and her mother presented me to the worthy man who had accompanied them from Prague to Metz. He was an Italian named Month, who had lived for a long time at Prague, where he taught his native language. I saw that M. Month and the old woman were suitably accommodated, and I then led the young fool into my room. I found her changed for the better; she had grown, her shape was improved, and her pleasant manners made her a very charming girl.
CHAPTER XV
I Returned to Paris With The Corticelli, Now Countess Lascaris– The Hypostasis Fails–Aix-la-Chapelle–Duel–Mimi d’Ache–The Corticelli Turns Traitress to Her Own Disadvantage–Journey to Sulzbach
“Why did you allow your mother to call herself my wife, little simpleton? Do you think that’s a compliment to my judgment? She might have given herself out for your governess, as she wishes to pass you off as my daughter.”
“My mother is an obstinate old woman who had rather be whipped at the cart-tail than call herself my governess. She has very narrow ideas, and always thinks that governess and procuress mean the same thing.”
“She’s an old fool, but we will make her hear reason either with her will or in spite of it. But you look well dressed, have you made your fortune?”
“At Prague I captivated the affections of Count N—-, and he proved a generous lover. But let your first action be to send back M. Month. The worthy man has his family at Prague to look after; he can’t afford to stay long here.”
“True, I will see about it directly.”
The coach started for Frankfort the same evening, and summoning Month I thanked him for his kindness and paid him generously, so he went off well pleased.
I had nothing further to do at Metz, so I took leave of my new friends, and in two days time I was at Nancy, where I wrote to Madame d’Urfe that I was on my way back with a virgin, the last of the family of Lascaris, who had once reigned at Constantinople. I begged her to receive her from my hands, at a country house which belonged to her, where we should be occupied for some days in cabalistic ceremonies.
She answered that she would await us at Pont-Carre, an old castle four leagues distant from Paris, and that she would welcome the young princess with all possible kindness.
“I owe her all the more friendship,” added the sublime madwoman, “as the family of Lascaris is connected with the family of d’Urfe, and as I am to be born again in the seed of the happy virgin.”
I felt that my task would be not exactly to throw cold water on her enthusiasm, but to hold it in check and to moderate its manifestations. I therefore explained to her by return of post that she must be content to treat the virgin as a countess, not a princess, and I ended by informing her that we should arrive, accompanied by the countess’s governess, on the Monday of Holy Week.
I spent twelve days at Nancy, instructing the young madcap in the part she had to play, and endeavouring to persuade her mother that she must content herself with being the Countess Lascaris’s humble servant. It was a task of immense difficulty; it was not enough to shew her that our success depended on her submitting; I had to threaten to send her back to Bologna by herself. I had good reason to repent of my perseverance. That woman’s obstinacy was an inspiration of my good angel’s, bidding me avoid the greatest mistake I ever made.
On the day appointed we reached Pont-Carre. Madame d’Urfe, whom I had advised of the exact hour of our arrival, had the drawbridge of the castle lowered, and stood in the archway in the midst of her people, like a general surrendering with all the honours of war. The dear lady, whose madness was but an excess of wit, gave the false princess so distinguished a reception that she would have shewn her amazement if I had not warned her of what she might expect. Thrice did she clasp her to her breast with a tenderness that was quite maternal, calling her her beloved niece, and explaining the entire pedigrees of the families of Lascaris and d’Urfe to make the countess understand how she came to be her niece. I was agreeably surprised to see the polite and dignified air with which the Italian wench listened to all this; she did not even smile, though the scene must have struck her as extremely laughable.
As soon as we got into the castle Madame d’Urfe proceeded to cense the new-comer, who received the attention with all the dignity of an opera queen, and then threw herself into the arms of the priestess, who received her with enthusiastic affection.
At dinner the countess was agreeable and talkative, which won her Madame d’Urfe’s entire favour; her broken French being easily accounted for. Laura, the countess’s mother, only knew her native Italian, and so kept silence. She was given a comfortable room, where her meals were brought to her, and which she only left to hear mass.
The castle was a fortified building, and had sustained several sieges in the civil wars. As its name, Pont-Carre, indicated, it was square, and was flanked by four crenelated towers and surrounded by a broad moat. The rooms were vast, and richly furnished in an old-fashioned way. The air was full of venomous gnats who devoured us and covered our faces with painful bites; but I had agreed to spend a week there, and I should have been hard put to it to find a pretext for shortening the time. Madame d’Urfe had a bed next, her own for her niece, but I was not afraid of her attempting to satisfy herself as to the countess’s virginity, as the oracle had expressly forbidden it under pain or failure. The operation was fixed for the fourteenth day of the April moon.
On that day we had a temperate supper, after which I went to bed. A quarter of an hour afterwards Madame d’Urfe came, leading the virgin Lascaris. She undressed her, scented her, cast a lovely veil over her body, and when the countess was laid beside me she remained, wishing to be present at an operation which was to result in her being born again in the course of nine months.
The act was consummated in form, and then Madame d’Urfe left us alone for the rest of the night, which was well employed. Afterwards, the countess slept with her aunt till the last day of the moon, when I asked the oracle if the Countess Lascaris had conceived. That well might be, for I had spared nothing to that intent; but I thought it more prudent to make the oracle reply that the operation had failed because the small Count d’Aranda had watched us behind a screen. Madame d’Urfe was in despair, but I consoled her by a second reply, in which the oracle declared that though the operation could only be performed in France in April, it could take place out of that realm in May; but the inquisitive young count, whose influence had proved so fatal, must be sent for at least a year to some place a hundred leagues from Paris. The oracle also indicated the manner in which he was to travel; he was to have a tutor, a servant, and all in order.
The oracle had spoken, and no more was wanted. Madame d’Urfe thought of an abbe she liked for his tutor, and the count was sent to Lyons, with strong letters of commendation to M. de Rochebaron, a relation of his patroness. The young man was delighted to travel, and never had any suspicion of the way in which I had slandered him. It was not a mere fancy which suggested this course of action. I had discovered that the Corticelli was making up to him, and that her mother favoured the intrigue. I had surprised her twice in the young man’s room, and though he only cared for the girl as a youth cares for all girls, the Signora Laura did not at all approve of my opposing her daughter’s designs.
Our next task was to fix on some foreign town where we could again attempt the mysterious operation. We settled on Aix-la-Chapelle, and in five or six days all was ready for the journey.
The Corticeili, angry with me for having thwarted her in her projects, reproached me bitterly, and from that time began to be my enemy; she even allowed herself to threaten me if I did not get back the pretty boy, as she called him.
“You have no business to be jealous,” said she, “and I am the mistress of my own actions.”
“Quite right, my dear,” I answered; “but it is my business to see that you do not behave like a prostitute in your present position.”
The mother was in a furious rage, and said that she and her daughter would return to Bologna, and to quiet them I promised to take them there myself as soon as we had been to Aix-la-Chapelle.
Nevertheless I did not feel at ease, and to prevent any plots taking place I hastened our departure.
We started in May, in a travelling carriage containing Madame d’Urfe, myself, the false Lascaris, and her maid and favourite, named Brougnole. We were followed by a coach with two seats; in it were the Signora Laura and another servant. Two men-servants in full livery sat on the outside of our travelling carriage. We stopped a day at Brussels, and another at Liege. At Aix there were many distinguished visitors, and at the first ball we attended Madame d’Urfe presented the Lascaris to two Princesses of Mecklenburg as her niece. The false countess received their embraces with much ease and modesty, and attracted the particular attention of the Margrave of Baireuth and the Duchess of Wurtemberg, his daughter, who took possession of her, and did not leave her till the end of the ball.
I was on thorns the whole time, in terror lest the heroine might make some dreadful slip. She danced so gracefully that everybody gazed at her, and I was the person who was complimented on her performance.
I suffered a martyrdom, for these compliments seemed to be given with malicious intent. I suspected that the ballet-girl had been discovered beneath the countess, and I felt myself dishonoured. I succeeded in speaking privately to the young wanton for a moment, and begged her to dance like a young lady, and not like a chorus girl; but she was proud of her success, and dared to tell me that a young lady might know how to dance as well as a professional dancer, and that she was not going to dance badly to please me. I was so enraged with her impudence, that I would have cast her off that instant if it had been possible; but as it was not, I determined that her punishment should lose none of its sharpness by waiting; and whether it be a vice or a virtue, the desire of revenge is never extinguished in my heart till it is satisfied.
The day after the ball Madame d’Urfe presented her with a casket containing a beautiful watch set with brilliants, a pair of diamond ear-rings, and a ring containing a ruby of fifteen carats. The whole was worth sixty thousand francs. I took possession of it to prevent her going off without my leave.
In the meanwhile I amused myself with play and making bad acquaintances. The worst of all was a French officer, named d’Ache, who had a pretty wife and a daughter prettier still. Before long the daughter had taken possession of the heart which the Corticelli had lost, but as soon as Madame d’Ache saw that I preferred her daughter to herself she refused to receive me at her house.
I had lent d’Ache ten Louis, and I consequently felt myself entitled to complain of his wife’s conduct; but he answered rudely that as I only went to the house after his daughter, his wife was quite right; that he intended his daughter to make a good match, and that if my intentions were honourable I had only to speak to the mother. His manner was still more offensive than his words, and I felt enraged, but knowing the brutal drunken characteristics of the man, and that he was always ready to draw cold steel for a yes or a no, I was silent and resolved to forget the girl, not caring to become involved with a man like her father.
I had almost cured myself of my fancy when, a few days after our conversation, I happened to go into a billiard-room where d’Ache was playing with a Swiss named Schmit, an officer in the Swedish army. As soon as d’Ache saw me he asked whether I would lay the ten Louis he owed me against him.
“Yes,” said I, “that will make double or quits.”
Towards the end of the match d’Ache made an unfair stroke, which was so evident that the marker told him of it; but as this stroke made him the winner, d’Ache seized the stakes and put them in his pocket without heeding the marker or the other player, who, seeing himself cheated before his very eyes, gave the rascal a blow across the face with his cue. D’Ache parried the blow with his hand, and drawing his sword rushed at Schmit, who had no arms. The marker, a sturdy young fellow, caught hold of d’Ache round the body, and thus prevented murder. The Swiss went out, saying,
“We shall see each other again.”
The rascally Frenchman cooled down, and said to me,
“Now, you see, we are quits.”
“Very much quits.”
“That’s all very well; but, by God! you might have prevented the insult which has dishonoured me.”
“I might have done so, but I did not care to interfere. You are strong enough to look after yourself. Schmit had not his sword, but I believe him to be a brave man; and he will give you satisfaction if you will return him his money, for there can be no doubt that you lost the match.”
An officer, named de Pyene, took me up and said that he himself would give me the twenty louis which d’Ache had taken, but that the Swiss must give satisfaction. I had no hesitation in promising that he would do so, and said I would bring a reply to the challenge the next morning.
I had no fears myself. The man of honour ought always to be ready to use the sword to defend himself from insult, or to give satisfaction for an insult he has offered. I know that the law of duelling is a prejudice which may be called, and perhaps rightly, barbarous, but it is a prejudice which no man of honour can contend against, and I believed Schmit to be a thorough gentleman.
I called on him at day-break, and found him still in bed. As soon as he saw me, he said,
“I am sure you have come to ask me to fight with d’Ache. I am quite ready to burn powder with him, but he must first pay me the twenty Louis he robbed me of.”
“You shall have them to-morrow, and I will attend you. D’Ache will be seconded by M. de Pyene.”
“Very good. I shall expect you at day-break.”
Two hours after I saw de Pyene, and we fixed the meeting for the next day, at six o’clock in the morning. The arms were to be pistols. We chose a garden, half a league from the town, as the scene of the combat.
At day-break I found the Swiss waiting for me at the door of his lodgings, carolling the ‘ranz-des-vaches’, so dear to his fellow- countrymen. I thought that a good omen.
“Here you are,” said he; “let us be off, then.”
On the way, he observed, “I have only fought with men of honour up to now, and I don’t much care for killing a rascal; it’s hangman’s work.”
“I know,” I replied, “that it’s very hard to have to risk one’s life against a fellow like that.”
“There’s no risk,” said Schmit, with a laugh. “I am certain that I shall kill him.”
“How can you be certain?”
“I shall make him tremble.”
He was right. This secret is infallible when it is applied to a coward. We found d’Ache and de Pyene on the field, and five or six others who must have been present from motives of curiosity.
D’Ache took twenty louis from his pocket and gave them to his enemy, saying,
“I may be mistaken, but I hope to make you pay dearly for your brutality.” Then turning to me he said,
“I owe you twenty louis also;” but I made no reply.
Schmit put the money in his purse with the calmest air imaginable, and making no reply to the other’s boast placed himself between two trees, distant about four paces from one another, and drawing two pistols from his pocket said to d’Ache,
“Place yourself at a distance of ten paces, and fire first. I shall walk to and fro between these two trees, and you may walk as far if you like to do so when my turn comes to fire.”
Nothing could be clearer or more calmly delivered than this explanation.
“But we must decide,” said I, “who is to have the first shot.”
“There is no need,” said Schmit. “I never fire first, besides, the gentleman has a right to the first shot.”
De Pyene placed his friend at the proper distance and then stepped aside, and d’Ache fired on his antagonist, who was walking slowly to and fro without looking at him. Schmit turned round in the coolest manner possible, and said,
“You have missed me, sir; I knew you would. Try again.”
I thought he was mad, and that some arrangement would be come to; but nothing of the kind. D’Ache fired a second time, and again missed; and Schmit, without a word, but as calm as death, fired his first pistol in the air, and then covering d’Ache with his second pistol hit him in the forehead and stretched him dead on the ground. He put back his pistols into his pocket and went off directly by himself, as if he were merely continuing his walk. In two minutes I followed his example, after ascertaining that the unfortunate d’Ache no longer breathed.
I was in a state of amazement. Such a duel was more like a combat of romance than a real fact. I could not understand it; I had watched the Swiss, and had not noticed the slightest change pass over his face.
I breakfasted with Madame d’Urfe, whom I found inconsolable. It was the full moon, and at three minutes past four exactly I ought to perform the mysterious creation of the child in which she was to be born again. But the Lascaris, on whom the work was to be wrought, was twisting and turning in her bed, contorting herself in such a way that it would be impossible for me to accomplish the prolific work.
My grief, when I heard what had happened, was hypocritical; in the first place because I no longer felt any desire for the girl, and in the second because I thought I saw a way in which I could make use of the incident to take vengeance on her.
I lavished consolations on Madame d’Urfe; and on consulting the oracle I found that the Lascaris had been defiled by an evil genius, and that I must search for another virgin whose purity must be under the protection of more powerful spirits. I saw that my madwoman was perfectly happy with this, and I left her to visit the Corticelli, whom I found in bed with her mother beside her.
“You have convulsions, have you, dearest?” said I.
“No, I haven’t. I am quite well, but all the same I shall have them till you give me back my jewel-casket.”
“You are getting wicked, my poor child; this comes of following your mother’s advice. As for the casket, if you are going to behave like this, probably you will have it.”
“I will reveal all.”
“You will not be believed; and I shall send you back to Bologna without letting you take any of the presents which Madame d’Urfe has given you.”
“You ought to have given me back the casket when I declared myself with child.”
Signora Laura told me that this was only too true, though I was not the father.
“Who is, then?” I asked.
“Count N—-, whose mistress she was at Prague.”
It did not seem probable, as she had no symptoms of pregnancy; still it might be so. I was obliged to plot myself to bring the plots of these two rascally women to nought, and without saying anything to them I shut myself up with Madame d’Urfe to enquire of the oracle concerning the operation which was to make her happy.
After several answers, more obscure than any returned from the oracular tripod at Delphi, the interpretation of which I left to the infatuated Madame d’Urfe, she discovered herself–and I took care not to contradict her–that the Countess Lascaris had gone mad. I encouraged her fears, and succeeded in making her obtain from a cabalistic pyramid the statement that the reason the princess had not conceived was that she had been defiled by an evil genius–an enemy of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross. This put Madame d’Urfe fairly on the way, and she added on her own account that the girl must be with child by a gnome.
She then erected another pyramid to obtain guidance on our quest, and I so directed things that the answer came that she must write to the moon.
This mad reply, which should have brought her to her senses, only made her more crazy than ever. She was quite ecstatic, and I am sure that if I had endeavoured to shew her the nothingness of all this I show have had nothing for my trouble. Her conclusion would probably have been that I was possessed by an evil spirit, and was no longer a true Rosy Cross. But I had no idea of undertaking a cure which would have done me harm and her no ‘good. Her chimerical notions made her happy, and the cold naked truth would doubtless have made her unhappy.
She received the order to write to the moon with the greater delight as she knew what ceremonies were to be observed in addressing that planet; but she could not dispense with the assistance of an adept, and I knew she would reckon on me. I told her I should always be ready to serve her, but that, as she knew herself, we should have to wait for the first phase of the new moon. I was very glad to gain time, for I had lost heavily at play, and I could not leave Aix-la-Chapelle before a bill, which I had drawn on M. d’O. of Amsterdam, was cashed. In the mean time we agreed that as the Countess Lascaris had become mad, we must not pay any attention to what she might say, as the words would not be hers but would proceed from the evil spirit who possessed her.
Nevertheless, we determined that as her state was a pitiable one, and should be as much alleviated as possible, she should continue to dine with us, but that in the evening she was to go to her governess and sleep with her.
After having thus disposed of Madame d’Urfe to disbelieve whatever the Corticelli cared to tell her, and to concentrate all her energies on the task of writing to Selenis, the intelligence of the moon, I set myself seriously to work to regain the money I had lost at play; and here my cabala was no good to me. I pledged the Corticelli’s casket for a thousand louis, and proceeded to play in an English club where I had a much better chance of winning than with Germans or Frenchmen.
Three or four days after d’Ache’s death, his widow wrote me a note begging me to call on her. I found her in company with de Pyene. She told me in a lugubrious voice that her husband had left many debts unsettled, and that his creditors had seized everything she possessed; and–that she was thus unable to pay the expenses of a journey, though she wanted to take her daughter with her to Colmar, and there to rejoin her family.
“You caused my husband’s death,” she added, “and I ask you to give me a thousand crowns; if you refuse me I shall commence a lawsuit against you, for as the Swiss officer has left, you are the only person I can prosecute.”
“I am surprised at your taking such a tone towards me,” I replied, coldly, “and were it not for the respect I feel for your misfortune, I should answer as bitterly as you deserve. In the first place I have not a thousand crowns to throw away, and if I had I would not sacrifice my money to threats. I am curious to know what kind of a case you could get up against me in the courts of law. As for Schmit, he fought like a brave gentleman, and I don’t think you could get much out of him if he were still here. Good-day, madam.”
I had scarcely got fifty paces from the house when I was joined by de Pyene, who said that rather than Madame d’Ache should have to complain of me he would cut my throat on the spot. We neither of us had swords.
“Your intention is not a very flattering one,” said I, “and there is something rather brutal about it. I had rather not have any affair of the kind with a man whom I don’t know and to whom I owe nothing.”
“You are a coward.”
“I would be, you mean, if I were to imitate you. It is a matter of perfect indifference to me what opinion you may have on the subject.
“You will be sorry for this.”
“Maybe, but I warn you that I never go out unattended by a pair of pistols, which I keep in good order and know how to use.” So saying I shewd him the pistols, and took one in my right hand.
At this the bully uttered an oath and we separated.
At a short distance from the place where this scene had occurred I met a Neapolitan named Maliterni, a lieutenant-colonel and aide to the Prince de Condo, commander-in-chief of the French army. This Maliterni was a boon companion, always ready to oblige, and always short of money. We were friends, and I told him what had happened.
“I should be sorry,” said I, “to have anything to do with a fellow like de Pyene, and if you can rid me of him I promise you a hundred crowns.”
“I daresay that can be managed,” he replied, “and I will tell you what I can do to-morrow!”
In point of fact, he brought me news the next day that my cut- throat had received orders from his superior officer to leave Aix- la-Chapelle at day-break, and at the same time he gave me a passport from the Prince de Conde.
I confess that this was very pleasant tidings. I have never feared to cross my sword with any man, though never sought the barbarous pleasure of spilling men’s blood; but on this occasion I felt an extreme dislike to a duel with a fellow who was probably of the same caste as his friend d’Ache.
I therefore gave Maliterni my heartiest thanks, as well as the hundred crowns I had promised him, which I considered so well employed that I did not regret their loss.
Maliterni, who was a jester of the first water, and a creature of the Marshal d’Estrees, was lacking neither in wit nor knowledge; but he was deficient in a sense of order and refinement. He was a pleasant companion, for his gaiety was inexhaustible and he had a large knowledge of the world. He attained the rank of field- marshal in 1768, and went to Naples to marry a rich heiress, whom he left a widow a year after.
The day after de Pyene’s departure I received a note from Mdlle. d’Ache, begging me, for the sake of her sick mother, to come and see her. I answered that I would be at such a place at such a time, and that she could say what she liked to me.
I found her at the place and time I appointed, with her mother, whose illness, it appeared, did not prevent her from going out. She called me her persecutor, and said that since the departure of her best friend, de Pyene, she did not know where to turn; that she had pledged all her belongings, and that I, who was rich, ought to aid her, if I were not the vilest of men.
“I feel for your condition,” I replied, “as I feel your abuse of me; and I cannot help saying that you have shewn yourself the vilest of women in inciting de Pyene, who may be an honest man for all I know, to assassinate me. In fine, rich or not, and though I owe you nothing, I will give you enough money to take your property out of pawn, and I may possibly take you to Colmar myself, but you must first consent to my giving your charming daughter a proof of my affection.”
“And you dare to make this horrible proposal to me?”
“Horrible or not, I do make it.”
“I will never consent.”
“Good day, madam.”
I called the waiter to pay him for the refreshments I had ordered, and I gave the girl six double louis, but her proud mother forbade her to accept the money from me. I was not surprised, in spite of her distress; for the mother was in reality still more charming than the daughter, and she knew it. I ought to have given her the preference, and thus have ended the dispute, but who can account for his whims? I felt that she must hate me, for she did not care for her daughter, and it must have humiliated her bitterly to be obliged to regard her as a victorious rival.
I left them still holding the six double louis, which pride or scorn had refused, and I went to the faro-table and decided in sacrificing them to fortune; but that capricious deity, as proud as the haughty widow, refused them, and though I left them on the board for five deals I almost broke the bank. An Englishman, named Martin, offered to go shares with me, and I accepted, as I knew he was a good player; and in the course of eight or ten days we did such good business that I was not only able to take the casket out of pledge and to cover all losses, but made a considerable profit in addition.
About this period, the Corticelli, in her rage against me, had told Madame d’Urfe the whole history of her life, of our acquaintance, and of her pregnancy. But the more truthfully she told her story so much the more did the good lady believe her to be mad, and we often laughed together at the extraordinary fancies of the traitress. Madame d’Urfe put all her trust in the instructions which Selenis would give in reply to her letter.
Nevertheless, as the girl’s conduct displeased me, I made her eat her meals with her mother, while I kept Madame d’Urfe company. I assured her that we should easily find another vessel of election, the madness of the Countess Lascaris having made her absolutely incapable of participating in our mysterious rites.
Before long, d’Ache’s widow found herself obliged to give me her Mimi; but I won her by kindness, and in such a way that the mother could pretend with decency to know nothing about it. I redeemed all the goods she had pawned, and although the daughter had not yet yielded entirely to my ardour, I formed the plan of taking them to Colmar with Madame d’Urfe. To make up the good lady’s mind, I resolved to let that be one of the instructions from the moon, and this she would not only obey blindly but would have no suspicions as to my motive.
I managed the correspondence between Selenis and Madame d’Urfe in the following manner:
On the day appointed, we supped together in a garden beyond the town walls, and in a room on the ground floor of the house I had made all the necessary preparations, the letter which was to fall from the moon, in reply to Madame d’Urfe’s epistle, being in my pocket. At a little distance from the chamber of ceremonies I had placed a large bath filled with lukewarm water and perfumes pleasing to the deity of the night, into which we were to plunge at the hour of the moon, which fell at one o’clock.
When we had burnt incense, and sprinkled the essences appropriate to the cult of Selenis, we took off all our clothes, and holding the letter concealed in my left hand, with the right I graciously led Madame d’Urfe to the brink of the bath. Here stood an alabaster cup containing spirits of wine which I kindled, repeating magical words which I did not understand, but which she said after me, giving me the letter addressed to Selenis. I burnt the letter in the flame of the spirits, beneath the light of the moon, and the credulous lady told me she saw the characters she had traced ascending in the rays of the planet.
We then got into the bath, and the letter, which was written in silver characters on green paper appeared on the surface of the water in the course of ten minutes. As soon as Madame d’Urfe saw it, she picked it up reverently and got out of the bath with me.
We dried and scented ourselves, and proceeded to put on our clothes. As soon as we were in a state of decency I told Madame d’Urfe that she might read the epistle, which she had placed on a scented silk cushion. She obeyed, and I saw sadness visibly expressed on her features when she saw that her hypostasis was deferred till the arrival of Querilinthus, whom she would see with me at Marseilles in the spring of next year. The genius also said that the Countess Lascaris could not only do her harm, and that she should consult me as to the best means of getting rid of her. The letter ended by ordering her not to leave at Aix a lady who had lost her husband, and had a daughter who was destined to be of great service to the fraternity of the R. C. She was to take them to Alsace, and not to leave them till they were there, and safe from that danger which threatened them if they were left to themselves.
Madame d’Urfe, who with all her folly was an exceedingly benevolent woman, commended the widow to my care enthusiastically, and seemed impatient to hear her whole history. I told her all the circumstances which I thought would strengthen her in her resolution to befriend them, and promised to introduce the ladies to them at the first opportunity.
We returned to Aix, and spent the night in discussing the phantoms which coursed through her brain. All was going on well, and my only care was for the journey to Aix, and how to obtain the complete enjoyment of Mimi after having so well deserved her favours.
I had a run of luck at play the next day, and in the evening I gave Madame d’Ache an agreeable surprise by telling her that I should accompany her and her Mimi to Colmar. I told her that I should begin by introducing her to the lady whom I had the honour to accompany, and I begged her to be ready by the next day as the marchioness was impatient to see her. I could see that she could scarcely believe her ears, for she thought Madame d’Urfe was in love with me, and she could not understand her desire to make the acquaintance of two ladies who might be dangerous rivals.
I conducted them to Madame d’Urfe at the appointed hour, and they were received with a warmth which surprised them exceedingly, for they could not be expected to know that their recommendation came from the moon. We made a party of four, and while the two ladies talked together in the fashion of ladies who have seen the world, I paid Mimi a particular attention, which her mother understood very well, but which Madame d’Urfe attributed to the young lady’s connection with the Rosy Cross.
In the evening we all went to a ball, and there the Corticelli, who was always trying to annoy me, danced as no young lady would dance. She executed rapid steps, pirouetted, cut capers, and shewed her legs; in short, she behaved like a ballet-girl. I was on thorns. An officer, who either ignored, or pretended to ignore, my supposed relation to her, asked me if she was a professional dancer. I heard another man behind me say that he thought he remembered seeing her on the boards at Prague. I resolved on hastening my departure, as I foresaw that if I stayed much longer at Aix the wretched girl would end by costing me my life.
As I have said, Madame d’Ache had a good society manner, and this put her in Madame d’Urfe’s good graces, who saw in her politeness a new proof of the favour of Selenis. Madame d’Ache felt, I suppose, that she awed me some return after all I had done for her, and left the ball early, so that when I took Mimi home I found myself alone with her, and at perfect liberty to do what I liked. I profited by the opportunity, and remained with Mimi for two hours, finding her so complaisant and even passionate that when I left her I had nothing more to desire.
In three days time I provided the mother and daughter with their outfit, and we left Aix gladly in an elegant and convenient travelling carriage which I had provided. Half an hour before we left I made an acquaintance which afterwards proved fatal to me. A Flemish officer, unknown to me, accosted me, and painted his destitute condition in such sad colours that I felt obliged to give him twelve louis. Ten minutes after, he gave me a paper in which he acknowledged the debt, and named the time in which he could pay it. From the paper I ascertained that his name was Malingan. In ten months the reader will hear the results.
Just as we were starting I shewed the Corticelli a carriage with four places, in which she, her mother, and the two maids, were to travel. At this she trembled, her pride was wounded, and for a moment I thought she was going out of her mind; she rained sobs, abuse, and curses on me. I stood the storm unmoved, however, and Madame d’Urfe only laughed at her niece’s paroxysms, and seemed delighted to find herself sitting opposite to me with the servant of Selenis beside her, while Mimi was highly pleased to be so close to me.
We got to Liege at nightfall on the next day, and I contrived to make Madame d’Urfe stay there the day following, wishing to get horses to take us through the Ardennes, and thus to have the charming Mimi longer in my possession.
I rose early and went out to see the town. By the great bridge, a woman, so wrapped up in a black mantilla that only the tip of her nose was visible, accosted me, and asked me to follow her into a house with an open door which she shewed me.
“As I have not the pleasure of knowing you,” I replied, “prudence will not allow me to do so.”
“You do know me, though,” she replied, and taking me to the corner of a neighbouring street she shewed me her face. What was my surprise to see the fair Stuart of Avignon, the statue of the Fountain of Vaucluse. I was very glad to meet her.
In my curiosity I followed her into the house, to a room on the first floor, where she welcomed me most tenderly. It was all no good, for I felt angry with her, and despised her advances, no doubt, because I had Mimi, and wished to keep all my love for her. However, I took three louis out of my purse and gave them to her, asking her to tell me her history.
“Stuart,” she said, “was only my keeper; my real name is Ranson, and I am the mistress of a rich landed proprietor. I got back to Liege after many sufferings.”
“I am delighted to hear that you are more prosperous now, but it must be confessed that your behaviour at Avignon was both preposterous and absurd. But the subject is not worth discussing. Good day, madam.”
I then returned to my hotel to write an account of what I had seen to the Marquis Grimaldi.
The next day we left Liege, and were two days passing through the Ardennes. This is one of the strangest tracts in Europe: a vast forest, the traditions of which furnished Ariosto with some splendid passages.
There is no town in the forest, and though one is obliged to cross it to pass from one country to another, hardly any of the necessaries of life are to be found in it.
The enquirer will seek in vain for vices or virtues, or manners of any kind. The inhabitants are devoid of correct ideas, but have wild notions of their own on the power of men they style scholars. It is enough to be a doctor to enjoy the reputation of an astrologer and a wizard. Nevertheless the Ardennes have a large population, as I was assured that there were twelve hundred churches in the forest. The people are good-hearted and even pleasant, especially the young girls; but as a general rule the fair sex is by no means fair in those quarters. In this vast district watered by the Meuse is the town of Bouillon–a regular hole, but in my time it was the freest place in Europe. The Duke of Bouillon was so jealous of his rights that he preferred the exercise of his prerogatives to all the honours he might have enjoyed at the Court of France. We stayed a day at Metz, but did not call on anyone; and in three days we reached Colmar, where we left Madame d’Ache, whose good graces I had completely won. Her family, in extremely comfortable circumstances, received the mother and daughter with great affection. Mimi wept bitterly when I left her, but I consoled her by saying that I would come back before long. Madame d’Urfe seemed not to mind leaving them, and I consoled myself easily enough. While congratulating myself on having made mother and daughter happy, I adored the secret paths and ways of Divine Providence.
On the following day we went to Sulzbach, where the Baron of Schaumburg, who knew Madame d’Urfe, gave us a warm welcome. I should have been sadly boared in this dull place if it had not been for gaming. Madame d’Urfe, finding herself in need of company, encouraged the Corticelli to hope to regain my good graces, and, consequently, her own. The wretched girl, seeing how easily I had defeated her projects, and to what a pass of humiliation I had brought her, had changed her part, and was now submissive enough. She flattered herself that she would regain the favour she had completely lost, and she thought the day was won when she saw that Madame d’Ache and her daughter stayed at Colmar. But what she had more at heart than either my friendship or Madame d’Urfe’s was the jewel-casket; but she dared not ask for it, and her hopes of seeing it again were growing dim. By her pleasantries at table which made Madame d’Urfe laugh she succeeded in giving me a few amorous twinges; but still I did not allow my feelings to relax my severity, and she continued to sleep with her mother.
A week after our arrival at Sulzbach I left Madame d’Urfe with the Baron of Schaumburg, and I went to Colmar in the hope of good fortune. But I was disappointed, as the mother and daughter had both made arrangements for getting married.
A rich merchant, who had been in love with the mother eighteen years before, seeing her a widow and still pretty, felt his early flames revive, and offered his hand and was accepted. A young advocate found Mimi to his taste, and asked her in marriage. The mother and daughter, fearing the results of my affection, and finding it would be a good match, lost no time in giving their consent. I was entertained in the family, and supped in the midst of a numerous and choice assemblage; but seeing that I should only annoy the ladies and tire myself in waiting for some chance favour if I stayed, I bade them adieu and returned to Sulzbach the next morning. I found there a charming girl from Strasburg, named Salzmann, three or four gamesters who had come to drink the waters, and several ladies, to whom I shall introduce the reader in the ensuing chapter.
CHAPTER XVI
I Send The Corticelli to Turin–Helen is Initiated Into The Mysteries of Love I Go to Lyons–My Arrival at Turin
One of the ladies, Madame Saxe, was intended by nature to win the devotion of a man of feeling; and if she had not had a jealous officer in her train who never let her go out of his sight, and seemed to threaten anyone who aspired to please, she would probably have had plenty of admirers. This officer was fond of piquet, but the lady was always obliged to sit close beside him, which she seemed to do with pleasure.
In the afternoon I played with him, and continued doing so for five or six days. After that I could stand it no longer, as when he had won ten or twelve louis he invariably rose and left me to myself. His name was d’Entragues; he was a fine-looking man, though somewhat thin, and had a good share of wit and knowledge of the world.
We had not played together for two days, when one afternoon he asked if I would like to take my revenge.
“No, I think not,” said I, “for we don’t play on the same principle. I play for amusement’s sake and you play to win money.”
“What do you mean? Your words are offensive.”
“I didn’t mean them to be offensive, but as a matter of fact, each time we have played you have risen after a quarter of an hour.”
“You ought to be obliged to me, as otherwise you would have lost heavily.”
“Possibly; but I don’t think so.”
“I can prove it to you:”
“I accept the offer, but the first to leave the table must forfeit fifty Louis.”
“I agree; but money down.”
“I never play on credit.”
I ordered a waiter to bring cards, and I went to fetch four or five rolls of a hundred Louis each. We began playing for five Louis the game, each player putting down the fifty Louis wagered.
We began to play at three, and at nine o’clock d’Entragues said we might take some supper.
“I am not hungry,” I replied, “but you can go if you want me to put the hundred Louis in my pocket.”
He laughed at this and went on playing, but this lacy fair scowled at me, though I did not care in the least for that. All the guests went to supper, and returned to keep us company till midnight, but at that hour we found ourselves alone. D’Entragues saw what kind of man he had got hold of and said never a word, while I only opened my lips to score; we played with the utmost coolness.
At six o’clock the ladies and gentlemen who were taking the waters began to assemble. We were applauded for our determination, in spite of our grim look. The Louis were on the table; I had lost a hundred, and yet the game was going in my favour.
At nine the fair Madame Saxe put in an appearance, and shortly after Madame d’Urfe came in with M. de Schaumburg. Both ladies advised us to take a cup of chocolate. D’Entragues was the first to consent, and thinking that I was almost done he said,–
“Let us agree that the first man who asks for food, who absents himself for more than a quarter of an hour, or who falls asleep in his chair, loses the bet.”
“I will take you at your word,” I replied, “and I adhere to all your conditions.”
The chocolate came, we took it, and proceeded with our play. At noon we were summoned to dinner, but we both replied that we were not hungry. At four o’clock we allowed ourselves to be persuaded into taking some soup. When supper-time came and we were still playing, people began to think that the affair was getting serious, and Madame Saxe urged us to divide the wager. D’Entragues, who had won a hundred louis, would have gladly consented, but I would not give in, and M. de Schaumburg pronounced me within my rights. My adversary might have abandoned the stake and still found himself with a balance to the good, but avarice rather than pride prevented his doing so. I felt the loss myself, but what I cared chiefly about was the point of honour. I still looked fresh, while he resembled a disinterred corpse. As Madame Saxe urged me strongly to give way, I answered that I felt deeply grieved at not being able to satisfy such a charming woman, but that there was a question of honour in the case; and I was determined not to yield to my antagonist if I sat there till I fell dead to the ground.
I had two objects in speaking thus: I wanted to frighten him and to make him jealous of me. I felt certain that a man in a passion of jealousy would be quite confused, and I hoped his play would suffer accordingly, and that I should not have the mortification of losing a hundred louis to his superior play, though I won the fifty louis of the wager.
The fair Madame Saxe gave me a glance of contempt and left us, but Madame d’Urfe, who believed I was infallible, avenged me by saying to d’Entragues, in a tone of the profoundest conviction,–
“O Lord! I pity you, sir.”
The company did not return after supper, and we were left alone to our play. We played on all the night, and I observed my antagonist’s face as closely as the cards. He began to lose his composure, and made mistakes, his cards got mixed up, and his scoring was wild. I was hardly less done up than he; I felt myself growing weaker, and I hoped to see him fall to the ground every moment, as I began to be afraid of being beaten in spite of the superior strength of my constitution. I had won back my money by day-break, and I cavilled with him for being away for more than a quarter of an hour. This quarrel about nothing irritated him, and roused me up; the difference of our natures produced these different results, and my stratagem succeeded because it was impromptu, and could not have been foreseen. In the same way in war, sudden stratagems succeed.
At nine o’clock Madame Saxe came in, her lover was losing.
“Now, sir,” she said to me, “you may fairly yield.”
“Madam,” said I, “in hope of pleasing you, I will gladly divide the stakes and rise from the table.”
The tone of exaggerated gallantry with which I pronounced these words, put d’Entragues into a rage, and he answered sharply that he would not desist till one of us was dead.
With a glance at the lady which was meant to be lovelorn, but which must have been extremely languid in my exhausted state, I said,–
“You see, Madam, that I am not the more obstinate of the two.”
A dish of soup was served to us, but d’Entragues, who was in the last stage of exhaustion, had no sooner swallowed the soup than he fell from his chair in a dead faint. He was soon taken up, and after I had given six louis to the marker who had been watching for forty-eight hours, I pocketed the gold, and went to the apothecary’s where I took a mild emetic. Afterwards I went to bed and slept for a few hours, and at three o’clock I made an excellent dinner.
D’Entragues remained in his room till the next day. I expected a quarrel, but the night brings counsel, and I made a mistake. As soon as he saw me he ran up to me and embraced me, saying,–
“I made a silly bet, but you have given me a lesson which will last me all my days, and I am much obliged to you for it.”
“I am delighted to hear it, provided that your health has not suffered.”
“No, I am quite well, but we will play no more together.”
“Well, I hope we shan’t play against each other any more.”
In the course of eight or ten days I took Madame d’Urfe and the pretended Lascaris to Bale. We put up at the inn of the famous Imhoff, who swindled us, but, all the same, the “Three Kings” is the best inn in the town. I think I have noted that noon at Bale is at eleven o’clock–an absurdity due to some historic event, which I had explained to me but have forgotten. The inhabitants are said to be subject to a kind of madness, of which they are cured by taking the waters of Sulzbach; but they ‘get it again as soon as they return.
We should have stayed at Bale some time, if it had not been for an incident which made me hasten our departure. It was as follows:
My necessities had obliged me to forgive the Corticelli to a certain extent, and when I came home early I spent the night with her; but when I came home late, as often happened, I slept in my own room. The little hussy, in the latter case, slept also alone in a room next to her mother’s, through whose chamber one had to pass to get to the daughter’s.
One night I came in at one o’clock, and not feeling inclined to sleep, I took a candle and went in search of my charmer. I was rather surprised to find Signora Laura’s door half open, and just as I was going in the old woman came forward and took me by the arm, begging me not to go into her daughter’s room.
“Why?” said I.
“She has been very poorly all the evening, and she is in need of sleep.”
“Very good; then I will sleep too.”
So saying I pushed the mother to one side, and entering the girl’s room I found her in bed with someone who was hiding under the sheets.
I ‘gazed at the picture for a moment and then began to laugh, and sitting down on the bed begged to enquire the name of the happy individual whom I should have the pleasure of throwing out of the window. On a chair I saw the coat, trousers, hat, and cane of the gentleman; but as I had my two trusty pistols about me I knew I had nothing to fear; however, I did not want to make a noise.
With tears in her eyes, and trembling all over, the girl took my hand and begged me to forgive her.
“It’s a young lord,” said she, “and I don’t even know his name.”
“Oh, he is a young lord, is he? and you don’t know his name, you little hussy, don’t you? Well, he will tell me himself.”
So saying, I took a pistol and vigorously stripped the sheets off the cuckoo who had got into my nest. I saw the face of a young man whom I did not know, his head covered with a nightcap, but the rest perfectly naked, as indeed was my mistress. He turned his back to me to get his shirt which he had thrown on the floor, but seizing him by the arm I held him firmly, with my pistol to his forehead.
“Kindly tell me your name, fair sir.”
“I am Count B—-, canon of Bale.”
“And do you think you have been performing an ecclesiastical function here?”
“No sir, no, and I hope you will forgive me and the lady too, for I am the only guilty party.”
“I am not asking you whether she is guilty or not.”
“Sir, the countess is perfectly innocent.”
I felt in a good temper, and far from being angry I was strongly inclined to laugh. I found the picture before me an attractive one; it was amusing and voluptuous. The sight of the two nudities on the bed was a truly lascivious one, and I remained contemplating it in silence for a quarter of an hour, occupied in resisting a strong temptation to take off my clothes and lie beside them. The only thing which prevented my yielding to it was the fear that I might find the canon to be a fool, incapable of playing the part with dignity. As for the Corticelli, she soon passed from tears to laughter, and would have done it well, but if, as I feared, the canon was a blockhead, I should have been degrading myself.
I felt certain that neither of them had guessed my thoughts, so I rose and told the canon to put on his clothes.
“No one must hear anything more of this,” said I, “but you and I will go to a distance of two hundred paces and burn a little powder.”
“No, no, sir,” cried my gentleman, “you may take me where you like, and kill me if you please, but I was not meant for a fighting man.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir, and I only became a priest to escape the fatal duty of duelling.”
“Then you are a coward, and will not object to a good thrashing?”
“Anything you like, but it would be cruelty, for my love blinded me. I only came here a quarter of an hour ago, and the countess and her governess were both asleep.”
“You are a liar.”
“I had only just taken off my shirt when you came, and I have never seen this angel before.”
“And that’s gospel truth,” said the Corticelli.
“Are you aware that you are a couple of impudent scoundrels? And as for you, master canon, you deserve to be roasted like St. Laurence.”
In the meanwhile the wretched ecclesiastic had huddled on his clothes.
“Follow me, sir,” said I, in a tone which froze the marrow of his bones; and I accordingly took him to my room.
“What will you do,” said I, “if I forgive you and let you go without putting you to shame?”
“I will leave in an hour and a half, and you shall never see me here again; but even if we meet in the future, you will find me always ready to do you a service.”
“Very good. Begone, and in the future take more precautions in your amorous adventures.”
After this I went to bed, well pleased with what I had seen and what I had done, for I now had complete power over the Corticelli.
In the morning I called on her as soon as I got up, and told her to pack up her things, forbidding her to leave her room till she got into the carriage.
“I shall say I am ill.”
“Just as you please, but nobody will take any notice of you.”
I did not wait for her to make any further objections, but proceeded to tell the tale of what had passed to Madame d’Urfe, slightly embroidering the narrative. She laughed heartily, and enquired of the oracle what must be done with the Lascaris after her evident pollution by the evil genius disguised as a priest. The oracle replied that we must set out the next day for Besancon, whence she would go to Lyons and await me there, while I would take the countess to Geneva, and thus send her back to her native country.
The worthy visionary was enchanted with this arrangement, and saw in it another proof of the benevolence of Selenis, who would thus give her an opportunity of seeing young Aranda once more. It was agreed that I was to rejoin her in the spring of the following year, to perform the great operation which was to make her be born a man. She had not the slightest doubts as to the reasonableness of this performance.
All was ready, and the next day we started; Madame d’Urfe and I in the travelling carriage, and the Corticelli, her mother, and the servants in another conveyance.
When we got to Besancon Madame d’Urfe left me, and on the next day I journeyed towards Geneva with the mother and daughter.
On the way I not only did not speak to my companions, I did not so much as look at them. I made them have their meals with a servant from the Franche Comte, whom I had taken on M. de Schaumburg’s recommendation.
I went to my banker, and asked him to get me a good coachman, who would take two ladies of my acquaintance to Turin.
When I got back to the inn I wrote to the Chevalier Raiberti, sending him a bill of exchange. I warned him that in three or four days after the receipt of my letter he would be accosted by a Bolognese dancer and her mother, bearing a letter of commendation. I begged him to see that they lodged in a respectable house, and to pay for them on my behalf. I also said that I should be much obliged if he would contrive that she should dance, even for nothing, at the carnival, and I begged him to warn her that, if I heard any tales about her when I came to Turin, our relations would be at an end.
The following day a clerk of M. Tronchin’s brought a coachman for me to see. The man said he was ready to start as soon as he had had his dinner. I confirmed the agreement he had made with the banker, I summoned the two Corticellis, and said to the coachman,
“These are the persons you are to drive, and they will pay you when they reach Turin in safety with their luggage. You are to take four days and a half for the journey, as is stipulated in the agreement, of which they have one copy and you another.” An hour after he called to put the luggage in.
The Corticelli burst into tears, but I was not so cruel as to send her away without any consolation. Her bad conduct had been severely enough punished already. I made her dine with me, and as I gave her the letter for M. Raiberti, and twenty-five Louis for the journey, I told her what I had written to the gentleman, who would take good care of them. She asked me for a trunk containing three dresses and a superb mantle which Madame d’Urfe had given her before she became mad, but I said that we would talk of that at Turin. She dared not mention the casket, but continued weeping; however, she did not move me to pity. I left her much better off than when I first knew her; she had good clothes, good linen, jewels, and an exceedingly pretty watch I had given her; altogether a good deal more than she deserved.
As she was going I escorted her to the carriage, less for politeness’ sake than to commend her once more to the coachman. When she was fairly gone I felt as if a load had been taken off my back, and I went to look up my worthy syndic, whom the reader will not have forgotten. I had not written to him since I was in Florence, and I anticipated the pleasure of seeing his surprise, which was extreme. But after gazing at me for a moment he threw his arms round my neck, kissed me several times, and said he had not expected the pleasure of seeing me.
“How are our sweethearts getting on?”
“Excellently. They are always talking about you and regretting your absence; they will go wild with joy when they know you are here.”
“You must tell them directly, then.”
“I will go and warn them that we shall all sup together this evening. By the way, M. de Voltaire has given up his house at Delices to M. de Villars, and has gone to live at Ferney.”
“That makes no difference to me, as I was not thinking of calling on him this time. I shall be here for two or three weeks, and I mean to devote my time to you.”
“You are too good.”
“Will you give me writing materials before you go out? I will write a few letters while you are away.”
He put me in possession of his desk, and I wrote to my late housekeeper, Madame Lebel, telling her that I was going to spend three weeks at Geneva, and that if I were sure of seeing her I would gladly pay a visit to Lausanne. Unfortunately, I also wrote to the bad Genoese poet, Ascanio Pogomas, or Giaccomo Passano, whom I had met at Leghorn. I told him to go to Turin and to wait for me there. At the same time I wrote to M. F—-, to whom I had commended him, asking him to give the poet twelve Louis for the journey.
My evil genius made me think of this man, who was an imposing- looking fellow, and had all the air of a magician, to introduce him to Madame d’Urfe as a great adept. You will see, dear reader, in the course of a year whether I had reason to repent of this fatal inspiration.
As the syndic and I were on our way to our young friend’s house I saw an elegant English carriage for sale, and I exchanged it for mine, giving the owner a hundred Louis as well. While the bargain was going on the uncle of the young theologian who argued so well, and to whom I had given such pleasant lessons in physiology, came up to me, embraced me, and asked me to dine with him the next day.
Before we got to the house the syndic informed me that we should find another extremely pretty but uninitiated girl present.
“All the better,” said I, “I shall know how to regulate my conduct, and perhaps I may succeed in initiating her.”
In my pocket I had placed a casket containing a dozen exquisite rings. I had long been aware that such trifling presents are often very serviceable.
The moment of meeting those charming girls once more was one of the happiest I have ever enjoyed. In their greeting I read delight and love of pleasure. Their love was without envy or jealousy, or any ideas which would have injured their self-esteem. They felt worthy of my regard, as they had lavished their favours on me without any degrading feelings, and drawn by the same emotion that had drawn me.
The presence of the neophyte obliged us to greet each other with what is called decency, and she allowed me to kiss her without raising her eyes, but blushing violently.
After the usual commonplaces had passed and we had indulged in some double meanings which made us laugh and her look thoughtful, I told her she was pretty as a little love, and that I felt sure that her mind, as beautiful as its casket, could harbour no prejudices.
“I have all the prejudices which honour and religion suggest,” she modestly replied.
I saw that this was a case requiring very delicate treatment. There was no question of carrying the citadel by sudden assault. But, as usual, I fell in love with her.
The syndic having pronounced my name, she said,–
“Ah! then, you, sir, are the person who discussed some very singular questions with my cousin, the pastor’s niece. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“I am equally pleased to make yours, but I hope the pastor’s niece said nothing against me.”
“Not at all; she has a very high opinion of you.”
“I am going to dine with her to-morrow, and I shall take care to thank her.”
“To-morrow! I should like to be there, for I enjoy philosophical discussions though I never dare to put a word in.”
The syndic praised her discretion and wisdom in such a manner that I was convinced he was in love with her, and that he had either seduced her or was trying to do so. Her name was Helen. I asked the young ladies if Helen was their sister. The eldest replied, with a sly smile, that she was a sister, but as yet she had no brother; and with this explanation she ran up to Helen and kissed her. Then the syndic and I vied with each other in paying her compliments, telling her that we hoped to be her brothers. She blushed, but gave no answer to our gallantries. I then drew forth my casket, and seeing that all the girls were enchanted with the rings, I told them to choose which ones they liked best. The charming Helen imitated their example, and repaid me with a modest kiss. Soon after she left us, and we were once more free, as in old times.
The syndic had good cause to shew for his love of Helen. She was not merely pleasing, she was made to inspire a violent passion. However, the three friends had no hope of making her join in their pleasures, for they said that she had invincible feelings of modesty where men were concerned.
We supped merrily, and after supper we began our sports again, the syndic remaining as usual a mere looker-on, and well pleased with his part. I treated each of the three nymphs to two courses, deceiving them whenever I was forced by nature to do so. At midnight we broke up, and the worthy syndic escorted me to the door of my lodging.
The day following I went to the pastor’s and found a numerous party assembled, amongst others M. d’Harcourt and M. de Ximenes, who told me that M. de Voltaire knew that I was at Geneva and hoped to see me. I replied by a profound bow. Mdlle. Hedvig, the pastor’s niece, complimented me, but I was still better pleased to see her cousin Helen. The theologian of twenty-two was fair and pleasant to the eyes, but she had not that ‘je ne sais quoi’, that shade of bitter-sweet, which adds zest to hope as well as pleasure. However, the evident friendship between Hedvig and Helen gave me good hopes of success with the latter.
We had an excellent dinner, and while it lasted the conversation was restricted to ordinary topics; but at dessert the pastor begged M. de Ximenes to ask his niece some questions. Knowing his worldwide reputation, I expected him to put her some problem in geometry, but he only asked whether a lie could be justified on the principle of a mental reservation.
Hedvig replied that there are cases in which a lie is necessary, but that the principle of a mental reservation is always a cheat.
“Then how could Christ have said that the time in which the world was to come to an end was unknown to Him?”
“He was speaking the truth; it was not known to Him.”
“Then he was not God?”
“That is a false deduction, for since God may do all things, He may certainly be ignorant of an event in futurity.”
I thought the way in which she brought in the word “futurity” almost sublime. Hedvig was loudly applauded, and her uncle went all round the table to kiss her. I had a very natural objection on the tip of my tongue, which she might have found difficult to answer, but I wanted to get into her good graces and I kept my own counsel.
M. d’Harcourt was urged to ask her some questions, but he replied in the words of Horace, ‘Nulla mihi religio est’. Then Hedvig turned to me and asked me to put her some hard question, “something difficult, which you don’t know yourself.”
“I shall be delighted. Do you grant that a god possesses in a supreme degree the qualities of man?”
“Yes, excepting man’s weaknesses.”
“Do you class the generative power as a weakness?”
“No.”
“Will you tell me, then, of what nature would have been the offspring of a union between a god and a mortal woman?”
Hedvig looked as red as fire.
The pastor and the other guests looked at each other, while I gazed fixedly at the young theologian, who was reflecting. M. d’Harcourt said that we should have to send for Voltaire to settle a question so difficult, but as Hedvig had collected her thoughts and seemed ready to speak everybody was silent.
“It would be absurd,” said she, “to suppose that a deity could perform such an action without its having any results. At the end of nine months a woman would be delivered a male child, which would be three parts man and one part god.”
At these words all the guests applauded, M. de Ximenes expressed his admiration of the way the question had been solved, adding,–
“Naturally, if the son of the woman married, his children would be seven-eighths men and one-eighth gods.”
“Yes,” said I, “unless he married a goddess, which would have made the proportion different.”
“Tell me exactly,” said Hedvig, “what proportion of divinity there would be in a child of the sixteenth generation.”
“Give me a pencil and I will soon tell you,” said M. de Ximenes.
“There is no need to calculate it,” said I; “the child would have some small share of the wit which you enjoy.”
Everybody applauded this gallant speech, which did not by any means offend the lady to whom it was addressed.
This pretty blonde was chiefly desirable for the charms of her intellect. We rose from the table and made a circle round her, but she told us with much grace not to pay her any more compliments.
I took Helen aside, and told her to get her cousin to choose a ring from my casket, which I gave her, and she seemed glad to execute the commission. A quarter of an hour afterwards Hedvig came to shew me her hand adorned with the ring she had chosen. I kissed it rapturously, and she must have guessed from the warmth of my kisses with what feelings she had inspired me.
In the evening Helen told the syndic and the three girls all about the morning’s discussion without leaving out the smallest detail. She told the story with ease and grace, and I had no occasion to prompt her. We begged her to stay to supper, but she whispered something to the three friends, and they agreed that it was impossible; but she said that she might spend a couple of days with them in their country house on the lake, if they would ask her mother.
At the syndic’s request the girls called on the mother the next day, and the day after that they went off with Helen. The same evening we went and supped with them, but we could not sleep there. The syndic was to take me to a house at a short distance off, where we should be very comfortable. This being the case there was no hurry, and the eldest girl said that the syndic and I could leave whenever we liked, but that they were going to bed. So saying she took Helen to her room, while the two others slept in another room. Soon after the syndic went into the room where Helen was, and I visited the two others.
I had scarcely been with my two sweethearts for an hour when the syndic interrupted my erotic exploits by begging me to go.
“What have you done with Helen?” I asked.
“Nothing; she’s a simpleton, and an intractable one. She hid under the sheets and would not look at my performance with her friend.”
“You ought to go to her direct.”
“I have done so, but she repulsed me again and again. I have given it up, and shall not try it again, unless you will tame her for me.”
“How is it to be done?”
“Come to dinner to-morrow. I shall be away at Geneva. I shall be back by supper-time. I wish we could give her too much to drink!”
“That would be a pity. Let me see what I can do.”
I accordingly went to dine with them by myself the next day, and they entertained me in all the force of the word. After dinner we went for a walk, and the three friends understanding my aims left me alone with the intractable girl, who resisted my caresses in a manner which almost made me give up the hope of taming her.
“The syndic,” said I, “is in love with you, and last night . . .
“Last night,” she said, “he amused himself with his old friend. I am for everyone’s following their own tastes, but I expect to be allowed to follow mine.”
“If I could gain your heart I should be happy.”
“Why don’t you invite the pastor and my cousin to dine with you? I could come too, for the pastor makes much of everyone who loves his niece.”
“I am glad to hear that. Has she a lover?”
“No.”
“I can scarcely believe it. She is young, pretty, agreeable, and very clever.”
“You don’t understand Genevan ways. It is because she is so clever that no young man falls in love with her. Those who might be attracted by her personal charms hold themselves aloof on account of her intellectual capacities, as they would have to sit in silence before her.”
“Are the young Genevans so ignorant, then?”
“As a rule they are. Some of them have received excellent educations, but in a general way they are full of prejudice. Nobody wishes to be considered a fool or a blockhead, but clever women are not appreciated; and if a girl is witty or well educated she endeavors to hide her lights, at least if she desires to be married.”
“Ah! now I see why you did not open your lips during our discussion.”
“No, I know I have nothing to hide. This was not the motive which made me keep silence, but the pleasure of listening. I admired my cousin, who was not afraid to display her learning on a subject which any other girl would have affected to know nothing about.”
“Yes, affected, though she might very probably know as much as her grandmother.”
“That’s a matter of morals, or rather of prejudices.”
“Your reasoning is admirable, and I am already longing for the party you so cleverly suggested:”
“You will have the pleasure of being with my cousin.”
“I do her justice. Hedvig is certainly a very interesting and agreeable girl, but believe me it is your presence that will constitute my chief enjoyment.”
“And how if I do not believe you?”
“You would wrong me and give me pain, for I love you dearly.”
“In spite of that you have deceived me. I am sure that you have given marks of your affection to those three young ladies. For my part I pity them.”
“Why?”
“Because neither of them can flatter herself that you love her, and her alone.”
“And do you think that your delicacy of feeling makes you happier than they are?”
“Yes, I think so though of course, I have no experience in the matter. Tell me truly, do you think I am right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I am delighted to hear it; but you must confess that to associate me with them in your attentions would not be giving me the greatest possible proof of your love.”
“Yes, I do confess it, and I beg your pardon. But tell me how I should set to work to ask the pastor to dinner.”
“There will be no difficulty. Just call on him and ask him to come, and if you wish me to be of the party beg him to ask my mother and myself.”
“Why your mother?”
“Because he has been in love with her these twenty years, and loves her still.”
“And where shall I give this dinner?”
“Is not M. Tronchin your banker?”
“Yes.”
“He has a nice pleasure house on the lake; ask him to lend it you for the day; he will be delighted to do so. But don’t tell the syndic or his three friends anything about it; they can hear of it afterwards.”
“But do you think your learned cousin will be glad to be in my company?”
“More than glad, you may be sure.”
“Very good, everything will be arranged by tomorrow. The day after, you will be returning to Geneva, and the party will take place two or three days later.”
The syndic came back in due course, and we had a very pleasant evening. After supper the ladies went to bed as before, and I went with the eldest girl while the syndic visited the two younger ones. I knew that it would be of no use to try to do anything with Helen, so I contented myself with a few kisses, after which I wished them good night and passed on to the next room. I found them in a deep sleep, and the syndic seemed visibly bored. He did not look more cheerful when I told him that I had had no success with Helen.
“I see,” said he, “that I shall waste my time with the little fool. I think I shall give her up.”
“I think that’s the best thing you could do,” I replied, “for a man who languishes after a woman who is either devoid of feeling or full of caprice, makes himself her dupe. Bliss should be neither too easy nor too hard to be won.”
The next day we returned to Geneva, and M. Tronchin seemed delighted to oblige me. The pastor accepted my invitation, and said I was sure to be charmed with Helen’s mother. It was easy to see that the worthy man cherished a tenderness for her, and if she responded at all it would be all the better for my purposes.
I was thinking of supping with the charming Helen and her three friends at the house on the lake, but an express summoned me to Lausanne. Madame Lebel, my old housekeeper, invited me to sup with her and her husband. She wrote that she had made her husband promise to take her to Lausanne as soon as she got my letter, and she added she was sure that I would resign everything to give her the pleasure of seeing me. She notified the hour at which she would be at her mother’s house.
Madame Lebel was one of the ten or twelve women for whom in my happy youth I cherished the greatest affection. She had all the qualities to make a man a good wife, if it had been my fate to experience such felicity. But perhaps I did well not to tie myself down with irrevocable bonds, though now my independence is another name for slavery. But if I had married a woman of tact, who would have ruled me unawares to myself, I should have taken care of my fortune and have had children, instead of being lonely and penniless in my old age.
But I must indulge no longer in digressions on the past which cannot be recalled, and since my recollections make me happy I should be foolish to cherish idle regrets.
I calculated that if I started directly I should get to Lausanne an hour before Madame Lebel, and I did not hesitate to give her this proof of my regard. I must here warn my readers, that, though I loved this woman well, I was then occupied with another passion, and no voluptuous thought mingled with my desire of seeing her. My esteem for her was enough to hold my passions in check, but I esteemed Lebel too, and nothing would have induced me to disturb the happiness of this married pair.
I wrote in haste to the syndic, telling him that an important and sudden call obliged me to start for Lausanne, but that I should have the pleasure of supping with him and his three friends at Geneva on the following day.
I knocked at Madame Dubois’s door at five o’clock, almost dying with hunger. Her surprise was extreme, for she did not know that her daughter was going to meet me at her house. Without more ado I gave her two louis to get us a good supper.
At seven o’clock, Madame Lebel, her husband, and a child of eighteen months, whom I easily recognized as my own, arrived. Our meeting was a happy one indeed; we spent ten hours at table, and mirth and joy prevailed. At day-break she started for Soleure, where Lebel had business. M. de Chavigni had desired to be remembered most affectionately to me. Lebel assured me that the ambassador was extremely kind to his wife, and he thanked me heartily for having given such a woman up to him. I could easily see that he was a happy husband, and that his wife was as happy as he.
My dear housekeeper talked to me about my son. She said that nobody suspected the truth, but that neither she nor Lebel (who had faithfully kept his promise, and had not consummated the marriage for the two months agreed upon) had any doubts.
“The secret,” said Lebel to me, “will never be known, and your son will be my sole heir, or will share my property with my children if I ever have any, which I doubt.”
“My dear,” said his wife, “there is somebody who has very strong suspicions on the subject, and these suspicions will gain strength as the child grows older; but we have nothing to fear on that score, as she is well paid to keep the secret.”
“And who is this person?” said I.
“Madame —-. She has not forgotten the past, and often speaks of you.”
“Will you kindly remember me to her?”
“I shall be delighted to do so, and I am sure the message will give her great pleasure.”
Lebel shewed me my ring, and I shewed him his, and gave him a superb watch for my son.
“You must give it him,” I said, “when you think he is old enough.”
We shall hear of the young gentleman in twenty-one years at Fontainebleau.
I passed three hours in telling them of all the adventures I had during the twenty-seven months since we had seen one another. As to their history, it was soon told; it had all the calm which belongs to happiness.
Madame Lebel was as pretty as ever, and I could see no change in her, but I was no longer the same man. She thought me less lively than of old, and she was right. The Renaud had blasted me, and the pretended Lascaris had given me a great deal of trouble and anxiety.
We embraced each other tenderly, and the wedded pair returned to Soleure and I to Geneva; but feeling that I wanted rest I wrote to the syndic that I was not well and could not come till the next day, and after I had done so I went to bed.
The next day, the eve of my dinner party, I ordered a repast in which no expense was to be spared. I did not forget to tell the landlord to get me the best wines, the choicest liqueurs, ices, and all the materials for a bowl of punch. I told him that we should be six in number, for I foresaw that M. Tronchin would dine with us. I was right; I found him at his pretty house ready to receive us, and I had not much trouble in inducing him to stay. In the evening I thought it as well to tell the syndic and his three friends about it in Helen’s presence, while she, feigning ignorance, said that her mother had told her they were going somewhere or other to dinner.
“I am delighted to hear it,” said I; “it must be at M. Tronchin’s.”
My dinner would have satisfied the most exacting gourmet, but Hedvig was its real charm. She treated difficult theological questions with so much grace, and rationalised so skilfully, that though one might not be convinced it was impossible to help being attracted. I have never seen any theologian who could treat the most difficult points with so much facility, eloquence, and real dignity, and at dinner she completed her conquest of myself. M. Tronchin, who had never heard her speak before, thanked me a hundred times for having procured him this pleasure, and being obliged to leave us by the call of business he asked us to meet again in two days’ time.
I was much interested during the dessert by the evident tenderness of the pastor for Helen’s mother. His amorous eloquence grew in strength as he irrigated his throat with champagne, Greek wine, and eastern liqueurs. The lady seemed pleased, and was a match for him as far as drinking was concerned, while the two girls and myself only drank with sobriety. However, the mixture of wines, and above all the punch, had done their work, and my charmers were slightly elevated. Their spirits were delightful, but rather pronounced.
I took this favourable opportunity to ask the two aged lovers if I might take the young ladies for a walk in the garden by the lake, and they told us enthusiastically to go and enjoy ourselves. We went out arm in arm, and in a few minutes we were out of sight of everyone.
“Do you know,” said I to Hedvig, “that you have made a conquest of M. Tronchin?”
“Have I? The worthy banker asked me some very silly questions.”
“You must not expect everyone to be able to contend with you.”
“I can’t help telling you that your question pleased me best of all. A bigoted theologian at the end of the table seemed scandalized at the question and still more at the answer.”
“And why?”
“He says I ought to have told you that a deity could not impregnate a woman. He said that he would explain the reason to me if I were a man, but being a woman and a maid he could not with propriety expound such mysteries. I wish you would tell me what the fool meant.”
“I should be very glad, but you must allow me to speak plainly, and I shall have to take for granted that you are acquainted with the physical conformation of a man.”
“Yes, speak as plainly as you like, for there is nobody to hear what we say; but I must confess that I am only acquainted with the peculiarities of the male by theory and reading. I have no practical knowledge. I have seen statues, but I have never seen or examined a real live man. Have you, Helen?”
“I have never wished to do so.”
“Why not? It is good to know everything.”
“Well, Hedvig, your theologian meant to say that a god was not capable of this.”
“What is that?”
“Give me your hand.”
“I can feel it, and have thought it would be something like that; without this provision of nature man would not be able to fecundate his mate. And how could the foolish theologian maintain that this was an imperfection?”
“Because it is the result of desire, Hedvig, and it would not have taken place in me if I had not been charmed with you, and if I had not conceived the most seducing ideas of the beauties that I cannot see from the view of the beauties I can see. Tell me frankly whether feeling that did not give you an agreeable sensation.”
“It did, and just in the place where your hand is now. Don’t you feel a pleasant tickling there, Helen, after what the gentleman has been saying to us?”
“Yes, I feel it, but I often do, without anything to excite me.”
“And then,” said I, “nature makes you appease it . . . thus?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, yes!” said Hedvig. “Even when we are asleep our hands seek that spot as if by instinct, and if it were not for that solace I think we should get terribly ill.”
As this philosophical discourse, conducted by the young theologian in quite a professional manner, proceeded, we reached a beautiful basin of water, with a flight of marble steps for bathers. Although the air was cool our heads were hot, and I conceived the idea of telling them that it would do them good to bathe their feet, and that if they would allow me I would take off their shoes and stockings.
“I should like to so much,” said Hedvig.
“And I too,” said Helen.
“Then sit down, ladies, on the first step.”
They proceeded to sit down and I began to take off their shoes, praising the beauty of their legs, and pretending for the present not to want to go farther than the knee. When they got into the water they were obliged to pick up their clothes, and I encouraged them to do so.
“Well, well,” said Hedvig, “men have thighs too.”
Helen, who would have been ashamed to be beaten by her cousin, was not backward in shewing her legs.
“That will do, charming maids,” said I, “you might catch cold if you stayed longer in the water.”
They walked up backwards, still holding up their clothes for fear of wetting them, and it was then my duty to wipe them dry with all the handkerchiefs I had. This pleasant task left me at freedom to touch and see, and the reader will imagine that I did my best in that direction. The fair theologian told me I wanted to know too much, but Helen let me do what I liked with such a tender and affectionate expression that it was as much as I could do to keep within bounds. At last, when I had drawn on their shoes and stockings, I told them that I was delighted to have seen the hidden charms of the two prettiest girls in Geneva.
“What effect had it on you?” asked Hedvig.
“I daren’t tell you to look, but feel, both of you.”
“Do you bathe, too.”
“It’s out of the question, a man’s undressing takes so much trouble.”
“But we have still two hours before us, in which we need not fear any interruption.”
This reply gave me a foretaste of the bliss I had to gain, but I did not wish to expose myself to an illness by going into the water in my present state. I noticed a summer-house at a little distance, and feeling sure that M. Tronchin had left the door open, I took the two girls on my arm and led them there without giving them any hint of my intentions. The summer-house was scented with vases of pot-pourri and adorned with engravings; but, best of all, there was a large couch which seemed made for repose and pleasure. I sat down on it between my two sweethearts, and as I caressed them I told them I was going to shew them something they had never seen before, and without more ado I displayed to their gaze the principal agent in the preservation of the human race. They got up to admire it, and taking a hand of each one I procured them some enjoyment, but in the middle of their labours an abundant flow of liquid threw them into the greatest astonishment.
“That,” said I, “is the Word which makes men.”
“It’s beautiful!” cried Helen, laughing at the term “word.”
“I have a word too,” said Hedvig, “and I will shew it to you if you will wait a minute.”
“Come, Hedvig, and I will save you the trouble of making it yourself, and will do it better.”
“I daresay, but I have never done it with a man.”
“No more have I,” said Helen.
Placing them in front of me I gave them another ecstacy. We then sat down, and while I felt all their charms I let them touch me as much as they liked till I watered their hands a second time.
We made ourselves decent once more, and spent half an hour in kisses and caresses, and I then told them that they had made me happy only in part, but that I hoped they would make my bliss complete by presenting me with their maidenheads. I shewed them the little safety-bags invented by the English in the interests of the fair sex. They admired them greatly when I explained their use, and the fair theologian remarked to her cousin that she would think it over. We were now close friends, and soon promised to be something more; and we walked back and found the pastor and Helen’s mother strolling by the side of the lake.
When I got back to Geneva I went to spend the evening with the three friends, but I took good care not to tell the syndic anything about my victory with Helen. It would only have served to renew his hopes, and he would have had this trouble for nothing. Even I would have done no good without the young theologian; but as Helen admired her she did not like to appear her inferior by refusing to imitate her freedom.
I did not see Helen that evening, but I saw her the next day at her mother’s house, for I was in mere politeness bound to thank the old lady for the honour she had done me. She gave me a most friendly reception, and introduced me to two very pretty girls who were boarding with her. They might have interested me if I had been stopping long in Geneva, but as if was Helen claimed all my attraction.
“To-morrow,” said the charming girl, “I shall be able to get a word with you at Madame Tronchin’s dinner, and I expect Hedvig will have hit on some way for you to satisfy your desires.”
The banker gave us an excellent dinner. He proudly told me that no inn-keeper could give such a good dinner as a rich gentleman who has a good cook, a good cellar, good silver plate, and china