stop at Genoa to wait for her.

I settled my accounts with the banker, to whom I had been accredited,
and I took a letter of credit on Marseilles, where, however, I was
not likely to want for funds, as my high treasurer, Madame d'Urfe was
there.  I took leave of Madame Isola-Bella and her circle that I
might be able to devote all my time to Rosalie and her friends.




CHAPTER II

Disgraceful Behaviour of My Brother, the Abbe, I Relieve Him of His
Mistress--Departure from Genoa--The Prince of Monaco--My Niece
Overcome--Our Arrival at Antibes


On the Tuesday in Holy Week I was just getting up, when Clairmont
came to tell me that a priest who would not give his name wanted to
speak to me.  I went out in my night-cap, and the rascally priest
rushed at me and nearly choked me with his embraces.  I did not like
so much affection, and as I had not recognized him at first on
account of the darkness of the room, I took him by the arm and led
him to the window.  It was my youngest brother, a good-for-nothing
fellow, whom I had always disliked.  I had not seen him for ten
years, but I cared so little about him that I had not even enquired
whether he were alive or dead in the correspondence I maintained with
M. de Bragadin, Dandolo, and Barbaro.

As soon as his silly embraces were over, I coldly asked him what
chance had brought him to Genoa in this disgusting state of dirt,
rags, and tatters.  He was only twenty-nine, his complexion was fresh
and healthy, and he had a splendid head of hair.  He was a posthumous
son, born like Mahomet, three months after the death of his father.

"The story of my misfortunes would be only too long.  Take me into
your room, and I will sit down and tell you the whole story."

"First of all, answer my questions.  How long have you been here?"

"Since yesterday."

"Who told you that I was here?"

"Count B----, at Milan."

"Who told you that the count knew me?"

"I found out by chance.  I was at M. de Bragadin's a month ago, and
on his table I saw a letter from the count to you."

"Did you tell him you were my brother?"

"I had to when he said how much I resembled you."

"He made a mistake, for you are a blockhead."

"He did not think so, at all events, for he asked me to dinner."

"You must have cut a pretty figure, if you were in your present
state."

"He gave me four sequins to come here; otherwise, I should never have
been able to do the journey."

"Then he did a very foolish thing.  You're a mere beggar, then; you
take alms.  Why did you leave Venice?  What do you want with me?
I can do nothing for you."

"Ah! do not make me despair, or I shall kill myself."

"That's the very best thing you could do; but you are too great a
coward.  I ask again why you left Venice, where you could say mass,
and preach, and make an honest living, like many priests much better
than you?"

"That is the kernel of the whole matter.  Let us go in and I will
tell you."

"No; wait for me here.  We will go somewhere where you can tell me
your story, if I have patience to listen to it.  But don't tell any
of my people that you are my brother, for I am ashamed to have such a
relation.  Come, take me to the place where you are staying."

"I must tell you that at my inn I am not alone, and I want to have a
private interview with you."

"Who is with you?"

"I will tell you presently, but let us go into a coffeehouse."

"Are you in company with a band of brigands?  What are you sighing
at?"

"I must confess it, however painful it may be to my feelings.  I am
with a woman."

"A woman! and you a priest!"

"Forgive me.  I was blinded by love, and seduced by my senses and her
beauty, so I seduced her under a promise to marry her at Geneva.  I
can never go back to Venice, for I took her away from her father's
house."

"What could you do at Geneva?  They would expel you after you had
been there three or four days.  Come, we will go to the inn and see
the woman you have deceived.  I will speak to you afterwards."

I began to trace my steps in the direction he had pointed out, and he
was obliged to follow me.  As soon as we got to the inn, he went on
in front, and after climbing three flights of stairs I entered a
wretched den where I saw a tall young girl, a sweet brunette, who
looked proud and not in the least confused.  As soon as I made my
appearance she said, without any greeting,--

"Are you the brother of this liar and monster who has deceived me so
abominably?"

"Yes," said I.  "I have the honour."

"A fine honour, truly.  Well, have the kindness to send me back to
Venice, for I won't stop any longer with this rascal whom I listened
to like the fool I was, who turned my head with his lying tales.  He
was going to meet you at Milan, and you were to give us enough money
to go to Geneva, and there we were to turn Protestants and get
married.  He swore you were expecting him at Milan, but you were not
there at all, and he contrived to get money in some way or another,
and brought me here miserably enough.  I thank Heaven he has found
you at last, for if he had not I should have started off by myself
and begged my way.  I have not a single thing left; the wretch sold
all I possessed at Bergamo and Verona.  I don't know how I kept my
senses through it all.  To hear him talk, the world was a paradise
outside Venice, but I have found to my cost that there is no place
like home.  I curse the hour when I first saw the miserable wretch.
He's a beggarly knave; always whining.  He wanted to enjoy his rights
as my husband when we got to Padua, but I am thankful to say I gave
him nothing.  Here is the writing he gave me; take it, and do what
you like with it.  But if you have any heart, send me back to Venice
or I will tramp there on foot."

I had listened to this long tirade without interrupting her.  She
might have spoken at much greater length, so far as I was concerned;
my astonishment took my breath away.  Her discourse had all the fire
of eloquence, and was heightened by her expressive face and the
flaming glances she shot from her eyes.

My brother, sitting down with his head between his hands, and obliged
to listen in silence to this long catalogue of well-deserved
reproaches, gave something of a comic element to the scene.  In spite
of that, however, I was much touched by the sad aspects of the girl's
story.  I felt at once that I must take charge of her, and put an end
to this ill-assorted match.  I imagined that I should not have much
difficulty in sending her back to Venice, which she might never have
quitted if it had not been for her trust in me, founded on the
fallacious promises of her seducer.

The true Venetian character of the girl struck me even more than her
beauty.  Her courage, frank indignation, and the nobility of her
aspect made me resolve not to abandon her.  I could not doubt that
she had told a true tale, as my brother continued to observe a guilty
silence.

I watched her silently for some time, and, my mind being made up,
said,--

"I promise to send you back to Venice with a respectable woman to
look after you; but you will be unfortunate if you carry back with
you the results of your amours."

"What results?  Did I not tell you that we were going to be married
at Geneva?"

"Yes, but in spite of that .  .  ."

"I understand you, sir, but I am quite at ease on that point, as I am
happy to say that I did not yield to any of the wretch's desires."

"Remember," said the abbe, in a plaintive voice, "the oath you took
to be mine for ever.  You swore it upon the crucifix."

So saying he got up and approached her with a supplicating gesture,
but as soon as he was within reach she gave him a good hearty box on
the ear.  I expected to see a fight, in which I should not have
interfered, but nothing of the kind.  The humble abbe gently turned
away to the window, and casting his eyes to heaven began to weep.

"You are too malicious, my dear," I said; "the poor devil is only
unhappy because you have made him in love with you."

"If he is it's his own fault, I should never have thought of him but
for his coming to me and fooling me, I shall never forgive him till
he is out of my sight.  That's not the first blow I have given him;
I had to begin at Padua."

"Yes," said the abbe, "but you are excommunicated, for I am a
priest."

"It's little I care for the excommunication of a scoundrel like you,
and if you say another word I will give you some more."

"Calm yourself, my child," said I; "you have cause to be angry, but
you should not beat him.  Take up your things and follow me."

"Where are you going to take her?" said the foolish priest.

"To my own house, and I should advise you to hold your tongue.  Here,
take these twenty sequins and buy yourself some clean clothes and
linen, and give those rags of yours to the beggars.  I will come and
talk to you to-morrow, and you may thank your stars that you found me
here.  As for you, mademoiselle, I will have you conducted to my
lodging, for Genoa must not see you in my company after arriving here
with a priest.  We must not have any scandal.  I shall place you
under the charge of my landlady, but whatever you do don't tell her
this sad story.  I will see that you are properly dressed, and that
you want for nothing."

"May Heaven reward you!"

My brother, astonished at the sight of the twenty sequins, let me go
away without a word.  I had the fair Venetian taken to my lodging in
a sedan-chair, and putting her under the charge of my landlady I told
the latter to see that she was properly dressed.  I wanted to see how
she would look in decent clothes, for her present rags and tatters
detracted from her appearance.  I warned Annette that a girl who had
been placed in my care would eat and sleep with her, and then having
to entertain a numerous company of guests I proceeded to make my
toilette.

Although my niece had no rights over me, I valued her esteem, and
thought it best to tell her the whole story lest she should pass an
unfavourable judgment on me.  She listened attentively and thanked me
for my confidence in her, and said she should very much like to see
the girl and the abbe too, whom she pitied, though she admitted he
was to be blamed for what he had done.  I had got her a dress to wear
at dinner, which became her exquisitely.  I felt only too happy to be
able to please her in any way, for her conduct towards myself and the
way she treated her ardent lover commanded my admiration.  She saw
him every day either at my house or at Rosalie's.  The young man had
received an excellent education, though he was of the mercantile
class, and wrote to her in a business-like manner, that, as they were
well suited to each other in every way, there was nothing against his
going to Marseilles and obtaining her father's consent to the match,
unless it were a feeling of aversion on her side.  He finished by
requesting her to give him an answer.  She shewed me the letter, and
I congratulated her, and advised her to accept, if there was nothing
about the young man which displeased her.

"There is nothing of the kind," she said, "and Rosalie thinks with
you."

"Then tell him by word of mouth that you give your consent, and will
expect to see him at Marseilles."

"Very good; as you think so, I will tell him tomorrow."

When dinner was over a feeling of curiosity made me go into the room
where Annette was dining with the Venetian girl, whose name was
Marcoline.  I was struck with astonishment on seeing her, for she was
completely changed, not so much by the pretty dress she had on as by
the contented expression of her face, which made her look quite
another person.  Good humour had vanquished unbecoming rage, and the
gentleness born of happiness made her features breathe forth love.
I could scarcely believe that this charming creature before me was
the same who had dealt such a vigorous blow to my brother, a priest,
and a sacred being in the eyes of the common people.  They were
eating, and laughing at not being able to understand each other, for
Marcoline only spoke Venetian, and Annette Genoese, and the latter
dialect does not resemble the former any more than Bohemian resembles
Dutch.

I spoke to Marcoline in her native tongue, which was mine too, and
she said,--

"I seem to have suddenly passed from hell to Paradise."

"Indeed, you look like an angel."

"You called me a little devil this morning.  But here is a fair
angel," said she, pointing to Annette; "we don't see such in Venice."

"She is my treasure."

Shortly after my niece came in, and seeing me talking and laughing
with the two girls began to examine the new-comer.  She told me in
French that she thought her perfectly beautiful, and repeating her
opinion to the girl in Italian gave her a kiss.  Marcoline asked her
plainly in the Venetian manner who she was.

"I am this gentleman's niece, and he is taking me back to Marseilles,
where my home is."

"Then you would have been my niece too, if I had married his brother.
I wish I had such a pretty niece."

This pleasant rejoinder was followed by a storm of kisses given and
returned with ardour which one might pronounce truly Venetian, if it
were not that this would wound the feelings of the almost equally
ardent Provencals.

I took my niece for a sail in the bay, and after we had enjoyed one
of those delicious evenings which I think can be found nowhere else--
sailing on a mirror silvered by the moon, over which float the odours
of the jasmine, the orange-blossom, the pomegranates, the aloes, and
all the scented flowers which grow along the coasts--we returned to
our lodging, and I asked Annette what had become of Marcoline.  She
told me that she had gone to bed early, and I went gently into her
room, with no other intention than to see her asleep.  The light of
the candle awoke her, and she did not seem at all frightened at
seeing me.  I sat by the bed, and fell to making love to her, and at
last made as if I would kiss her, but she resisted, and we went on
talking.

When Annette had put her mistress to bed, she came in and found us
together.

"Go to bed, my dear," said I.  "I will come to you directly."

Proud of being my mistress, she gave me a fiery kiss and went away
without a word.

I began to talk about my brother, and passing from him to myself I
told her of the interest I felt for her, saying that I would either
have her taken to Venice, or bring her with me when I went to France.

"Do you want to marry me?"

"No, I am married already."

"That's a lie, I know, but it doesn't matter.  Send me back to
Venice, and the sooner the better.  I don't want to be anybody's
concubine."

"I admire your sentiments, my dear, they do you honour."

Continuing my praise I became pressing, not using any force, but
those gentle caresses which are so much harder for a woman to resist
than a violent attack.  Marcoline laughed, but seeing that I
persisted in spite of her resistance, she suddenly glided out of the
bed and took refuge in my niece's room and locked the door after her.
I was not displeased; the thing was done so easily and gracefully.  I
went to bed with Annette, who lost nothing by the ardour with which
Marcoline had inspired me.  I told her how she had escaped from my
hands, and Annette was loud in her praises.

In the morning I got up early and went into my niece's room to enjoy
the sight of the companion I had involuntarily given her, and the two
girls were certainly a very pleasant sight.  As soon as my niece saw
me, she exclaimed,--

"My dear uncle, would you believe it?  This sly Venetian has violated
me."

Marcoline understood her, and far from denying the fact proceeded to
give my niece fresh marks of her affection, which were well received,
and from the movements of the sheets which covered them I could make
a pretty good guess as to the nature of their amusement.

"This is a rude shock to the respect which your uncle has had for
your prejudices," said I.

"The sports of two girls cannot tempt a man who has just left the
arms of Annette."

"You are wrong, and perhaps you know it, for I am more than tempted."

With these words I lifted the sheets of the bed.  Marcoline shrieked
but did not move, but my niece earnestly begged me to replace the
bed-clothes.  However, the picture before me was too charming to be
concealed.

At this point Annette came in, and in obedience to her mistress
replaced the coverlet over the two Bacchantes.  I felt angry with
Annette, and seizing her threw her on the bed, and then and there
gave the two sweethearts such an interesting spectacle that they left
their own play to watch us.  When I had finished, Annette, who was in
high glee; said I was quite right to avenge myself on their prudery.
I felt satisfied with what I had done, and went to breakfast.  I then
dressed, and visited my brother.

"How is Marcoline?" said he, as soon as he saw me.

"Very well, and you needn't trouble yourself any more about her.  She
is well lodged, well dressed, and well fed, and sleeps with my
niece's maid."

"I didn't know I had a niece."

"There are many things you don't know.  In three or four days she
will return to Venice."

"I hope, dear brother, that you will ask me to dine with you to-day."

"Not at all, dear brother.  I forbid you to set foot in my house,
where your presence would be offensive to Marcoline, whom you must
not see any more."

"Yes, I will; I will return to Venice, if I have to hang for it."

"What good would that be?  She won't have you."

"She loves me."

"She beats you."

"She beats me because she loves me.  She will be as gentle as a lamb
when she sees me so well dressed.  You do not know how I suffer."

"I can partly guess, but I do not pity you, for you are an impious
and cruel fool.  You have broken your vows, and have not hesitated to
make a young girl endure misery and degradation to satisfy your
caprice.  What would you have done, I should like to know, if I had
given you the cold shoulder instead of helping you?"

"I should have gone into the street, and begged for my living with
her."

"She would have beaten you, and would probably have appealed to the
law to get rid of you."

"But what will you do for me, if I let her go back to Venice without
following her."

"I will take you to France, and try to get you employed by some
bishop."

"Employed!  I was meant by nature to be employed by none but God."

"You proud fool!  Marcoline rightly called you a whiner.  Who is your
God?  How do you serve Him?  You are either a hypocrite or an idiot.
Do you think that you, a priest, serve God by decoying an innocent
girl away from her home?  Do you serve Him by profaning the religion
you do not even understand?  Unhappy fool! do you think that with no
talent, no theological learning, and no eloquence, you can be a
Protestant minister.  Take care never to come to my house, or I will
have you expelled from Genoa."

"Well, well, take me to Paris, and I will see what my brother Francis
can do for me; his heart is not so hard as yours."

"Very good!  you shall go to Paris, and we will start from here in
three or four days.  Eat and drink to your heart's content, but
remain indoors; I will let you know when we are going.  I shall have
my niece, my secretary, and my valet with me.  We shall travel by
sea."

"The sea makes me sick."

"That will purge away some of your bad humours."

When I got home I told Marcoline what had passed between us.

"I hate him!" said she; "but I forgive him, since it is through him I
know you."

"And I forgive him, too, because unless it had been for him I should
never have seen you.  But I love you, and I shall die unless you
satisfy my desires."

"Never; for I know I should be madly in love with you, and then you
would leave me, and I should be miserable again."

"I will never leave you."

"If you will swear that, take me into France and make me all your
own.  Here you must continue living with Annette; besides, I have got
your niece to make love to."

The pleasant part of the affair was that my niece was equally taken
with her, and had begged me to let her take meals with us and sleep
with her.  As I had a prospect of being at their lascivious play, I
willingly consented, and henceforth she was always present at the
table.  We enjoyed her company immensely, for she told us side-
splitting tales which kept us at table till it was time to go to
Rosalie's, where my niece's adorer was certain to be awaiting us.

The next day, which was Holy Thursday, Rosalie came with us to see
the processions.  I had Rosalie and Marcoline with me, one on each
arm, veiled in their mezzaros, and my niece was under the charge of
her lover.  The day after we went to see the procession called at
Genoa Caracce, and Marcoline pointed out my brother who kept hovering
round us, though he pretended not to see us.  He was most carefully
dressed, and the stupid fop seemed to think he was sure to find
favour in Marcoline's eyes, and make her regret having despised him;
but he was woefully deceived, for Marcoline knew how to manage her
mezzaro so well that, though he was both seen and laughed at, the
poor devil could not be certain that she had noticed him at all, and
in addition the sly girl held me so closely by the arm that he must
have concluded we were very intimate.

My niece and Marcoline thought themselves the best friends in the
world, and could not bear my telling them that their amorous sports
were the only reason for their attachment.  They therefore agreed to
abandon them as soon as we left Genoa, and promised that I should
sleep between them in the felucca, all of us to keep our clothes on.
I said I should hold them to their word, and I fixed our departure
for Thursday.  I ordered the felucca to be in readiness and summoned
my brother to go on board.

It was a cruel moment when I left Annette with her mother.  She wept
so bitterly that all of us had to shed tears.  My niece gave her a
handsome dress and I thirty sequins, promising to come and see her
again on my return from England.  Possano was told to go on board
with the abbe; I had provisioned the boat for three days.  The young
merchant promised to be at Marseilles, telling my niece that by the
time he came everything would be settled.  I was delighted to hear
it; it assured me that her father would give her a kind reception.
Our friends did not leave us till the moment we went on board.

The felucca was very conveniently arranged, and was propelled by the
twelve oarsmen.  On the deck there were also twenty-four muskets, so
that we should have been able to defend ourselves against a pirate.
Clairmont had arranged my carriage and my trunks so cleverly, that by
stretching five mattresses over them we had an excellent bed, where
we could sleep and undress ourselves in perfect comfort; we had good
pillows and plenty of sheets.  A long awning covered the deck, and
two lanterns were hung up, one at each end.  In the evening they were
lighted and Clairmont brought in supper.  I had warned my brother
that at the slightest presumption on his part he should be flung into
the sea, so I allowed him and Possano to sup with us.

I sat between my two nymphs and served the company merrily, first my
niece, then Marcoline, then my brother, and finally Possano.  No
water was drunk at table, so we each emptied a bottle of excellent
Burgundy, and when we had finished supper the rowers rested on their
oars, although the wind was very light.  I had the lamps put out and
went to bed with my two sweethearts, one on each side of me.

The light of dawn awoke me, and I found my darlings still sleeping in
the same position.  I could kiss neither of them, since one passed
for my niece, and my sense of humanity would not allow me to treat
Marcoline as my mistress in the presence of an unfortunate brother
who adored her, and had never obtained the least favour from her.  He
was lying near at hand, overwhelmed with grief and seasickness, and
watching and listening with all his might for the amorous encounter
he suspected us of engaging in.  I did not want to have any
unpleasantness, so I contented myself with gazing on them till the
two roses awoke and opened their eyes.

When this delicious sight was over, I got up and found that we were
only opposite Final, and I proceeded to reprimand the master.

"The wind fell dead at Savona, sir"; and all the seamen chorused his
excuse.

"Then you should have rowed instead of idling."

"We were afraid of waking you.  You shall be at Antibes by tomorrow."

After passing the time by eating a hearty meal, we took a fancy to go
on shore at St. Remo.  Everybody was delighted.  I took my two nymphs
on land, and after forbidding any of the others to disembark I
conducted the ladies to an inn, where I ordered coffee.  A man
accosted us, and invited us to come and play biribi at his house.

"I thought the game was forbidden in Genoa," said I.  I felt certain
that the players were the rascals whose bank I had broken at Genoa,
so I accepted the invitation.  My niece had fifty Louis in her purse,
and I gave fifteen to Marcoline.  We found a large assemblage, room
was made for us, and I recognized the knaves of Genoa.  As soon as
they saw me they turned pale and trembled.  I should say that the man
with the bag was not the poor devil who had served me so well without
wanting to.

"I play harlequin," said I.

"There isn't one."

"What's the bank?"

"There it is.  We play for small stakes here, and those two hundred
louis are quite sufficient.  You can bet as low as you like, and the
highest stake is of a louis."

"That's all very well, but my louis is full weight."

"I think ours are, too."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then I won't play," said I, to the keeper of the rooms.

"You are right; bring the scales."

The banker then said that when play was over he would give four
crowns of six livres for every louis that the company had won, and
the matter was settled.  In a moment the board was covered with
stakes.

We each punted a louis at a time, and I and my niece lost twenty
Louis, but Marcoline, who had never possessed two sequins in her life
before, won two hundred and forty Louis.  She played on the figure of
an abbe which came out fifth twenty times.  She was given a bag full
of crown pieces, and we returned to the felucca.

The wind was contrary, and we had to row all night, and in the
morning the sea was so rough that we had to put in at Mentone.  My
two sweethearts were very sick, as also my brother and Possano, but I
was perfectly well.  I took the two invalids to the inn, and allowed
my brother and Possano to land and refresh themselves.  The innkeeper
told me that the Prince and Princess of Monaco were at Mentone, so I
resolved to pay them a visit.  It was thirteen years since I had seen
the prince at Paris, where I had amused him and his mistress Caroline
at supper.  It was this prince who had taken me to see the horrible
Duchess of Rufec; then he was unmarried, and now I met him again in
his principality with his wife, of whom he had already two sons.  The
princess had been a Duchess de Borgnoli, a great heiress, and a
delightful and pretty woman.  I had heard all about her, and I was
curious to verify the facts for myself.

I called on the prince, was announced, and after a long wait they
introduced me to his presence.  I gave him his title of highness,
which I had never done at Paris, where he was not known under his
full style and title.  He received me politely, but with that
coolness which lets one know that one is not an over-welcome visitor.

"You have put in on account of the bad weather, I suppose?" said he.

"Yes, prince, and if your highness will allow me I will spend the
whole day in your delicious villa."  (It is far from being
delicious.)

"As you please.  The princess as well as myself likes it better than
our place at Monaco, so we live here by preference."

"I should be grateful if your highness would present me to the
princess."

Without mentioning my name he ordered a page in waiting to present me
to the princess.

The page opened the door of a handsome room and said, "The Princess,"
and left me.  She was singing at the piano, but as soon as she saw me
she rose and came to meet me.  I was obliged to introduce myself, a
most unpleasant thing, and no doubt the princess felt the position,
for she pretended not to notice it, and addressed me with the utmost
kindness and politeness, and in a way that shewed that she was
learned in the maxims of good society.  I immediately became very
much at my ease, and proceeded in a lordly manner to entertain her
with pleasant talk, though I said nothing about my two lady friends.

The princess was handsome, clever, and good-natured.  Her mother, who
knew that a man like the prince would never make her daughter happy,
opposed the marriage, but the young marchioness was infatuated, and
the mother had to give in when the girl said,--

"O Monaco O monaca."  (Either Monaco or a convent.)

We were still occupied in the trifles which keep up an ordinary
conversation, when the prince came in running after a waiting-maid,
who was making her escape, laughing.  The princess pretended not to
see him, and went on with what she was saying.  The scene displeased
me, and I took leave of the princess, who wished me a pleasant
journey.  I met the prince as I was going out, and he invited me to
come and see him whenever I passed that way.

"Certainly," said I; and made my escape without saying any more.

I went back to the inn and ordered a good dinner for three.

In the principality of Monaco there was a French garrison, which was
worth a pension of a hundred thousand francs to the prince--a very
welcome addition to his income.

A curled and scented young officer, passing by our room, the door of
which was open, stopped short, and with unblushing politeness asked
us if we would allow him to join our party.  I replied politely, but
coldly, that he did us honour--a phrase which means neither yes nor
no; but a Frenchman who has advanced one step never retreats.

He proceeded to display his graces for the benefit of the ladies,
talking incessantly, without giving them time to get in a word, when
he suddenly turned to me and said that he wondered how it was that
the prince had not asked me and my ladies to dinner.  I told him that
I had not said anything to the prince about the treasure I had with
me.

I had scarcely uttered the words, when the kindly blockhead rose and
cried enthusiastically,--

"Parbleu!  I am no longer surprised.  I will go and tell his
highness, and I shall soon have the honour of dining with you at the
castle."

He did not wait to hear my answer, but went off in hot haste.

We laughed heartily at his folly, feeling quite sure that we should
neither dine with him nor the prince, but in a quarter of an hour he
returned in high glee, and invited us all to dinner on behalf of the
prince.

"I beg you will thank his highness, and at the same time ask him to
excuse us.  The weather has improved, and I want to be off as soon as
we have taken a hasty morsel."

The young Frenchman exerted all his eloquence in vain, and at length
retired with a mortified air to take our answer to the prince.

I thought I had got rid of him at last, but I did not know my man.
He returned a short time after, and addressing himself in a
complacent manner to the ladies, as if I was of no more account, he
told them that he had given the prince such a description of their
charms that he had made up his mind to dine with them.

"I have already ordered the table to be laid for two more, as I shall
have the honour of being of the party.  In a quarter of an hour,
ladies, the prince will be here."

"Very good," said I, "but as the prince is coming I must go to the
felucca and fetch a capital pie of which the prince is very fond, I
know.  Come, ladies."

"You can leave them here, sir.  I will undertake to keep them
amused."

"I have no doubt you would, but they have some things to get from the
felucca as well."

"Then you will allow me to come too."

"Certainly with pleasure."

As we were going down the stairs, I asked the innkeeper what I owed
him.

"Nothing, sir, I have just received orders to serve you in
everything, and to take no money from you."

"The prince is really magnificent!"  During this short dialogue, the
ladies had gone on with the fop.  I hastened to rejoin them, and my
niece took my arm, laughing heartily to hear the officer making love
to Marcoline, who did not understand a word he said.  He did not
notice it in the least, for his tongue kept going like the wheel of a
mill, and he did not pause for any answers.

"We shall have some fun at dinner," said my niece, "but what are we
going to do on the felucca?"

"We are leaving.  Say nothing."

"Leaving?"

"Immediately."

"What a jest! it is worth its weight in gold."

We went on board the felucca, and the officer, who was delighted with
the pretty vessel, proceeded to examine it.  I told my niece to keep
him company, and going to the master, whispered to him to let go
directly.

"Directly?"

"Yes, this moment."

"But the abbe and your secretary are gone for a walk, and two of my
men are on shore, too."

"That's no matter; we shall pick them up again at Antibes; it's only
ten leagues, and they have plenty of money.  I must go, and directly.
Make haste."

"All right."

He tripped the anchor, and the felucca began to swing away from the
shore.  The officer asked me in great astonishment what it meant.

"It means that I am going to Antibes and I shall be very glad to take
you there for nothing."

"This is a fine jest!  You are joking, surely?"

"Your company will be very pleasant on the journey."

"Pardieu! put me ashore, for with your leave, ladies, I cannot go to
Antibes."

"Put the gentleman ashore," said I to the master, "he does not seem
to like our company."

"It's not that, upon my honour.  These ladies are charming, but the
prince would think that I was in the plot to play this trick upon
him, which you must confess is rather strong."

"I never play a weak trick."

"But what will the prince say?"

"He may say what he likes, and I shall do as I like."

"Well, it's no fault of mine.  Farewell, ladies! farewell, sir!"

"Farewell, and you may thank the prince for me for paying my bill."

Marcoline who did not understand what was passing gazed in
astonishment, but my niece laughed till her sides ached, for the way
in which the poor officer had taken the matter was extremely comic.

Clairmont brought us an excellent dinner, and we laughed incessantly
during its progress, even at the astonishment of the abbe and Possano
when they came to the quay and found the felucca had flown.  However,
I was sure of meeting them again at Antibes, and we reached that port
at six o'clock in the evening.

The motion of the sea had tired us without making us feel sick, for
the air was fresh, and our appetites felt the benefits of it, and in
consequence we did great honour to the supper and the wine.
Marcoline whose stomach was weakened by the sickness she had
undergone soon felt the effects of the Burgundy, her eyes were heavy,
and she went to sleep.  My niece would have imitated her, but I
reminded her tenderly that we were at Antibes, and said I was sure
she would keep her word.  She did not answer me, but gave me her
hand, lowering her eyes with much modesty.

Intoxicated with her submission which was so like love, I got into
bed beside her, exclaiming,--

"At last the hour of my happiness has come!

"And mine too, dearest."

"Yours?  Have you not continually repulsed me?"

"Never!  I always loved you, and your indifference has been a bitter
grief to me."

"But the first night we left Milan you preferred being alone to
sleeping with me."

"Could I do otherwise without passing in your eyes for one more a
slave to sensual passion than to love?  Besides you might have
thought I was giving myself to you for the benefits I had received;
and though gratitude be a noble feeling, it destroys all the sweet
delights of love.  You ought to have told me that you loved me and
subdued me by those attentions which conquer the hearts of us women.
Then you would have seen that I loved you too, and our affection
would have been mutual.  On my side I should have known that the
pleasure you had of me was not given out of a mere feeling of
gratitude.  I do not know whether you would have loved me less the
morning after, if I had consented, but I am sure I should have lost
your esteem."

She was right, and I applauded her sentiments, while giving her to
understand that she was to put all notions of benefits received out
of her mind.  I wanted to make her see that I knew that there was no
more need for gratitude on her side than mine.

We spent a night that must be imagined rather than described.  She
told me in the morning that she felt all had been for the best, as if
she had given way at first she could never have made up her mind to
accept the young Genoese, though he seemed likely to make her happy.

Marcoline came to see us in the morning, caressed us, and promised to
sleep by herself the rest of the voyage.

"Then you are not jealous?" said I.

"No, for her happiness is mine too, and I know she will make you
happy."

She became more ravishingly beautiful every day.

Possano and the abbe came in just as we were sitting down to table,
and my niece having ordered two more plates I allowed them to dine
with us.  My brother's face was pitiful and yet ridiculous.  He could
not walk any distance, so he had been obliged to come on horseback,
probably for the first time in his life.

"My skin is delicate," said he, "so I am all blistered.  But God's
will be done!  I do not think any of His servants have endured
greater torments than mine during this journey.  My body is sore, and
so is my soul."

So saying he cast a piteous glance at Marcoline, and we had to hold
our sides to prevent ourselves laughing.  My niece could bear it no
more, and said,--

"How I pity you, dear uncle!"

At this he blushed, and began to address the most absurd compliments
to her, styling her "my dear niece."  I told him to be silent, and
not to speak French till he was able to express himself in that
equivocal language without making a fool of himself.  But the poet
Pogomas spoke no better than he did.

I was curious to know what had happened at Mentone after we had left,
and Pogomas proceeded to tell the story.

"When we came back from our walk we were greatly astonished not to
find the felucca any more.  We went to the inn, where I knew you had
ordered dinner; but the inn-keeper knew nothing except that he was
expecting the prince and a young officer to dine with you.  I told
him he might wait for you in vain, and just then the prince came up
in a rage, and told the inn-keeper that now you were gone he might
look to you for his payment.  'My lord,' said the inn-keeper, 'the
gentleman wanted to pay me, but I respected the orders I had received
from your highness and would not take the money.'  At this the prince
flung him a louis with an ill grace, and asked us who we were.  I
told him that we belonged to you, and that you had not waited for us
either, which put us to great trouble.  'You will get away easily
enough,' said he; and then he began to laugh, and swore the jest was
a pleasant one.  He then asked me who the ladies were.  I told him
that the one was your niece, and that I knew nothing of the other;
but the abbe interfered, and said she was your cuisine.  The prince
guessed he meant to say 'cousin,' and burst out laughing, in which he
was joined by the young officer.  'Greet him from me,' said he, as he
went away, 'and tell him that we shall meet again, and that I will
pay him out for the trick he has played me.'  "The worthy host
laughed, too, when the prince had gone, and gave us a good dinner,
saying that the prince's Louis would pay for it all.  When we had
dined we hired two horses, and slept at Nice.  In the morning we rode
on again, being certain of finding you here."  Marcoline told the
abbe in a cold voice to take care not to tell anyone else that she
was his cuisine, or his cousin, or else it would go ill with him, as
she did not wish to be thought either the one or the other.  I also
advised him seriously not to speak French for the future, as the
absurd way in which he had committed himself made everyone about him
ashamed."

Just as I was ordering post-horses to take us to Frejus, a man
appeared, and told me I owed him ten louis for the storage of a
carriage which I had left on his hands nearly three years ago.  This
was when I was taking Rosalie to Italy.  I laughed, for the carriage
itself was not worth five louis.  "Friend," said I, "I make you a
present of the article."

"I don't want your present.  I want the ten louis you owe me."

"You won't get the ten louis.  I will see you further first."

"We will see about that"; and so saying he took his departure.

I sent for horses that we might continue our journey.

A few moments after, a sergeant summoned me to the governor's
presence.  I followed him, and was politely requested to pay the ten
louis that my creditor demanded.  I answered that, in the agreement I
had entered into for six francs a month, there was no mention of the
length of the term, and that I did not want to withdraw my carriage.

"But supposing you were never to withdraw it?"

"Then the man could bequeath his claim to his heir."

"I believe he could oblige you to withdraw it, or to allow it to be
sold to defray expenses."

"You are right, sir, and I wish to spare him that trouble.  I make
him a present of the carriage."

"That's fair enough.  Friend, the carriage is yours."

"But sir," said the plaintiff, "it is not enough; the carriage is not
worth ten louis, and I want the surplus."

"You are in the wrong.  I wish you a pleasant journey, sir, and I
hope you will forgive the ignorance of these poor people, who would
like to shape the laws according to their needs."

All this trouble had made me lose a good deal of time, and I
determined to put off my departure till the next day.  However, I
wanted a carriage for Possano and the abbe, and I got my secretary to
buy the one I had abandoned for four louis.  It was in a deplorable
state, and I had to have it repaired, which kept us till the
afternoon of the next day; however, so far as pleasure was concerned,
the time was not lost.




CHAPTER III

My Arrival at Marseilles--Madame d'Urfe--My Niece Is Welcomed by
Madame Audibert I Get Rid of My Brother and Possano--Regeneration
--Departure of Madame d'Urfe--Marcoline Remains Constant


My niece, now my mistress, grew more dear to me every day, and I
could not help trembling when I reflected that Marseilles would be
the tomb of our love.  Though I could not help arriving there, I
prolonged my happiness as long as I could by travelling by short
stages.  I got to Frejus in less than three hours, and stopped there,
and telling Possano and the abbe to do as they liked during our stay,
I ordered a delicate supper and choice wine for myself and my nymphs.
Our repast lasted till midnight, then we went to bed, and passed the
time in sweet sleep and sweeter pleasures.  I made the same
arrangements at Lucca, Brignoles, and Aubayne, where I passed the
sixth and last night of happiness.

As soon as I got to Marseilles I conducted my niece to Madame
Audibert's, and sent Possano and my brother to the "Trieze Cantons"
inn, bidding them observe the strictest silence with regard to me,
for Madame d'Urfe had been awaiting me for three weeks, and I wished
to be my own herald to her.

It was at Madame Audibert's that my niece had met Croce.  She was a
clever woman, and had known the girl from her childhood, and it was
through her that my niece hoped to be restored to her father's good
graces.  We had agreed that I should leave my niece and Marcoline in
the carriage, and should interview Madame Audibert, whose
acquaintance I had made before, and with whom I could make
arrangements for my niece's lodging till some arrangement was come
to.

Madame Audibert saw me getting out of my carriage, and as she did not
recognize me her curiosity made her come down and open the door.  She
soon recognized me, and consented to let me have a private interview
with the best grace in the world.

I did not lose any time in leading up to the subject, and after I had
given her a rapid sketch of the affair, how misfortune had obliged La
Croix to abandon Mdlle. Crosin, how I had been able to be of service
to her, and finally, how she had had the good luck to meet a wealthy
and distinguished person, who would come to Marseilles to ask her
hand in a fortnight, I concluded by saying that I should have the
happiness of restoring to her hands the dear girl whose preserver I
had been.

"Where is she?" cried Madame Audibert.

"In my carriage.  I have lowered the blinds."

"Bring her in, quick!  I will see to everything.  Nobody shall know
that she is in my house."

Happier than a prince, I made one bound to the carriage and,
concealing her face with her cloak and hood, I led my niece to her
friend's arms.  This was a dramatic scene full of satisfaction for
me.  Kisses were given and received, tears of happiness and
repentance shed, I wept myself from mingled feelings of emotion,
happiness, and regret.

In the meanwhile Clairmont had brought up my niece's luggage, and I
went away promising to return and see her another day.

I had another and as important an arrangement to conclude, I mean
with respect to Marcoline.  I told the postillions to take me to the
worthy old man's where I had lodged Rosalie so pleasantly.  Marcoline
was weeping at this separation from her friend.  I got down at the
house, and made my bargain hastily.  My new mistress was, I said, to
be lodged, fed, and attended on as if she had been a princess.  He
shewed me the apartment she was to occupy; it was fit for a young
marchioness, and he told me that she should be attended by his own
niece, that she should not leave the house, and that nobody but
myself should visit her.

Having made these arrangements I made the fair Venetian come in.  I
gave her the money she had won, which I had converted into gold and
made up to a thousand ducats.

"You won't want it here," said I, "so take care of it.  At Venice a
thousand ducats will make you somebody.  Do not weep, dearest, my
heart is with you, and to-morrow evening I will sup with you."

The old man gave me the latch-key, and I went off to the "Treize
Cantons."  I was expected, and my rooms were adjacent to those
occupied by Madame d'Urfe.

As soon as I was settled, Bourgnole waited on me, and told me her
mistress was alone and expecting me impatiently.

I shall not trouble my readers with an account of our interview, as
it was only composed of Madame d'Urfe's mad flights of fancy, and of
lies on my part which had not even the merit of probability.  A slave
to my life of happy profligacy, I profited by her folly; she would
have found someone else to deceive her, if I had not done so, for it
was really she who deceived herself.  I naturally preferred to profit
by her rather than that a stranger should do so; she was very rich,
and I did myself a great deal of good, without doing anyone any harm.
The first thing she asked me was, "Where is Querilinthos?"  And she
jumped with joy when I told her that he was under the same roof.

"'Tis he, then, who shall make me young again.  So has my genius
assured me night after night.  Ask Paralis if the presents I have
prepared are good enough for Semiramis to present to the head of the
Fraternity of the Rosy Cross."

I did not know what these presents were, and as I could not ask to
see them, I answered that, before consulting Paralis, it would be
necessary to consecrate the gifts under the planetary hours, and that
Querilinthos himself must not see them before the consecration.
Thereupon she took me to her closet, and shewed me the seven packets
meant for the Rosicrucian in the form of offerings to the seven
planets.

Each packet contained seven pounds of the metal proper to the planet,
and seven precious stones, also proper to the planets, each being
seven carats in weight; there were diamonds, rubies, emeralds,
sapphires, chrysolites, topazes, and opals.

I made up my mind that nothing of this should pass into the hands of
the Genoese, and told the mad woman that we must trust entirely in
Paralis for the method of consecration, which must be begun by our
placing each packet in a small casket made on purpose.  One packet,
and one only, could be consecrated in a day, and it was necessary to
begin with the sun.  It was now Friday, and we should have to wait
till Sunday, the day of the sun.  On Saturday I had a box with seven
niches made for the purpose.

For the purposes of consecration I spent three hours every day with
Madame d'Urfe, and we had not finished till the ensuing Saturday.
Throughout this week I made Possano and my brother take their meals
with us, and as the latter did not understand a word the good lady
said, he did not speak a word himself, and might have passed for a
mute of the seraglio.  Madame d'Urfe pronounced him devoid of sense,
and imagined we were going to put the soul of a sylph into his body
that he might engender some being half human, half divine.

It was amusing to see my brother's despair and rage at being taken
for an idiot, and when he endeavoured to say something to spew that
he was not one, she only thought him more idiotic than ever.  I
laughed to myself, and thought how ill he would have played the part
if I had asked him to do it.  All the same the rascal did not lose
anything by his reputation, for Madame d'Urfe clothed him with a
decent splendour that would have led one to suppose that the abbe
belonged to one of the first families in France.  The most uneasy
guest at Madame d'Urfe's table was Possano, who had to reply to
questions, of the most occult nature, and, not knowing anything about
the subject, made the most ridiculous mistakes.

I brought Madame d'Urfe the box, and having made all the necessary
arrangements for the consecrations, I received an order from the
oracle to go into the country and sleep there for seven nights in
succession, to abstain from intercourse with all mortal women, and to
perform ceremonial worship to the moon every night, at the hour of
that planet, in the open fields.  This would make me fit to
regenerate Madame d'Urfe myself in case Querilinthos, for some mystic
reasons, might not be able to do so.

Through this order Madame d'Urfe was not only not vexed with me for
sleeping away from the hotel, but was grateful for the pains I was
taking to ensure the success of the operation.

The day after my arrival I called on Madame Audibert, and had the
pleasure of finding my niece wail pleased with the efforts her friend
was making in her favour.  Madame Audibert had spoken to her father,
telling him that his daughter was with her, and that she hoped to
obtain his pardon and to return to his house, where she would soon
become the bride of a rich Genoese, who wished to receive her from
her father's hands.  The worthy man, glad to find again the lost
sheep, said he would come in two days and take her to her aunt, who
had a house at St. Louis, two leagues from the town.  She might then
quietly await the arrival of her future husband, and avoid all
occasion of scandal.  My niece was surprised that her father had not
yet received a letter from the young man, and I could see that she
was anxious about it; but I comforted her and assured her that I
would not leave Marseilles till I had danced at her wedding.

I left her to go to Marcoline, whom I longed to press to my heart.
I found her in an ecstasy of joy, and she said that if she could
understand what her maid said her happiness would be complete.  I saw
that her situation was a painful one, especially as she was a woman,
but for the present I saw no way out of the difficulty; I should have
to get an Italian-speaking servant, and this would have been a
troublesome task.  She wept with joy when I told her that my niece
desired to be remembered to her, and that in a day she would be on
her father's hearth.  Marcoline had found out that she was not my
real niece when she found her in my arms.

The choice supper which the old man had procured us, and which spewed
he had a good memory for my favorite tastes, made me think of
Rosalie.  Marcoline heard me tell the story with great interest, and
said that it seemed to her that I only went about to make unfortunate
girls happy, provided I found them pretty.

"I almost think you are right," said I; "and it is certain that I
have made many happy, and have never brought misfortune to any girl."

"God will reward you, my dear friend."

"Possibly I am not worth His taking the trouble!"

Though the wit and beauty of Marcoline had charmed me, her appetite
charmed me still more; the reader knows that I have always liked
women who eat heartily.  And in Marseilles they make an excellent
dish of a common fowl, which is often so insipid.

Those who like oil will get on capitally in Provence, for it is used
in everything, and it must be confessed that if used in moderation it
makes an excellent relish.

Marcoline was charming in bed.  I had not enjoyed the Venetian vices
for nearly eight years, and Marcoline was a beauty before whom
Praxiteles would have bent the knee.  I laughed at my brother for
having let such a treasure slip out of his hands, though I quite
forgave him for falling in love with her.  I myself could not take
her about, and as I wanted her to be amused I begged my kind old
landlord to send her to the play every day, and to prepare a good
supper every evening.  I got her some rich dresses that she might cut
a good figure, and this attention redoubled her affection for me.

The next day, which was the second occasion on which I had visited
her, she told me that she had enjoyed the play though she could not
understand the dialogues; and the day after she astonished me by
saying that my brother had intruded himself into her box, and had
said so many impertinent things that if she had been at Venice she
would have boxed his ears.

"I am afraid," she added, "that the rascal has followed me here, and
will be annoying me."

"Don't be afraid," I answered, "I will see what I can do."

When I got to the hotel I entered the abbe's room, and by Possano's
bed I saw an individual collecting lint and various surgical
instruments.

"What's all this?  Are you ill?"

"Yes, I have got something which will teach me to be wiser for the
future."

"It's rather late for this kind of thing at sixty."

"Better late than never."

"You are an old fool.  You stink of mercury."

"I shall not leave my room."

"This will harm you with the marchioness, who believes you to be the
greatest of adepts, and consequently above such weaknesses."

"Damn the marchioness!  Let me be."

The rascal had never talked in this style before.  I thought it best
to conceal my anger, and went up to my brother who was in a corner of
the room.

"What do you mean by pestering Marcoline at the theatre yesterday?"

"I went to remind her of her duty, and to warn her that I would not
be her complaisant lover."

"You have insulted me and her too, fool that you are!  You owe all to
Marcoline, for if it had not been for her, I should never have given
you a second glance; and yet you behave in this disgraceful manner."

"I have ruined myself for her sake, and I can never shew my face in
Venice again.  What right have you to take her from me?"

"The right of love, blockhead, and the right of luck, and the right
of the strongest!  How is it that she is happy with me, and does not
wish to leave me?"

"You have dazzled her."

"Another reason is that with you she was dying of misery and hunger."

"Yes, but the end of it will be that you will abandon her as you have
done with many others, whereas I should have married her."

"Married her!  You renegade, you seem to forget that you are a
priest.  I do not propose to part with her, but if I do I will send
her away rich."

"Well, well, do as you please; but still I have the right to speak to
her whenever I like."

"I have forbidden you to do so, and you may trust me when I tell you
that you have spoken to her for the last time."

So saying I went out and called on an advocate.  I asked him if I
could have a foreign abbe, who was indebted to me, arrested, although
I had no proof of the debt.

"You can do so, as he is a foreigner, but you will have to pay
caution-money.  You can have him put under arrest at his inn, and you
can make him pay unless he is able to prove that he owes you nothing.
Is the sum a large one?"

"Twelve louis."

"You must come with me before the magistrate and deposit twelve
louis, and from that moment you will be able to have him arrested.
Where is he staying?"

"In the same hotel as I am, but I do not wish to have him arrested
there, so I will get him to the 'Ste. Baume,' and put him under
arrest.  Here are the twelve louis caution-money, so you can get the
magistrate's order, and we will meet again to-morrow."

"Give me his name, and yours also."

I returned in haste to the "Treize Cantons," and met the abbe,
dressed up to the nines, and just about to go out.

"Follow me," said I, "I am going to take you to Marcoline, and you
shall have an explanation in her presence."

"With pleasure."

He got into a carriage with me, and I told the coachman to take us to
the "Ste. Baume" inn.  When we got there, I told him to wait for me,
that I was going to fetch Marcoline, and that I would return with her
in a minute.

I got into the carriage again, and drove to the advocate, who gave
the order for arrest to a policeman, who was to execute it.  I then
returned to the "Treize Cantons" and put his belongings into a trunk,
and had them transported to his new abode.

I found him under arrest, and talking to the astonished host, who
could not understand what it was all about.  I told the landlord the
mythical history of the abbe debt to me, and handed over the trunk,
telling him that he had nothing to fear with regard to the bill, as I
would take care that he should be well paid.

I then began my talk with the abbe, telling him that he must get
ready to leave Marseilles the next day, and that I would pay for his
journey to Paris; but that if he did not like to do so, I should
leave him to his fate, and in three days he would be expelled from
Marseilles.  The coward began to weep and said he would go to Paris.

"You must start for Lyons to-morrow, but you will first write me out
an I O U for twelve louis."

"Why?"

"Because I say so.  If you do so I will give you twelve louis and
tear up the document before your face."

"I have no choice in the matter."

"You are right."

When he had written the I O U, I went to take a place in the
diligence for him, and the next morning I went with the advocate to
withdraw the arrest and to take back the twelve louis, which I gave
to my brother in the diligence, with a letter to M. Bono, whom I
warned not to give him any money, and to send him on to Paris by the
same diligence.  I then tore up his note of hand, and wished him a
pleasant journey.

Thus I got rid of this foolish fellow, whom I saw again in Paris in a
month's time.

The day I had my brother arrested and before I went to dine with
Madame d'Urfe I had an interview with Possano in the hope of
discovering the reason of his ill humour.

"The reason is," said he, "that I am sure you are going to lay hands
on twenty or thirty thousand crowns in gold and diamonds, which the
marchioness meant me to have."

"That may be, but it is not for you to know anything about it.  I may
tell you that it rests entirely with me to prevent your getting
anything.  If you think you can succeed go to the marchioness and
make your complaints to her.  I will do nothing to prevent you."

"Then you think I am going to help you in your imposture for nothing;
you are very much mistaken.  I want a thousand louis, and I will have
it, too."

"Then get somebody to give it you," said I; and I turned my back on
him.

I went up to the marchioness and told her that dinner was ready, and
that we should dine alone, as I had been obliged to send the abbe
away.

"He was an idiot; but how about Querilinthos?"

"After dinner Paralis will tell us all about him.  I have strong
suspicions that there is something to be cleared up."

"So have I.  The man seems changed.  Where is he?"

"He is in bed, ill of a disease which I dare not so much as name to
you."

"That is a very extraordinary circumstance; I have never heard of
such a thing before.  It must be the work of an evil genius."

"I have never heard of such a thing, either; but now let us dine.  We
shall have to work hard to-day at the consecration of the tin."

"All the better.  We must offer an expiatory sacrifice to Oromasis,
for, awful thought! in three days he would have to regenerate me, and
the operation would be performed in that condition."

"Let us eat now," I repeated; "I fear lest the hour of Jupiter be
over-past."

"Fear nothing, I will see that all goes well."

After the consecration of the tin had been performed, I transferred
that of Oromasis to another day, while I consulted the oracle
assiduously, the marchioness translating the figures into letters.
The oracle declared that seven salamanders had transported the true
Querilinthos to the Milky Way, and that the man in the next room was
the evil genius, St. Germain, who had been put in that fearful
condition by a female gnome, who had intended to make him the
executioner of Semiramis, who was to die of the dreadful malady
before her term had expired.  The oracle also said that Semiramis
should leave to Payaliseus Galtinardus (myself) all the charge of
getting rid of the evil genius, St. Germain; and that she was not to
doubt concerning her regeneration, since the word would be sent me by
the true Querilinthos from the Milky Way on the seventh night of my
worship of the moon.  Finally the oracle declared that I was to
embrace Semiramis two days before the end of the ceremonies, after an
Undine had purified us by bathing us in the room where we were.

I had thus undertaken to regenerate the worthy Semiramis, and I began
to think how I could carry out my undertaking without putting myself
to shame.  The marchioness was handsome but old, and I feared lest I
should be unable to perform the great act.  I was thirty-eight, and I
began to feel age stealing on me.  The Undine, whom I was to obtain
of the moon, was none other than Marcoline, who was to give me the
necessary generative vigour by the sight of her beauty and by the
contact of her hands.  The reader will see how I made her come down
from heaven.

I received a note from Madame Audibert which made me call on her
before paying my visit to Marcoline.  As soon as I came in she told
me joyously that my niece's father had just received a letter from
the father of the Genoese, asking the hand of his daughter for his
only son, who had been introduced to her by the Chevalier de
Seingalt, her uncle, at the Paretti's.

"The worthy man thinks himself under great obligations to you," said
Madame Audibert.  "He adores his daughter, and he knows you have
cared for her like a father.  His daughter has drawn your portrait in
very favourable colors, and he would be extremely pleased to make
your acquaintance.  Tell me when you can sup with me; the father will
be here to meet you, though unaccompanied by his daughter."

"I am delighted at what you tell me, for the young man's esteem for
his future wife will only be augmented when he finds that I am her
father's friend.  I cannot come to supper, however; I will be here at
six and stop till eight."

As the lady left the choice of the day with me I fixed the day after
next, and then I repaired to my fair Venetian, to whom I told my
news, and how I had managed to get rid of the abbe.

On the day after next, just as we were sitting down to dinner, the
marchioness smilingly gave me a letter which Possano had written her
in bad but perfectly intelligible French.  He had filled eight pages
in his endeavour to convince her that I was deceiving her, and to
make sure he told the whole story without concealing any circumstance
to my disadvantage.  He added that I had brought two girls with me to
Marseilles; and though he did not know where I had hidden them, he
was sure that it was with them that I spent my nights.

After I had read the whole letter through, with the utmost coolness I
gave it back to her, asking her if she had had the patience to read
it through.  She replied that she had run through it, but that she
could not make it out at all, as the evil genius seemed to write a
sort of outlandish dialect, which she did not care to puzzle herself
over, as he could only have written down lies calculated to lead her
astray at the most important moment of her life.  I was much pleased
with the marchioness's prudence, for it was important that she should
have no suspicions about the Undine, the sight and the touch of whom
were necessary to me in the great work I was about to undertake.

After dining, and discharging all the ceremonies and oracles which
were necessary to calm the soul of my poor victim, I went to a banker
and got a bill of a hundred louis on Lyons, to the order of M. Bono,
and I advised him of what I had done, requesting him to cash it for
Possano if it were presented on the day named thereon.

I then wrote the advice for Possano to take with him, it ran as
follows: "M. Bonno, pay to M. Possano, on sight, to himself, and not
to order, the sum of one hundred louis, if these presents are
delivered to you on the 30th day of April, in the year 1763; and
after the day aforesaid my order to become null and void."

With this letter in my hand I went to the traitor who had been lanced
an hour before.

"You're an infamous traitor," I began, "but as Madame d'Urfe knows of
the disgraceful state you are in she would not so much as read your
letter.  I have read it, and by way of reward I give you two
alternatives which you must decide on immediately.  I am in a hurry.
You will either go to the hospital--for we can't have pestiferous
fellows like you here--or start for Lyons in an hour.  You must not
stop on the way, for I have only given you sixty hours, which is
ample to do forty posts in.  As soon as you get to Lyons present this
to M. Bono, and he will give you a hundred louis.  This is a present
from me, and afterwards I don't care what you do, as you are no
longer in my service.  You can have the carriage I bought for you at
Antibes, and there is twenty-five louis for the journey: that is all.
Make your choice, but I warn you that if you go to the hospital I
shall only give you a month's wages, as I dismiss you from my service
now at this instant."

After a moment's reflection he said he would go to Lyons, though it
would be at the risk of his life, for he was very ill.

"You must reap the reward of your treachery," said I, "and if you die
it will be a good thing for your family, who will come in for what I
have given you, but not what I should have given you if you had been
a faithful servant."

I then left him and told Clairmont to pack up his trunk.  I warned
the inn-keeper of his departure and told him to get the post horses
ready as soon as possible.

I then gave Clairmont the letter to Bono and twenty-five Louis, for
him to hand them over to Possano when he was in the carriage and
ready to go off.

When I had thus successfully accomplished my designs by means of the
all-powerful lever, gold, which I knew how to lavish in time of need,
I was once more free for my amours.  I wanted to instruct the fair
Marcoline, with whom I grew more in love every day.  She kept telling
me that her happiness would be complete if she knew French, and if
she had the slightest hope that I would take her to England with me.

I had never flattered her that my love would go as far as that, but
yet I could not help feeling sad at the thought of parting from a
being who seemed made to taste voluptuous pleasures, and to
communicate them with tenfold intensity to the man of her choice.
She was delighted to hear that I had got rid of my two odious
companions, and begged me to take her to the theatre, "for," said
she, "everybody is asking who and what I am, and my landlord's niece
is quite angry with me because I will not let her tell the truth"

I promised I would take her out in the course of the next week, but
that for the present I had a most important affair on hand, in which
I had need of her assistance.

"I will do whatever you wish, dearest."

"Very good!  then listen to me.  I will get you a disguise which will
make you look like a smart footman, and in that costume you will call
on the marchioness with whom I live, at the hour I shall name to you,
and you will give her a note.  Have you sufficient courage for that?"

"Certainly.  Will you be there?"

"Yes.  She will speak, but you must pretend to be dumb, as the note
you bring with you will tell us; as also that you have come to wait
upon us while we are bathing.  She will accept the offer, and when
she tells you to undress her from head to foot you will do so.  When
you have done, undress yourself, and gently rub the marchioness from
the feet to the waist, but not higher.  In the meanwhile I shall have
taken off my clothes, and while I hold her in a close embrace you
must stand so that I can see all your charms.

"Further, sweetheart, when I leave you you must gently wash her
generative organs, and afterwards wipe them with a fine towel.  Then
do the same to me, and try to bring me to life again.  I shall
proceed to embrace the marchioness a second time, and when it is over
wash her again and embrace her, and then come and embrace me and kiss
in your Venetian manner the instrument with which the sacrifice is
consummated.  I shall then clasp the marchioness to my arms a third
time, and you must caress us till the act is complete.  Finally, you
will wash us for the third time, then dress, take what she gives you
and come here, where I will meet you in the course of an hour."

"You may reckon on my following all your instructions, but you must
see that the task will be rather trying to my feelings."

"Not more trying than to mine.  I could do nothing with the old woman
if you were not present."

"Is she very old?"

"Nearly seventy."

"My poor sweetheart!  I do pity you.  But after this painful duty is
over you must sup here and sleep with me."

"Certainly."

On the day appointed I had a long and friendly interview with the
father of my late niece.  I told him all about his daughter, only
suppressing the history of our own amours, which were not suitable
for a father's ears.  The worthy man embraced me again and again,
calling me his benefactor, and saying that I had done more for his
daughter than he would have done himself, which in a sense was
perhaps true.  He told me that he had received another letter from
the father, and a letter from the young man himself, who wrote in the
most tender and respectful manner possible.

"He doesn't ask anything about the dower," said he, "a wonderful
thing these days, but I will give her a hundred and fifty thousand
francs, for the marriage is an excellent one, above all after my poor
simpleton's escape.  All Marseilles knows the father of her future
husband, and to-morrow I mean to tell the whole story to my wife, and
I am sure she will forgive the poor girl as I have done."

I had to promise to be present at the wedding, which was to be at
Madame Audibert's.  That lady knowing me to be very fond of play, and
there being a good deal of play going on at her house, wondered why
she did not see more of me; but I was at Marseilles to create and not
to destroy: there is a time for everything.

I had a green velvet jacket made for Marcoline, with breeches of the
same and silver-lace garters, green silk stockings, and fine leather
shoes of the same colour.  Her fine black hair was confined in a net
of green silk, with a silver brooch.  In this dress the voluptuous
and well-rounded form of Marcoline was displayed to so much
advantage, that if she had shewn herself in the street all Marseilles
would have run after her, for, in spite of her man's dress, anybody
could see that she was a girl.  I took her to my rooms in her
ordinary costume, to shew her where she would have to hide after the
operation was over.

By Saturday we had finished all the consecrations, and the oracle
fixed the regeneration of Semiramis for the following Tuesday, in the
hours of the sun, Venus, and Mercury, which follow each other in the
planetary system of the magicians, as also in Ptolemy's.  These hours
were in ordinary parlance the ninth, tenth, and eleventh of the day,
since the day being a Tuesday, the first hour was sacred to Mars.
And as at the beginning of May the hours are sixty-five minutes long,
the reader, however little of a magician he may be, will understand
that I had to perform the great work on Madame d'Urfe, beginning at
half-past two and ending at five minutes to six.  I had taken plenty
of time, as I expected I should have great need of it.

On the Monday night, at the hour of the moon, I had taken Madame
d'Urfe to the sea-shore, Clairmont following behind with the box
containing the offerings, which weighed fifty pounds.

I was certain that nobody could see us, and I told my companion that
the time was come.  I told Clairmont to put down the box beside us,
and to go and await us at the carriage.  When we were alone we
addressed a solemn prayer to Selenis, and then to the great
satisfaction of the marchioness the box was consigned to the address.
My satisfaction however was still greater than hers, for the box
contained fifty pounds of lead.  The real box, containing the
treasure, was comfortably hidden in my room.

When we got back to the "Treize Cantons," I left Madame d'Urfe alone,
telling her that I would return to the hotel when I had performed my
conjurations to the moon, at the same hour and in the same place in
which I had performed the seven consecrations.

I spoke the truth.  I went to Marcoline, and while she was putting on
her disguise I wrote on a sheet of white paper, in large and odd-
looking letters, the following sentences, using, instead of ink,
rock-alum:

"I am dumb but not deaf.  I am come from the Rhone to bathe you.  The
hour of Oromasis has begun."

"This is the note you are to give to the marchioness," I said, "when
you appear before her."

After supper we walked to the hotel and got in without anyone seeing
us.  I hid Marcoline in a large cupboard, and then putting on my
dressing-gown I went to the marchioness to inform her that Selenis
had fixed the next day for the hour of regeneration, and that we must
be careful to finish before the hour of the moon began, as otherwise
the operation would be annulled or at least greatly enfeebled.

"You must take care," I added, "that the bath be here beside your
bed, and that Brougnole does not interrupt us."

"I will tell her to go out.  But Selenis promised to send an Undine."

"True, but I have not yet seen such a being."

"Ask the oracle."

"Willingly."

She herself asked the question imploring Paralis not to delay the
time of her regeneration, even though the Undine were lacking, since
she could very well bathe herself.

"The commands of Oromasis change not," came the reply; "and in that
you have doubted them you have sinned."

At this the marchioness arose and performed an expiatory sacrifice,
and it appeared, on consulting the oracle, that Oromasis was
satisfied.

The old lady did not move my pity so much as my laughter.  She
solemnly embraced me and said,--

"To-morrow, Galtinardus, you will be my spouse and my father."
When I got back to my room and had shut the door, I drew the Undine
out of her place of concealment.  She undressed, and as she knew that
I should be obliged to husband my forces, she turned her back on me,
and we passed the night without giving each other a single kiss, for
a spark would have set us all ablaze.

Next morning, before summoning Clairmont, I gave her her breakfast,
and then replaced her in the cupboard.  Later on, I gave her her
instructions over again, telling her to do everything with calm
precision, a cheerful face, and, above all, silence.

"Don't be afraid," said she, "I will make no mistakes."

As we were to dine at noon exactly, I went to look for the
marchioness, but she was not in her room, though the bath was there,
and the bed which was to be our altar was prepared.

A few moments after, the marchioness came out of her dressing-room,
exquisitely painted, her hair arranged with the choicest lace, and
looking radiant.  Her breasts, which forty years before had been the
fairest in all France, were covered with a lace shawl, her dress was
of the antique kind, but of extremely rich material, her ear-rings
were emeralds, and a necklace of seven aquamarines of the finest
water, from which hung an enormous emerald, surrounded by twenty
brilliants, each weighing a carat and a half, completed her costume.
She wore on her finger the carbuncle which she thought worth a
million francs, but which was really only a splendid imitation.

Seeing Semiramis thus decked out for the sacrifice, I thought it my
bounden duty to offer her my homage.  I would have knelt before her
and kissed her hand, but she would not let me, and instead opened her
arms and strained me to her breast.

After telling Brougnole that she could go out till six o'clock, we
talked over our mysteries till the dinner was brought in.

Clairmont was the only person privileged to see us at dinner, at
which Semiramis would only eat fish.  At half-past one I told
Clairmont I was not at home to anyone, and giving him a louis I told
him to go and amuse himself till the evening.

The marchioness began to be uneasy, and I pretended to be so, too.  I
looked at my watch, calculated how the planetary hours were
proceeding, and said from time to time,--

"We are still in the hour of Mars, that of the sun has not yet
commenced."

At last the time-piece struck half-past two, and in two minutes
afterwards the fair and smiling Undine was seen advancing into the
room.  She came along with measured steps, and knelt before Madame
d'Urfe, and gave her the paper she carried.  Seeing that I did not
rise, the marchioness remained seated, but she raised the spirit with
a gracious air and took the paper from her.  She was surprised,
however, to find that it was all white.

I hastened to give her a pen to consult the oracle on the subject,
and after I had made a pyramid of her question, she interpreted it
and found the answer:

"That which is written in water must be read in water."

"I understand now," said she, and going to the bath she plunged the
paper into it, and then read in still whiter letters: "I am dumb, but
not deaf.  I am come from the Rhone to bathe you.  The hour of
Oromasis has begun."

"Then bathe me, divine being," said Semiramis, putting down the paper
and sitting on the bed.

With perfect exactitude Marcoline undressed the marchioness, and
delicately placed her feet in the water, and then, in a twinkling she
had undressed herself, and was in the bath, beside Madame d'Urfe.
What a contrast there was between the two bodies; but the sight of
the one kindled the flame which the other was to quench.

As I gazed on the beautiful girl, I, too, undressed, and when I was
ready to take off my shirt I spoke as follows: "O divine being, wipe
the feet of Semiramis, and be the witness of my union with her, to
the glory of the immortal Horomadis, King of the Salamanders."

Scarcely had I uttered my prayer when it was granted, and I
consummated my first union with Semiramis, gazing on the charms of
Marcoline, which I had never seen to such advantage before.

Semiramis had been handsome, but she was then what I am now, and
without the Undine the operation would have failed.  Nevertheless,
Semiramis was affectionate, clean, and sweet in every respect, and
had nothing disgusting about her, so I succeeded.

When the milk had been poured forth upon the altar, I said,--

"We must now await the hour of Venus."

The Undine performed the ablutions, embraced the bride, and came to
perform the same office for me.

Semiramis was in an ecstasy of happiness, and as she pointed out to
me the beauties of the Undine I was obliged to confess that I had
never seen any mortal woman to be compared to her in beauty.
Semiramis grew excited by so voluptuous a sight, and when the hour of
Venus began I proceeded to the second assault, which would be the
severest, as the hour was of sixty-five minutes.  I worked for half
an hour, steaming with perspiration, and tiring Semiramis, without
being able to come to the point.  Still I was ashamed to trick her.
She, the victim, wiped the drops of sweat from my forehead, while the
Undine, seeing my exhaustion, kindled anew the flame which the
contact of that aged body had destroyed.  Towards the end of the
hour, as I was exhausted and still unsuccessful, I was obliged to
deceive her by making use of those movements which are incidental to
success.  As I went out of the battle with all the signs of my
strength still about me, Semiramis could have no doubts as to the
reality of my success, and even the Undine was deceived when she came
to wash me.  But the third hour had come, and we were obliged to
satisfy Mercury.  We spent a quarter of the time in the bath, while
the Undine delighted Semiramis by caresses which would have delighted
the regent of France, if he had ever known of them.  The good
marchioness, believing these endearments to be peculiar to river
spirits, was pleased with everything, and begged the Undine to shew
me the same kindness.  Marcoline obeyed, and lavished on me all the
resources of the Venetian school of love.  She was a perfect Lesbian,
and her caresses having soon restored me to all my vigour I was
encouraged to undertake to satisfy Mercury.  I proceeded to the work,
but alas! it was all in vain.  I saw how my fruitless efforts vexed
the Undine, and perceiving that Madame d'Urfe had had enough, I again
took the course of deceiving her by pretended ecstacies and
movements, followed by complete rest.  Semiramis afterwards told me
that my exertions shewed that I was something more than mortal.

I threw myself into the bath, and underwent my third ablution, then I
dressed.  Marcoline washed the marchioness and proceeded to clothe
her, and did so with such a graceful charm that Madame d'Urfe
followed the inspiration of her good genius, and threw her
magnificent necklace over the Undine's neck.  After a parting
Venetian kiss she vanished, and went to her hiding place in the
cupboard.

Semiramis asked the oracle if the operation had been successful.  The
answer was that she bore within her the seed of the sun, and that in
the beginning of next February she would be brought to bed of another
self of the same sex as the creator; but in order that the evil genii
might not be able to do her any harm she must keep quiet in her bed
for a hundred and seven hours in succession.

The worthy marchioness was delighted to receive this order, and
looked upon it as a good omen, for I had tired her dreadfully.  I
kissed her, saying that I was going to the country to collect
together what remained of the substances that I had used in my
ceremonies, but I promised to dine with her on the morrow.

I shut myself up in my room with the Undine, and we amused ourselves
as best we could till it was night, for she could not go out while it
was light in her spiritual costume.  I took off my handsome wedding
garment, and as soon as it was dusk we crept out, and went away to
Marcoline's lodging in a hackney coach, carrying with us the
planetary offerings which I had gained so cleverly.

We were dying of hunger, but the delicious supper which was waiting
for us brought us to life again.  As soon as we got into the room
Marcoline took off her green clothes and put on her woman's dress,
saying,--

"I was not born to wear the breeches.  Here, take the beautiful
necklace the madwoman gave me!"

"I will sell it, fair Undine, and you shall have the proceeds."

"Is it worth much?"

"At least a thousand sequins.  By the time you get back to Venice you
will be worth at least five thousand ducats, and you will be able to
get a husband and live with him in a comfortable style."

"Keep it all, I don't want it; I want you.  I will never cease to
love you; I will do whatever you tell me, and I promise never to be
jealous.  I will care for you--yes, as if you were my son."

"Do not let us say anything more about it, fair Marcoline, but let us
go to bed, for you have never inspired me with so much ardour as
now."

"But you must be tired."

"Yes, but not exhaustion, for I was only able to perform the
distillation once."

"I thought you sacrificed twice on that old altar.  Poor old woman!
she is still pretty, and I have no doubt that fifty years ago she was
one of the first beauties in France.  How foolish of her to be
thinking of love at that age."

"You excited me, but she undid your work even more quickly."

"Are you always obliged to have--a girl beside you when you make love
to her?"

"No; before, there was no question of making a son."

"What? you are going to make her pregnant?  That's ridiculous!  Does
she imagine that she has conceived?"

"Certainly; and the hope makes her happy."

"What a mad idea!  But why did you try to do it three times?"

"I thought to shew my strength, and that if I gazed on you I should
not fail; but I was quite mistaken."

"I pity you for having suffered so much."

"You will renew my strength."

As a matter of fact, I do not know whether to attribute it to the
difference between the old and the young, but I spent a most
delicious night with the beautiful Venetian--a night which I can only
compare to those I passed at Parma with Henriette, and at Muran with
the beautiful nun.  I spent fourteen hours in bed, of which four at
least were devoted to expiating the insult I had offered to love.
When I had dressed and taken my chocolate I told Marcoline to dress
herself with elegance, and to expect me in the evening just before
the play began.  I could see that she was intensely delighted with
the prospect.

I found Madame d'Urfe in bed, dressed with care and in the fashion of
a young bride, and with a smile of satisfaction on her face which I
had never remarked there before.

"To thee, beloved Galtinardus, I owe all my happiness," said she, as
she embraced me.

"I am happy to have contributed to it, divine Semiramis, but you must
remember I am only the agent of the genii."

Thereupon the marchioness began to argue in the most sensible manner,
but unfortunately the foundation of her argument was wholly
chimerical.

"Marry me," said she; "you will then be able to be governor of the
child, who will be your son.  In this manner you will keep all my
property for me, including what I shall have from my brother M. de
Pontcarre, who is old and cannot live much longer.  If you do not
care for me in February next, when I shall be born again, into what
hands shall I fall!  I shall be called a bastard, and my income of
twenty-four thousand francs will be lost to me.  Think over it, dear
Galtinardus.  I must tell you that I feel already as if I were a man.
I confess I am in love with the Undine, and I should like to know
whether I shall be able to sleep with her in fourteen or fifteen
years time.  I shall be so if Oromasis will it, and then I shall be
happy indeed.  What a charming creature she is?  Have you ever seen a
woman like her?  What a pity she is dumb!"

"She, no doubt, has a male water-spirit for a lover.  But all of them
are dumb, since it is impossible to speak in the water.  I wonder she
is not deaf as well.  I can't think why you didn't touch her.  The
softness of her skin is something wonderful--velvet and satin are not
to be compared to it!  And then her breath is so sweet!  How
delighted I should be if I could converse with such an exquisite
being."

"Dear Galtinardus, I beg you will consult the oracle to find out
where I am to be brought to bed, and if you won't marry me I think I
had better save all I have that I may have some provision when I am
born again, for when I am born I shall know nothing, and money will
be wanted to educate me.  By selling the whole a large sum might be
realized which could be put out at interest.  Thus the interest would
suffice without the capital being touched."

"The oracle must be our guide," said I.  "You will be my son, and I
will never allow anyone to call you a bastard."

The sublime madwoman was quiet by this assurance.

Doubtless many a reader will say that if I had been an honest man I
should have undeceived her, but I cannot agree with them; it would
have been impossible, and I confess that even if it had been possible
I would not have done so, for it would only have made me unhappy.

I had told Marcoline to dress with elegance, and I put on one of my
handsomest suits to accompany her to the theatre.  Chance brought the
two sisters Rangoni, daughters of the Roman consul, into our box.  As
I had made their acquaintance on my first visit to Marseilles, I
introduced Marcoline to them as my niece, who only spoke Italian.  As
the two young ladies spoke the tongue of Tasso also, Marcoline was
highly delighted.  The younger sister, who was by far the handsomer
of the two, afterwards became the wife of Prince Gonzaga Solferino.
The prince was a cultured man, and even a genius, but very poor.  For
all that he was a true son of Gonzaga, being a son of Leopold, who
was also poor, and a girl of the Medini family, sister to the Medini
who died in prison at London in the year 1787.

Babet Rangoni, though poor, deserved to become s princess, for she
had all the airs and manners of one.  She shines under her name of
Rangoni amongst the princess and princesses of the almanacs.  Her
vain husband is delighted at his wife being thought to belong to the
illustrious family of Medini--an innocent feeling, which does neither
good nor harm.  The same publications turn Medini into Medici, which
is equally harmless.  This species of lie arises from the idiotic
pride of the nobles who think themselves raised above the rest of
humanity by their titles which they have often acquired by some act
of baseness.  It is of no use interfering with them on this point,
since all things are finally appreciated at their true value, and the
pride of the nobility is easily discounted when one sees them as they
really are.

Prince Gonzaga Solferino, whom I saw at Venice eighteen years ago,
lived on a pension allowed him by the empress.  I hope the late
emperor did not deprive him of it, as it was well deserved by this
genius and his knowledge of literature.

At the play Marcoline did nothing but chatter with Babet Rangoni, who
wanted me to bring the fair Venetian to see her, but I had my own
reasons for not doing so.

I was thinking how I could send Madame d'Urfe to Lyons, for I had no
further use for her at Marseilles, and she was often embarrassing.
For instance, on the third day after her regeneration, she requested
me to ask Paralis where she was to die--that is, to be brought to
bed.  I made the oracle reply that she must sacrifice to the water-
spirits on the banks of two rivers, at the same hour, and that
afterwards the question of her lying-in would be resolved.  The
oracle added that I must perform three expiatory sacrifices to
Saturn, on account of my too harsh treatment of the false
Querilinthos, and that Semiramis need not take part in these
ceremonies, though she herself must perform the sacrifices to the
water-spirits.

As I was pretending to think of a place where two rivers were
sufficiently near to each other to fulfil the requirements of the
oracle, Semiramis herself suggested that Lyons was watered by the
Rhone and the Saone, and that it would be an excellent place for the
ceremony.  As may be imagined, I immediately agreed with her.  On
asking Paralis if there were any preparations to be made, he replied
that it Would be necessary to pour a bottle of sea-water into each
river a fortnight before the sacrifice, and that this ceremony was to
be performed by Semiramis in person, at the first diurnal hour of the
moon.

"Then," said the marchioness, "the bottles must be filled here, for
the other French ports are farther off.  I will go as soon as ever I
can leave my bed, and will wait for you at Lyons; for as you have to
perform expiatory sacrifices to Saturn in this place, you cannot come
with me."

I assented, pretending sorrow at not being able to accompany her.
The next morning I brought her two well-sealed bottles of sea-water,
telling her that she was to pour them out into the two rivers on the
15th of May (the current month).  We fixed her departure for the
11th, and I promised to rejoin her before the expiration of the
fortnight.  I gave her the hours of the moon in writing, and also
directions for the journey.

As soon as the marchioness had gone I left the "Treize Cantons" and
went to live with Marcoline, giving her four hundred and sixty louis,
which, with the hundred and forty she had won at biribi, gave her a
total of six hundred louis, or fourteen thousand four hundred francs.
With this sum she could look the future in the face fearlessly.

The day after Madame d'Urfe's departure, the betrothed of Mdlle.
Crosin arrived at Marseilles with a letter from Rosalie, which he
handed to me on the day of his arrival.  She begged me in the name of
our common honour to introduce the bearer in person to the father of
the betrothed.  Rosalie was right, but as the lady was not my real
niece there were some difficulties in the way.  I welcomed the young
man and told him that I would first take him to Madame Audibert, and
that we could then go together to his father-in-law in prospective.

The young Genoese had gone to the "Treize Cantons," where he thought
I was staying.  He was delighted to find himself so near the goal of
his desires, and his ecstacy received a new momentum when he saw how
cordially Madame Audibert received him.  We all got into my carriage
and drove to the father's who gave him an excellent reception, and
then presented him to his wife, who was already friendly disposed
towards him.

I was pleasantly surprised when this good and sensible man introduced
me to his wife as his cousin, the Chevalier de Seingalt, who had
taken such care of their daughter.  The good wife and good mother,
her husband's worthy partner, stretched out her hand to me, and all
my trouble was over.

My new cousin immediately sent an express messenger to his sister,
telling her that he and his wife, his future son-in-law, Madame
Audibert, and a cousin she had not met before, would come and dine
with her on the following day.  This done he invited us, and Madame
Audibert said that she would escort us.  She told him that I had
another niece with me, of whom his daughter was very fond, and would
be delighted to see again.  The worthy man was overjoyed to be able
to increase his daughter's happiness.

I, too, was pleased with Madame Audibert's tact and thoughtfulness;
and as making Marcoline happy was to make me happy also, I expressed
my gratitude to her in very warm terms.

I took the young Genoese to the play, to Marcoline's delight, for she
would have liked the French very much if she could have understood
them.  We had an excellent supper together, in the course of which I
told Marcoline of the pleasure which awaited her on the morrow.  I
thought she would have gone wild with joy.

The next day we were at Madame Audibert's as punctually as Achilles
on the field of battle.  The lady spoke Italian well, and was charmed
with Marcoline, reproaching me for not having introduced her before.
At eleven we got to St. Louis, and my eyes were charmed with the
dramatic situation.  My late niece had an air of dignity which became
her to admiration, and received her future husband with great
graciousness; and then, after thanking me with a pleasant smile for
introducing him to her father, she passed from dignity to gaiety, and
gave her sweetheart a hundred kisses.

The dinner was delicious, and passed off merrily; but I alone
preserved a tender melancholy, though I laughed to myself when they
asked me why I was sad.  I was thought to be sad because I did not
talk in my usual vivacious manner, but far from being really sad that
was one of the happiest moments of my life.  My whole being was
absorbed in the calm delight which follows a good action.  I was the
author of the comedy which promised such a happy ending.  I was
pleased with the thought that my influence in the world was more for
good than for ill, and though I was not born a king yet I contrived
to make many people happy.  Everyone at table was indebted to me for
some part of their happiness, and the father, the mother, and the
betrothed pair wholly so.  This thought made me feel a peaceful calm
which I could only enjoy in silence.

Mdlle.  Crosin returned to Marseilles with her father, her mother,
and her future husband, whom the father wished to take up his abode
with them.  I went back with Madame Audibert, who made me promise to
bring the delightful Marcoline to sup with her.

The marriage depended on the receipt of a letter from the young man's
father, in answer to one from my niece's father.  It will be taken
for granted that we were all asked to the wedding, and Marcoline's
affection for me increased every day.

When we went to sup with Madame Audibert we found a rich and witty
young wine merchant at her house.  He sat beside Marcoline, who
entertained him with her sallies; and as the young man could speak
Italian, and even the Venetian dialect (for he had spent a year at
Venice), he was much impressed by the charms of my new niece.

I have always been jealous of my mistresses; but when a rival
promises to marry them and give them a good establishment, jealousy
gives way to a more generous feeling.  For the moment I satisfied
myself by asking Madame Audibert who he was, and I was delighted to
hear that he had an excellent reputation, a hundred thousand crowns,
a large business, and complete independence.

The next day he came to see us in our box at the theatre, and
Marcoline received him very graciously.  Wishing to push the matter
on I asked him to sup with us, and when he came I was well pleased
with his manners and his intelligence; to Marcoline he was tender but
respectful.  On his departure I told him I hoped he would come and
see us again, and when we were alone I congratulated Marcoline on her
conquest, and shewed her that she might succeed almost as well as
Mdlle.  Crosin.  But instead of being grateful she was furiously,
angry.

"If you want to get rid of me," said she, "send me back to Venice,
but don't talk to me about marrying."

"Calm yourself, my angel!  I get rid of you?  What an idea!  Has my
behaviour led you to suppose that you are in my way?  This handsome,
well-educated, and rich young man has come under my notice.  I see he
loves you and you like him, and as I love you and wish to see you
sheltered from the storms of fortune, and as I think this pleasant
young Frenchman would make you happy, I have pointed out to you these
advantages, but instead of being grateful you scold me.  Do not weep,
sweetheart, you grieve my very soul!"

"I am weeping because you think that I can love him."

"It might be so, dearest, and without my honour taking any hurt; but
let us say no more about it and get into bed."

Marcoline's tears changed to smiles and kisses, and we said no more
about the young wine merchant.  The next day he came to our box
again, but the scene had changed; she was polite but reserved, and I
dared not ask him to supper as I had done the night before.  When we
had got home Marcoline thanked me for not doing so, adding that she
had been afraid I would.

"What you said last night is a sufficient guide for me for the
future."

In the morning Madame Audibert called on behalf of the wine merchant
to ask us to sup with him.  I turned towards the fair Venetian, and
guessing my thoughts she hastened to reply that she would be happy to
go anywhere in company with Madame Audibert.  That lady came for us
in the evening, and took us to the young man's house, where we found
a magnificent supper, but no other guests awaiting us.  The house was
luxuriously furnished, it only lacked a mistress.  The master divided
his attention between the two ladies, and Marcoline looked ravishing.
Everything convinced me that she had kindled the ardour of the worthy
young wine merchant.

The next day I received a note from Madame Audibert, asking me to
call on her.  When I went I found she wanted to give my consent to
the marriage of Marcoline with her friend.

"The proposal is a very agreeable one to me," I answered, "and I
would willingly give her thirty thousand francs as a dowry, but I can
have nothing to do with the matter personally.  I will send her to
you; and if you can win her over you may count on my word, but do not
say that you are speaking on my behalf, for that might spoil
everything."

"I will come for her, and if you like she shall dine with me, and you
can take her to the play in the evening."

Madame Audibert came the following day, and Marcoline went to dinner
with her.  I called for her at five o'clock, and finding her looking
pleased and happy I did not know what to think.  As Madame Audibert
did not take me aside I stifled my curiosity and went with Marcoline
to the theatre, without knowing what had passed.

On the way Marcoline sang the praises of Madame Audibert, but did not
say a word of the proposal she must have made to her.  About the
middle of the piece, however, I thought I saw the explanation of the
riddle, for the young man was in the pit, and did not come to our box
though there were two empty places.

We returned home without a word about the merchant or Madame
Audibert, but as I knew in my own mind what had happened, I felt
disposed to be grateful, and I saw that Marcoline was overjoyed to
find me more affectionate than ever.  At last, amidst our amorous
assaults, Marcoline, feeling how dearly I loved her, told me what had
passed between her and Madame Audibert.

"She spoke to me so kindly and so sensibly," said she, "but I
contented myself with saying that I would never marry till you told
me to do so.  All the same I thank you with all my heart for the ten
thousand crowns you are willing to give me.  You have tossed the ball
to me and I have sent it back.  I will go back to Venice whenever you
please if you will not take me to England with you, but I will never
marry.  I expect we shall see no more of the young gentleman, though
if I had never met you I might have loved him."

It was evidently all over, and I liked her for the part she had
taken, for a man who knows his own worth is not likely to sigh long
at the feet of an obdurate lady.

The wedding-day of my late niece came round.  Marcoline was there,
without diamonds, but clad in a rich dress which set off her beauty
and satisfied my vanity.




CHAPTER IV

I Leave Marseilles--Henriette at Aix--Irene at Avignon--Treachery of
Possano--Madame d'Urfe Leaves Lyon


The wedding only interested me because of the bride.  The plentiful
rather than choice repast, the numerous and noisy company, the empty
compliments, the silly conversation, the roars of laughter at very
poor jokes--all this would have driven me to despair if it had not
been for Madame Audibert, whom I did not leave for a moment.
Marcoline followed the young bride about like a shadow, and the
latter, who was going to Genoa in a week, wanted Marcoline to come in
her tram, promising to have her taken to Venice by a person of trust,
but my sweetheart would listen to no proposal for separating her from
me,--

"I won't go.  to Venice," she said, "till you send me there."

The splendours of her friend's marriage did not make her experience
the least regret at having refused the young wine merchant.  The
bride beamed with happiness, and on my congratulating her she
confessed her joy to be great, adding that it was increased by the
fact that she owed it all to me.  She was also very glad to be going
to Genoa, where she was sure of finding a true friend in Rosalie, who
would sympathize with her, their fortunes having been very similar.

The day after the wedding I began to make preparations for my
departure.  The first thing I disposed of was the box containing the
planetary offerings.  I kept the diamonds and precious stones, and
took all the gold and silver to Rousse de Cosse, who still held the
sum which Greppi had placed to my credit.  I took a bill of exchange
on Tourton and Bauer, for I should not be wanting any money at Lyons
as Madame d'Urfe was there, and consequently the three hundred louis
I had about me would be ample.  I acted differently where Marcoline
was concerned.  I added a sufficient sum to her six hundred louis to
give her a capital in round numbers of fifteen thousand francs.  I
got a bill drawn on Lyons for that amount, for I intended at the
first opportunity to send her back to Venice, and with that idea had
her trunks packed separately with all the linen and dresses which I
had given her in abundance.

On the eve of our departure we took leave of the newly-married couple
and the whole family at supper, and we parted with tears, promising
each other a lifelong friendship.

The next day we set out intending to travel all night and not to stop
till we got to Avignon, but about five o'clock the chain of the
carriage broke, and we could go no further until a wheelwright had
repaired the damage.  We settled ourselves down to wait patiently,
and Clairmont went to get information at a fine house on our right,
which was approached by an alley of trees.  As I had only one
postillion, I did not allow him to leave his horses for a moment.
Before long we saw Clairmont reappear with two servants, one of whom
invited me, on behalf of his master, to await the arrival of the
wheelwright at his house.  It would have been churlish to refuse this
invitation which was in the true spirit of French politeness, so
leaving Clairmont in charge Marcoline and I began to wend our way
towards the hospitable abode.

Three ladies and two gentleman came to meet us, and one of the
gentlemen said they congratulated themselves on my small mishap,
since it enabled madam to offer me her house and hospitality.  I
turned towards the lady whom the gentleman had indicated, and thanked
her, saying, that I hoped not to trouble her long, but that I was
deeply grateful for her kindness.  She made me a graceful curtsy, but
I could not make out her features, for a stormy wind was blowing, and
she and her two friends had drawn their hoods almost entirely over
their faces.  Marcoline's beautiful head was uncovered and her hair
streaming in the breeze.  She only replied by graceful bows and
smiles to the compliments which were addressed to her on all sides.
The gentleman who had first accosted me asked me, as he gave her his
arm, if she were my daughter.  Marcoline smiled and I answered that
she was my cousin, and that we were both Venetians.

A Frenchman is so bent on flattering a pretty woman that he will
always do so, even if it be at the expense of a third party.  Nobody
could really think that Marcoline was my daughter, for though I was
twenty years older than she was, I looked ten years younger than my
real age, and so Marcoline smiled suggestively.

We were just going into the house when a large mastiff ran towards
us, chasing a pretty spaniel, and the lady, being afraid of getting
bitten, began to run, made a false step, and fell to the ground.  We
ran to help her, but she said she had sprained her ankle, and limped
into the house on the arm of one of the gentlemen.  Refreshments were
brought in, and I saw that Marcoline looked uneasy in the company of
a lady who was talking to her.  I hastened to excuse her, saying that
she did not speak French.  As a matter of fact, Marcoline had begun
to talk a sort of French, but the most charming language in the world
will not bear being spoken badly, and I had begged her not to speak
at all till she had learned to express herself properly.  It is
better to remain silent than to make strangers laugh by odd
expressions and absurd equivocations.

The less pretty, or rather the uglier, of the two ladies said that it
was astonishing that the education of young ladies was neglected in
such a shocking manner at Venice.  "Fancy not teaching them French!"

"It is certainly very wrong, but in my country young ladies are
neither taught foreign languages nor round games.  These important
branches of education are attended to afterwards."

"Then you are a Venetian, too?"

"Yes, madam."

"Really, I should not have thought so."

I made a bow in return for this compliment, which in reality was only
an insult; for if flattering to me it was insulting to the rest of my
fellow-countrymen, and Marcoline thought as much for she made a
little grimace accompanied by a knowing smile.

"I see that the young lady understands French," said our flattering
friend, "she laughs exactly in the right place."

"Yes, she understands it, and as for her laughter it was due to the
fact that she knows me to be like all other Venetians."

"Possibly, but it is easy to see that you have lived a long time in
France."

"Yes, madam," said Marcoline; and these words in her pretty Venetian
accent were a pleasure to hear.

The gentleman who had taken the lady to her room said that she found
her foot to be rather swollen, and had gone to bed hoping we would
all come upstairs.

We found her lying in a splendid bed, placed in an alcove which the
thick curtains of red satin made still darker.  I could not see
whether she was young or old, pretty or ugly.  I said that I was very
sorry to be the indirect cause of her mishap, and she replied in good
Italian that it was a matter of no consequence, and that she did not
think she could pay too dear for the privilege of entertaining such
pleasant guests.

"Your ladyship must have lived in Venice to speak the language with
so much correctness."

"No, I have never been there, but I have associated a good deal with
Venetians."

A servant came and told me that the wheelwright had arrived, and that
he would take four hours to mend my carriage, so I went downstairs.
The man lived at a quarter of a league's distance, and by tying the
carriage pole with ropes, I could drive to his place, and wait there
for the carriage to be mended.  I was about to do so, when the
gentleman who did the honours of the house came and asked me, on
behalf of the lady, to sup and pass the night at her house, as to go
to the wheelwright's would be out of my way; the man would have to
work by night, I should be uncomfortable, and the work would be ill
done.  I assented to the countess's proposal, and having agreed with
the man to come early the next day and bring his tools with him, I
told Clairmont to take my belongings into the room which was assigned
to me.

When I returned to the countess's room I found everyone laughing at
Marcoline's sallies, which the countess translated.  I was not
astonished at seeing the way in which my fair Venetian caressed the
countess, but I was enraged at not being able to see her, for I knew
Marcoline would not treat any woman in that manner unless she were
pretty.

The table was spread in the bedroom of the countess, whom I hoped to
see at supper-time, but I was disappointed; for she declared that she
could not take anything, and all supper-time she talked to Marcoline
and myself, shewing intelligence, education, and a great knowledge of
Italian.  She let fall the expression, "my late husband," so I knew
her for a widow, but as I did not dare to ask any questions, my
knowledge ended at that point.  When Clairmont was undressing me he
told me her married name, but as I knew nothing of the family that
was no addition to my information.

When we had finished supper, Marcoline took up her old position by
the countess's bed, and they talked so volubly to one another that
nobody else could get in a word.

When politeness bade me retire, my pretended cousin said she was
going to sleep with the countess.  As the latter laughingly assented,
I refrained from telling my madcap that she was too forward, and I
could see by their mutual embraces that they were agreed in the
matter.  I satisfied myself with saying that I could not guarantee
the sex of the countess's bed-fellow, but she answered,

"Never mind; if there be a mistake I shall be the gainer."

This struck me as rather free, but I was not the man to be
scandalized.  I was amused at the tastes of my fair Venetian, and at
the manner in which she contrived to gratify them as she had done at
Genoa with my last niece.  As a rule the Provencal women are inclined
this way, and far from reproaching them I like them all the better
for it.

The next day I rose at day-break to hurry on the wheelwright, and
when the work was done I asked if the countess were visible.
Directly after Marcoline came out with one of the gentlemen, who
begged me to excuse the countess, as she could not receive me in her
present extremely scanty attire; "but she hopes that whenever you are
in these parts you will honour her and her house by your company,
whether you are alone or with friends."

This refusal, gilded as it was, was a bitter pill for me to swallow,
but I concealed my disgust, as I could only put it down to
Marcoline's doings; she seemed in high spirits, and I did not like to
mortify her.  I thanked the gentleman with effusion, and placing a
Louis in the hands of all the servants who were present I took my
leave.

I kissed Marcoline affectionately, so that she should not notice my
ill humour, and asked how she and the countess spent the night."

"Capitally," said she.  "The countess is charming, and we amused
ourselves all night with the tricks of two amorous women."

"Is she pretty or old?"

"She is only thirty-three, and, I assure you, she is as pretty as my
friend Mdlle. Crosin.  I can speak with authority for we saw each
other in a state of nature."

"You are a singular creature; you were unfaithful to me for a woman,
and left me to pass the night by myself."

"You must forgive me, and I had to sleep with her as she was the
first to declare her love."

"Really?  How was that?"

"When I gave her the first of my kisses she returned it in the
Florentine manner, and our tongues met.  After supper, I confess, I
was the first to begin the suggestive caresses, but she met me half-
way.  I could only make her happy by spending the night with her.
Look, this will shew you how pleased she was."

With these words Marcoline drew a superb ring, set with brilliants,
from her finger.  I was astonished.

"Truly," I said, "this woman is fond of pleasure and deserves to have
it."

I gave my Lesbian (who might have vied with Sappho) a hundred.
kisses, and forgave her her infidelity.

"But," I remarked, "I can't think why she did not want me to see her;
I think she has treated me rather cavalierly."

"No, I think the reason was that she was ashamed to be seen by my
lover after having made me unfaithful to him; I had to confess that
we were lovers."

"Maybe.  At all events you have been well paid; that ring is worth
two hundred louis:"

"But I may as well tell you that I was well enough paid for the
pleasure I gave by the pleasure I received."

"That's right; I am delighted to see you happy."

"If you want to make me really happy, take me to England with you.
My uncle will be there, and I could go back to Venice with him."

"What!  you have an uncle in England?  Do you really mean it?  It
sounds like a fairy-tale.  You never told me of it before."

"I have never said anything about it up to now, because I have always
imagined that this might prevent your accomplishing your desire."

"Is your uncle a Venetian?  What is he doing in England?  Are you
sure that he will welcome you?"

"Yes."

"What is his name?  And how are we to find him in a town of more than
a million inhabitants?"

"He is ready found.  His name is Mattio Boisi, and he is valet de
chambre to M. Querini, the Venetian ambassador sent to England to
congratulate the new king; he is accompanied by the Procurator
Morosini.  My uncle is my mother's brother; he is very fond of me,
and will forgive my fault, especially when he finds I am rich.  When
he went to England he said he would be back in Venice in July, and we
shall just catch him on the point of departure."

As far as the embassy went I knew it was all true, from the letters I
had received from M. de Bragadin, and as for the rest Marcoline
seemed to me to be speaking the truth.  I was flattered by her
proposal and agreed to take her to England so that I should possess
her for five or six weeks longer without committing myself to
anything.

We reached Avignon at the close of the day, and found ourselves very
hungry.  I knew that the "St. Omer" was an excellent inn, and when I
got there I ordered a choice meal and horses for five o'clock the
next morning.  Marcoline, who did not like night travelling, was in
high glee, and threw her arms around my neck, saying,--

"Are we at Avignon now?"

"Yes, dearest."

"Then I conscientiously discharge the trust which the countess placed
in me when she embraced me for the last time this morning.  She made
me swear not to say a word about it till we got to Avignon."

"All this puzzles me, dearest; explain yourself."

"She gave me a letter for you,"

"A letter?"

"Will you forgive me for not placing it in your hands sooner?"

"Certainly, if you passed your word to the countess; but where is
this letter?"

"Wait a minute."

She drew a large bundle of papers from her pocket, saying,--

"This is my certificate of baptism."

"I see you were born in 1746."

"This is a certificate of 'good conduct.'"

"Keep it, it may be useful to you."

"This is my certificate of virginity."

"That's no use.  Did you get it from a midwife?"

"No, from the Patriarch of Venice."

"Did he test the matter for himself?"

"No, he was too old; he trusted in me."

"Well, well, let me see the letter."

"I hope I haven't lost it."

"I hope not, to God."

"Here is your brother's promise of marriage; he wanted to be a
Protestant."

"You may throw that into the fire."

"What is a Protestant?"

"I will tell you another time.  Give me the letter."

"Praised be God, here it is!"

"That's lucky; but it has no address."

My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address,
these words in Italian:

"To the most honest man of my acquaintance."

Could this be meant for me?  I turned down the leaf, and read one
word--Henriette!  Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank.

At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.

"Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo."

Henriette!  It was her style, eloquent in its brevity.  I recollected
her last letter from Pontarlier, which I had received at Geneva, and
which contained only one word--Farewell!

Henriette, whom I had loved so well, whom I seemed at that moment to
love as well as ever.  "Cruel Henriette," said I to myself, "you saw
me and would not let me see you.  No doubt you thought your charms
would not have their old power, and feared lest I should discover
that after all you were but mortal.  And yet I love you with all the
ardour of my early passion.  Why did you not let me learn from your
own mouth that you were happy?  That is the only question I should
have asked you, cruel fair one.  I should not have enquired whether
you loved me still, for I feel my unworthiness, who have loved other
women after loving the most perfect of her sex.  Adorable Henriette,
I will fly to you to-morrow, since you told me that I should be
always welcome."

I turned these thoughts over in my own mind, and fortified myself in
this resolve; but at last I said,--

"No, your behaviour proves that you do not wish to see me now, and
your wishes shall be respected; but I must see you once before I
die."

Marcoline scarcely dared breathe to see me thus motionless and lost
in thought, and I do not know when I should have come to myself if
the landlord had not come in saying that he remembered my tastes, and
had got me a delicious supper.  This brought me to my senses, and I
made my fair Venetian happy again by embracing her in a sort of
ecstacy.

"Do you know," she said, "you quite frightened me?  You were as pale
and still as a dead man, and remained for a quarter of an hour in a
kind of swoon, the like of which I have never seen.  What is the
reason?  I knew that the countess was acquainted with you, but I
should never have thought that her name by itself could have such an
astonishing effect."

"Well, it is strange; but how did you find out that the countess knew
me?"

"She told me as much twenty times over in the night, but she made me
promise to say nothing about it till I had given you the letter."

"What did she say to you about me?"

"She only repeated in different ways what she has written for an
address."

"What a letter it is!  Her name, and nothing more."

"It is very strange."

"Yes, but the name tells all."

"She told me that if I wanted to be happy I should always remain with
you.  I said I knew that well; but that you wanted to send me back to
Venice, though you were very fond of me.  I can guess now that you
were lovers.  How long ago was it?"

"Sixteen or seventeen years."

"She must have been very young, but she cannot have been prettier
than she is now."

"Be quiet, Marcoline."

"Did your union with her last long?"

"We lived together four months in perfect happiness."

"I shall not be happy for so long as that."

"Yes you will, and longer, too; but with another man, and one more
suitable to you in age.  I am going to England to try to get my
daughter from her mother."

"Your daughter?  The countess asked me if you were married, and I
said no."

"You were right; she is my illegitimate daughter.  She must be ten
now, and when you see her you will confess that she must belong to
me."

Just as we were sitting down to table we heard someone going
downstairs to the table d'hote in the room where I had made Madame
Stuard's acquaintance, our door was open, and we could see the people
on the stairs; and one of them seeing us gave a cry of joy, and came
running in, exclaiming, "My dear papa!  "I turned to the light and
saw Irene, the same whom I had treated so rudely at Genoa after my
discussion with her father about biribi.  I embraced her effusively,
and the sly little puss, pretending to be surprised to see Marcoline,
made her a profound bow, which was returned with much grace.
Marcoline listened attentively to our conversation.

"What are you doing here, fair Irene?"

"We have been here for the last fortnight.  Good heavens!  how lucky
I am to find you again.  I am quite weak.  Will you allow me to sit
down, madam?"

"Yes, yes, my dear," said I, "sit down;" and I gave her a glass of
wine which restored her.

A waiter came up, and said they were waiting for her at supper, but
she said, "I won't take any supper;" and Marcoline, always desirous
of pleasing me, ordered a third place to be laid.  I made her happy
by giving an approving nod.

We sat down to table, and ate our meal with great appetite.  "When we
have done," I said to Irene, "you must tell us what chance has
brought you to Avignon."

Marcoline, who had not spoken a word hitherto, noticing how hungry
Irene was, said pleasantly that it would have been a mistake if she
had not taken any supper.  Irene was delighted to hear Venetian
spoken, and thanked her for her kindness, and in three or four
minutes they had kissed and become friends.

It amused me to see the way in which Marcoline always fell in love
with pretty women, just as if she had been a man.

In the course of conversation I found that Irene's father and mother
were at the table d'hote below, and from sundry exclamations, such as
"you have been brought to Avignon out of God's goodness," I learned
that they were in distress.  In spite of that Irene's mirthful
countenance matched Marcoline's sallies, and the latter was delighted
to hear that Irene had only called me papa because her mother had
styled her my daughter at Milan.

We had only got half-way through our supper when Rinaldi and his wife
came in.  I asked them to sit down, but if it had not been for Irene
I should have given the old rascal a very warm reception.  He began
to chide his daughter for troubling me with her presence when I had
such fair company already, but Marcoline hastened to say that Irene
could only have given me pleasure, for in my capacity of her uncle I
was always glad when she was able to enjoy the society of a sweet
young girl.

"I hope," she added, "that if she doesn't mind she will sleep with
me."

"Yes, yes," resounded on all sides, and though I should have
preferred to sleep with Marcoline by herself, I laughed and agreed; I
have always been able to accommodate myself to circumstances.

Irene shared Marcoline's desires, for when it was settled that they
should sleep together they seemed wild with joy, and I added fuel to
the fire by plying them with punch and champagne.

Rinaldi and his wife did not leave us till they were quite drunk.
When we had got rid of them, Irene told us how a Frenchman had fallen
in love with her at Genoa, and had persuaded her father to go to Nice
where high play was going on, but meeting with no luck there she had
been obliged to sell what she had to pay the inn-keeper.  Her lover
had assured her that he would make it up to her at Aix, where there
was some money owing to him, and she persuaded her father to go
there; but the persons who owed the money having gone to Avignon,
there had to be another sale of goods.

"When we got here the luck was no better, and the poor young man,
whom my father reproached bitterly, would have killed himself if I
had not given him the mantle you gave me that he might pawn it and go
on his quest.  He got four louis for it, and sent me the ticket with
a very tender letter, in which he assured me that he would find some
money at Lyons, and that he would then return and take us to
Bordeaux, where we are to find treasures.  In the meanwhile we are
penniless, and as we have nothing more to sell the landlord threatens
to turn us out naked."

"And what does your father mean to do?"

"I don't know.  He says Providence will take care of us."

"What does your mother say?"

"Oh!  she was as quiet as usual."

"How about yourself?"

"Alas!  I have to bear a thousand mortifications every day.  They are
continually reproaching me with having fallen in love with this
Frenchman, and bringing them to this dreadful pass."

"Were you really in love with him?"

"Yes, really."

"Then you must be very unhappy."

"Yes, very; but not on account of my love, for I shall get over that
in time, but because of that which will happen to-morrow."

"Can't you make any conquests at the table-d'hote?"

"Some of the men say pretty things to me, but as they all know how
poor we are they are afraid to come to our room."

"And yet in spite of all you keep cheerful; you don't look sad like
most of the unhappy.  I congratulate you on your good spirits."
Irene's tale was like the fair Stuard's story over again, and
Marcoline, though she had taken rather too much champagne, was deeply
moved at this picture of misery.  She kissed the girl, telling her
that I would not forsake her, and that in the meanwhile they would
spend a pleasant night.

"Come! let us to bed!" said she; and after taking off her clothes she
helped Irene to undress.  I had no wish to fight, against two, and
said that I wanted to rest.  The fair Venetian burst out laughing and
said,--

"Go to bed and leave us alone."

I did so, and amused myself by watching the two Bacchantes; but
Irene, who had evidently never engaged in such a combat before, was
not nearly so adroit as Marcoline.

Before long Marcoline brought Irene in her arms to my bedside, and
told me to kiss her.

"Leave me alone, dearest," said I, "the punch has got into your head,
and you don't know what you are doing."

This stung her; and urging Irene to follow her example, she took up a
position in my bed by force; and as there was not enough room for
three, Marcoline got on top of Irene, calling her her wife.

I was virtuous enough to remain a wholly passive spectator of the
scene, which was always new to me, though I had seen it so often; but
at last they flung themselves on me with such violence that I was
obliged to give way, and for the most part of the night I performed
my share of the work, till they saw that I was completely exhausted.
We fell asleep, and I did not wake up till noon, and then I saw my
two beauties still asleep, with their limbs interlaced like the
branches of a tree.  I thought with a sigh of the pleasures of such a
sleep, and got out of bed gently for fear of rousing them.  I ordered
a good dinner to be prepared, and countermanded the horses which had
been waiting several hours.

The landlord remembering what I had done for Madame Stuard guessed I
was going to do the same for the Rinaldis, and left them in peace.

When I came back I found my two Lesbians awake, and they gave me such
an amorous welcome that I felt inclined to complete the work of the
night with a lover's good morning; but I began to feel the need of
husbanding my forces, so I did nothing, and bore their sarcasms in
silence till one o'clock, when I told them to get up, as we ought to
have done at five o'clock, and here was two o'clock and breakfast not
done.

"We have enjoyed ourselves," said Marcoline, "and time that is given
to enjoyment is never lost."

When they were dressed, I had coffee brought in, and I gave Irene
sixteen louis, four of which were to redeem her cloak.  Her father
and mother who had just dined came in to bid us good-day, and Irene
proudly gave her father twelve Louis telling him to scold her a
little less in future.  He laughed, wept, and went out, and then came
back and said he found a good way of getting to Antibes at a small
cost, but they would have to go directly, as the driver wanted to get
to St. Andiol by nightfall.

"I am quite ready."

"No, dear Irene," said I, "you shall not go; you shall dine with your
friend, and your driver can wait.  Make him do so, Count Rinaldi; my
niece will pay, will you not, Marcoline?"

"Certainly.  I should like to dine here, and still better to put off
our departure till the next day."

Her wishes were my orders.  We had a delicious supper at five
o'clock, and at eight we went to bed and spent the night in
wantonness, but at five in the morning all were ready to start.
Irene, who wore her handsome cloak, shed hot tears at parting from
Marcoline, who also wept with all her heart.  Old Rinaldi, who proved
himself no prophet, told me that I should make a great fortune in
England, and his daughter sighed to be in Marcoline's place.
We shall hear of Rinaldi later on.

We drove on for fifteen posts without stopping, and passed the night
at Valence.  The food was bad, but Marcoline forgot her discomfort in
talking of Irene.

"Do you know," said she, "that if it had been in my power I should
have taken her from her parents.  I believe she is your daughter,
though she is not like you."

"How can she be my daughter when I have never known her mother?"

"She told me that certainly."

"Didn't she tell you anything else?"

"Yes, she told me that you lived with her for three days and bought
her maidenhead for a thousand sequins."

"Quite so, but did she tell you that I paid the money to her father?"

"Yes, the little fool doesn't keep anything for herself.  I don't
think I should ever be jealous of your mistresses, if you let me
sleep with them.  Is not that a mark of a good disposition?
Tell me."

"You have, no doubt, a good disposition, but you could be quite as
good without your dominant passion."

"It is not a passion.  I only have desires for those I love."

"Who gave you this taste?"

"Nature.  I began at seven, and in the last ten years I have
certainly had four hundred sweethearts."

"You begin early.  But when did you begin to have male sweethearts?"

"At eleven."

"Tell me all about it."

"Father Molini, a monk, was my confessor, and he expressed a desire
to know the girl who was then my sweetheart.  It was in the carnival
time, and he gave us a moral discourse, telling us that he would take
us to the play if we would promise to abstain for a week.  We
promised to do so, and at the end of the week we went to tell him
that we had kept our word faithfully.  The next day Father Molini
called on my sweetheart's aunt in a mask, and as she knew him, and as
he was a monk and a confessor, we were allowed to go with him.
Besides, we were mere children; my sweetheart was only a year older
than I.

"After the play the father took us to an inn, and gave us some
supper; and when the meal was over he spoke to us of our sin, and
wanted to see our privates.  'It's a great sin between two girls,'
said he, 'but between a man and a woman it is a venial matter.  Do
you know how men are made?'  We both knew, but we said no with one
consent.  'Then would you like to know?' said he.  We said we should
like to know very much, and he added, 'If you will promise to keep it
a secret, I may be able to satisfy your curiosity.'  We gave our
promises, and the good father proceeded to gratify us with a sight of
the riches which nature had lavished on him, and in the course of an
hour he had turned us into women.  I must confess that he understood
so well how to work on our curiosity that the request came from us.
Three years later, when I was fourteen, I became the mistress of a
young jeweller.  Then came your brother; but he got nothing from me,
because he began by saying that he could not ask me to give him any
favours till we were married."

"You must have been amused at that."

"Yes, it did make me laugh, because I did not know that a priest
could get married; and he excited my curiosity by telling me that
they managed it at Geneva.  Curiosity and wantonness made me escape
with him; you know the rest."

Thus did Marcoline amuse me during the evening, and then we went to
bed and slept quietly till the morning.  We started from Valence at
five, and in the evening we were set down at the "Hotel du Parc" at
Lyons.

As soon as I was settled in the pleasant apartments allotted to me I
went to Madame d'Urfe, who was staying in the Place Bellecour, and
said, as usual, that she was sure I was coming on that day.  She
wanted to know if she had performed the ceremonies correctly, and
Paralis, of course, informed her that she had, whereat she was much
flattered.  The young Aranda was with her, and after I had kissed him
affectionately I told the marchioness that I would be with her at ten
o'clock the next morning, and so I left her.

I kept the appointment and we spent the whole of the day in close
conference, asking of the oracle concerning her being brought to bed,
how she was to make her will, and how she should contrive to escape
poverty in her regenerated shape.  The oracle told her that she must
go to Paris for her lying-in, and leave all her possessions to her
son, who would not be a bastard, as Paralis promised that as soon as
I got to London an English gentleman should be sent over to marry
her.  Finally, the oracle ordered her to prepare to start in three
days, and to take Aranda with her.  I had to take the latter to
London and return him to his mother, for his real position in life
was no longer a mystery, the little rascal having confessed all;
however, I had found a remedy for his indiscretion as for the
treachery of the Corticelli and Possano.

I longed to return him to the keeping of his mother, who constantly
wrote me impertinent letters.  I also wished to take my daughter,
who, according to her mother, had become a prodigy of grace and
beauty.

After the oracular business had been settled, I returned to the
"Hotel du Parc" to dine with Marcoline.  It was very late, and as I
could not take my sweetheart to the play I called on M. Bono to
enquire whether he had sent my brother to Paris.  He told me that he
had gone the day before, and that my great enemy, Possano, was still
in Lyons, and that I would do well to be on my guard as far as he was
concerned.

"I have seen him," said Bono; "he looks pale and undone, and seems
scarcely able to stand.  'I shall die before long,' said he, 'for
that scoundrel Casanova has had me poisoned; but I will make him pay
dearly for his crime, and in this very town of Lyons, where I know he
will come, sooner or later.'

"In fact, in the course of half an hour, he made some terrible
accusations against you, speaking as if he were in a fury.  He wants
all the world to know that you are the greatest villain unhung, that
you are ruining Madame d'Urfe with your impious lies; that you are a
sorcerer, a forger, an utter of false moneys, a poisoner--in short,
the worst of men.  He does not intend to publish a libellous pamphlet
upon you, but to accuse you before the courts, alleging that he wants
reparation for the wrongs you have done his person, his honour, and
his life, for he says you are killing him by a slow poison.  He adds
that for every article he possesses the strongest proof.

"I will say nothing about the vague abuse he adds to these formal
accusations, but I have felt it my duty to warn you of his
treacherous designs that you may be able to defeat them.  It's no
good saying he is a miserable wretch, and that you despise him; you
know how strong a thing calumny is."

"Where does the fellow live?"

"I don't know in the least."

"How can I find out?"

"I can't say, for if he is hiding himself on purpose it would be hard
to get at him."

"Nevertheless, Lyons is not so vast a place."

"Lyons is a perfect maze, and there is no better hiding-place,
especially to a man with money, and Possano has money."

"But what can he do to me?"

"He can institute proceedings against you in the criminal court,
which would cause you immense anxiety and bring down your good name
to the dust, even though you be the most innocent, the most just of
men."

"It seems to me, then, that the best thing I can do will be to be
first in the field."

"So I think, but even then you cannot avoid publicity."

"Tell me frankly if you feel disposed to bear witness to what the
rascal has said in a court of justice."

"I will tell all I know with perfect truth."

"Be kind enough to tell me of a good advocate."

"I will give you the address of one of the best; but reflect before
you do anything.  The affair will make a noise."

"As I don't know where he lives, I have really no choice in the
matter."

If I had known where he lived I could have had Possano expelled from
Lyons through the influence of Madame d'Urfe, whose relative, M. de
la Rochebaron, was the governor; but as it was, I had no other course
than the one I took.

Although Possano was a liar and an ungrateful, treacherous hound, yet
I could not help being uneasy.  I went to my hotel, and proceeded to
ask for police protection against a man in hiding in Lyons, who had
designs against my life and honour.

The next day M. Bono came to dissuade me from the course I had taken.

"For," said he, "the police will begin to search for him, and as soon
as he hears of it he will take proceedings against you in the
criminal courts, and then your positions will be changed.  It seems
to me that if you have no important business at Lyons you had better
hasten your departure."

"Do you think I would do such a thing for a miserable fellow like
Possano?  No!  I would despise myself if I did.  I would die rather
than hasten my departure on account of a rascal whom I loaded with
kindnesses, despite his unworthiness!  I would give a hundred louis
to know where he is now."

"I am delighted to say that I do not know anything about it, for if I
did I would tell you, and then God knows what would happen!  You
won't go any sooner; well, then, begin proceedings, and I will give
my evidence by word of mouth or writing whenever you please."

I went to the advocate whom M. Bono had recommended to me, and told
him my business.  When he heard what I wanted he said,----

"I can do nothing for you, sir, as I have undertaken the case of your
opponent.  You need not be alarmed, however, at having spoken to me,
for I assure you that I will make no use whatever of the information.
Possano's plea or accusation will not be drawn up till the day after
to-morrow, but I will not tell him to make baste for fear of your
anticipating him, as I have only been informed of your intentions by
hazard.  However, you will find plenty of advocates at Lyons as
honest as I am, and more skilled."

"Could you give me the name of one?"

"That would not be etiquette, but M. Bono, who seems to have kindly
spoken of me with some esteem, will be able to serve you."

"Can you tell me where your client lives?"

"Since his chief aim is to remain hidden, and with good cause, you
will see that I could not think of doing such a thing."

In bidding him farewell I put a louis on the table, and though I did
it with the utmost delicacy he ran after me and made me take it back.

"For once in a way," I said to myself, "here's an honest advocate."

As I walked along I thought of putting a spy on Possano and finding
out his abode, for I felt a strong desire to have him beaten to
death; but where was I to find a spy in a town of which I knew
nothing?  M. Bono gave me the name of another advocate, and advised
me to make haste.

"'Tis in criminal matters" said he, "and in such cases the first
comer always has the advantage."

I asked him to find me a trusty fellow to track out the rascally
Possano, but the worthy man would not hear of it.  He shewed me that
it would be dishonourable to set a spy on the actions of Possano's
advocate.  I knew it myself; but what man is there who has not
yielded to the voice of vengeance, the most violent and least
reasonable of all the passions.

I went to the second advocate, whom I found to be a man venerable not
only in years but in wisdom.  I told him all the circumstances of the
affair, which he agreed to take up, saying he would present my plea
in the course of the day.

"That's just what I want you to do," said I, "for his own advocate
told me that his pleas would be presented the day after to-morrow."

"That, sir," said her "would not induce me to act with any greater
promptness, as I could not consent to your abusing the confidence of
my colleague."

"But there is nothing dishonourable in making use of information
which one has acquired by chance."

"That may be a tenable position in some cases, but in the present
instance the nature of the affair justifies prompt action.  'Prior in
tempore, Potior in jure'.  Prudence bids us attack our enemy.  Be so
kind, if you please, to call here at three o'clock in the afternoon."

"I will not fail to do so, and in the meanwhile here are six louis."

"I will keep account of my expenditure on your behalf."

"I want you not to spare money."

"Sir, I shall spend only what is absolutely necessary."

I almost believed that probity had chosen a home for herself amongst
the Lyons advocates, and here I may say, to the honour of the French
bar, that I have never known a more honest body of men than the
advocates of France.

At three o'clock, having seen that the plan was properly drawn up, I
went to Madame d'Urfe's, and for four hours I worked the oracle in a
manner that filled her with delight, and in spite of my vexation I
could not help laughing at her insane fancies on the subject of her
pregnancy.  She was certain of it; she felt all the symptoms.  Then
she said how sorry she felt that she would not be alive to laugh at
all the hypotheses of the Paris doctors as to her being delivered of
a child, which would be thought very extraordinary in a woman of her
age.

When I got back to the inn I found Marcoline very melancholy.  She
said she had been waiting for me to take her to the play, according
to my promise, and that I should not have made her wait in vain.

"You are right, dearest, but an affair of importance has kept me with
the marchioness.  Don't be put out."

I had need of some such advice myself, for the legal affair worried
me, and I slept very ill.  Early the next morning I saw my counsel,
who told me that my plea had been laid before the criminal
lieutenant.

"For the present," said he, "there is nothing more to be done, for as
we don't know where he is we can't cite him to appear."

"Could I not set the police on his track?"

"You might, but I don't advise you to do so.  Let us consider what
the result would be.  The accuser finding himself accused would have
to defend himself and prove the accusation he has made against you.
But in the present state of things, if he does not put in an
appearance we will get judgment against him for contempt of court and
also for libel.  Even his counsel will leave him in the lurch if he
persistently refuses to shew himself."

This quieted my fears a little, and I spent the rest of the day with
Madame d'Urfe, who was going to Paris on the morrow.  I promised to
be with her as soon as I had dealt with certain matters which
concerned the honour of the Fraternity R. C..

Her great maxim was always to respect my secrets, and never to
trouble me with her curiosity.  Marcoline, who had been pining by
herself all day, breathed again when I told her that henceforth I
should be all for her.

In the morning M. Bono came to me and begged me to go with him to
Possano's counsel, who wanted to speak to me.  The advocate said that
his client was a sort of madman who was ready to do anything, as he
believed himself to be dying from the effects of a slow poison.

"He says that even if you are first in the field he will have you
condemned to death.  He says he doesn't care if he is sent to prison,
as he is certain of coming out in triumph as he has the proof of all
his accusations.  He shews twenty-five louis which you gave him, all
of which are clipped, and he exhibits documents dated from Genoa
stating that you clipped a number of gold pieces, which were melted
by M. Grimaldi in order that the police might not find them in your
possession.  He has even a letter from your brother, the abbe,
deposing against you.  He is a madman, a victim to syphilis, who
wishes to send you to the other world before himself, if he can.  Now
my advice to you is to give him some money and get rid of him.  He
tells me that he is the father of a family, and that if M. Bono would
give him a thousand louis he would sacrifice vengeance to necessity.
He told me to speak to M. Bono about it; and now, sir what do you
say?"

"That which my just indignation inspires me to say regarding a rascal
whom I rescued from poverty, and who nevertheless pursues me with
atrocious calumnies; he shall not have one single farthing of mine."

I then told the Genoa story, putting things in their true light, and
adding that I could call M. Grimaldi as a witness if necessary.

"I have delayed presenting the plea," said the counsel, "to see if
the scandal could be hushed up in any way, but I warn you that I
shall now present it."

"Do so; I shall be greatly obliged to you."

I immediately called on my advocate, and told him of the rascal's
proposal; and he said I was quite right to refuse to have any
dealings with such a fellow.  He added that as I had M. Bono as a
witness I ought to make Possano's advocate present his plea, and I
authorized him to take proceedings in my name.

A clerk was immediately sent to the criminal lieutenant, praying him
to command the advocate to bring before him, in three days, the plea
of one Anami, alias Pogomas, alias Possano, the said plea being
against Jacques Casanova, commonly called the Chevalier de Seingalt.
This document, to which I affixed my signature, was laid before the
criminal lieutenant.

I did not care for the three days' delay, but my counsel told me it
was always given, and that I must make up my mind to submit to all
the vexation I should be obliged to undergo, even if we were wholly
successful.

As Madame d'Urfe had taken her departure in conformity with the
orders of Paralis, I dined with Marcoline at the inn, and tried to
raise my spirits by all the means in my power.  I took my mistress to
the best milliners and dressmakers in the town, and bought her
everything she took a fancy to; and then we went to the theatre,
where she must have been pleased to see all eyes fixed on her.
Madame Pernon, who was in the next box to ours, made me introduce
Marcoline to her; and from the way they embraced each other when the
play was over I saw they were likely to become intimate, the only
obstacle to their friendship being that Madame Pernon did not know a
word of Italian, and that Marcoline did not dare to speak a word of
French for fear of making herself ridiculous.  When we got back to
the inn, Marcoline told me that her new friend had given her the
Florentine kiss: this is the shibboleth of the sect.

The pretty nick-nacks I had given her had made her happy; her ardour
was redoubled, and the night passed joyously.

I spent the next day in going from shop to shop, making fresh
purchases for Marcoline, and we supped merrily at Madame Pernon's.

The day after, M. Bono came to see me at an early hour with a smile
of content on his face.

"Let us go and breakfast at a coffee-house," said he; "we will have
some discussion together."

When we were breakfasting he shewed me a letter written by Possano,
in which the rascal said that he was ready to abandon proceedings
provided that M. de Seingalt gave him a hundred louis, on receipt of
which he promised to leave Lyons immediately.

"I should be a great fool," said I, "if I gave the knave more money
to escape from the hands of justice.  Let him go if he likes, I won't
prevent him; but he had better not expect me to give him anything.
He will have a writ out against him to-morrow.  I should like to see
him branded by the hangman.  He has slandered me, his benefactor, too
grievously; let him prove what he says, or be dishonoured before all
men."

"His abandoning the proceedings," said M. Bono, "would in my opinion
amount to the same thing as his failing to prove his charges, and you
would do well to prefer it to a trial which would do your reputation
no good, even if you were completely successful.  And the hundred
louis is nothing in comparison with the costs of such a trial."

"M. Bono, I value your advice very highly, and still more highly the
kindly feelings which prompt you, but you must allow me to follow my
own opinion in this case."

I went to my counsel and told him of the fresh proposal that Possano
had made, and of my refusal to listen to it, begging him to take
measures for the arrest of the villain who had vowed my death.

The same evening I had Madame Pernon and M. Bono, who was her lover,
to sup with me; and as the latter had a good knowledge of Italian
Marcoline was able to take part in the merriment of the company.

The next day Bono wrote to tell me that Possano had left Lyons never
to return, and that he had signed a full and satisfactory retraction.
I was not surprised to hear of his flight, but the other circumstance
I could not understand.  I therefore hastened to call on Bono, who
showed me the document, which was certainly plain enough.

"Will that do?" said he.

"So well that I forgive him, but I wonder he did not insist on the
hundred Louis."

"My dear sir, I gave him the money with pleasure, to prevent a
scandalous affair which would have done us all harm in becoming
public.  If I had told you nothing, you couldn't have taken any steps
in the matter, and I felt myself obliged to repair the mischief I had
done in this way.  You would have known nothing about it, if you had
said that you were not satisfied.  I am only too glad to have been
enabled to skew my friendship by this trifling service.  We will say
no more about it."

"Very good," said I, embracing him, "we will say no more, but please
to receive the assurance of my gratitude."

I confess I felt much relieved at being freed from this troublesome
business.




End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of MEMOIRES OF JACQUES CASANOVA
IN LONDON AND MOSCOW, Vol. 5a, SOUTH OF FRANCE
by Jacques Casanova de Seingalt