Chapter 9, Part 1 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 2. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 2. Paris in Prison by Jacques-Casanova. Translated by Arthur Matchen. Episode 6, Chapter 9, Part 1. THE BEAUTIFUL O'MORPHY. The Deceitful Painter. I practice Kabbalism for the Duchess of Chateau, Alive Paris, my stay in Dresden, and my departure from that city. I went to St. Lawrence's fair with my friend Patou, who, taking it into his head to sup with a Flemish actress known by the name of Morphy, invited me to go with him. I felt no inclination for the girl, but what can we refuse to a friend? I did as he wished. After we had supped with the actress, Patou fancied a knight devoted to a more agreeable occupation, and as I did not want to leave him, I asked for a sofa on which I could sleep quietly during the night. Morphy had a sister, a slovenly girl, of thirteen, who told me that if I would give her a crown she would abandon her bed to me. I agreed to her proposal, and she took me to a small closet where I found a straw palais on four boards of wood.  I have no other, sir. Then I do not want it, and you shall not have the crown. Do you intend on dressing yourself? Of course. What an idea! There are no sheets. Do you sleep with your clothes on? Oh, no. Well, then, go to bed as usual, and you shall have the crown. Why? I want to see you undressed. But you won't do anything to me? Not the slightest thing. She undressed and laid herself on her miserable straw bed and covered herself with an old curtain. In that state the impression made by her dirty tatters disappeared, and I saw only a perfect beauty. But I wanted to see her entirely. I tried to satisfy my wishes. She opposed some resistance, but a double crown of six francs made her obedient, and finding that her only fault was a complete absence of cleanliness I began to wash her with my own hands. You will allow me, dear reader, to suppose that you possess a simple and natural knowledge, namely that admiration under such circumstances is inseparable from another kind of approbation. Luckily I found the young Morphe, disposed to let me do all I pleased, except the only thing for which I did not care. She told me candidly that she would not allow me to do that one thing, because in her sister's estimation it was worth twenty-five Louis. I answered that we would bargain on that capital point another time, but we would not touch it for the present. Satisfied with what I said, all the rest was at my disposal, and I found in her a talent which had obtained great perfection in spite of her porcosity. The young Helene faithfully handed to her sister the six francs I had given her, and she told her the way in which she had earned them. Before I left the house she told me, as she was in want of money, she felt disposed to make some abatement on the price of twenty-five Louis.  I related the whole affair to Patu, who accused me of exaggeration, and wishing to prove to him that I was a real connoisseur of female beauty, I insisted upon his seeing Helen as I had seen her. He agreed with me that the chisel of praxilities had never carved anything more perfect. As white as a lily, Helene possessed all the beauties which nature and the art of the painter could possibly combine. The loveliness of her features was so heavenly that it carried to the soul an indefinable sentiment of ecstasy, a delightful calm.  I went to see her the next evening, and, not agreeing about the price, I made a bargain with her sister to give her twelve francs every time I paid her a visit, and it was agreed that we would occupy her room until I should make up my mind to pay six hundred francs. It was regular usury, but the morphe came from a Greek race and was above prejudices. I had no idea of giving such a large sum, because I felt no wish to obtain what it would have procured me. What I obtained was all I cared for. The elder sister thought I was duped, for in two months I had paid three hundred francs without having done anything, and she attributed my reserve to Averus. Averus, indeed, I took a fancy to possess a painting of that beautiful body, and a German artist painted it for me, splendidly, for six louis. The position in which he painted it was delightful.  The clever and tasteful artist had painted her nether parts with so much skill and truth that no one would have wished for anything more beautiful. I was delighted with that portrait. It was a speaking lightness, and I wrote unto it, O morphe! Not a Homeric word, but a Greek one, after all, and meaning beautiful. But who can anticipate the wonderful and secret decrees of destiny? My friend Patu wished to have a copy of that portrait. One cannot refuse such a slight service to a friend, and I gave an order for it to the same painter. But the artist, having been summoned to Versailles, showed that delightful painting with several others, and Monsieur des Saints-Quentin found it so beautiful that he'd lost no time showing it to the king. His most Christian magistry, a great connoisseur in that line, wished to ascertain with his own eyes if the artist had made a faithful copy, and in case the original should prove as beautiful as the copy, the son of Saint Louis knew very well what to do with it. Monsieur des Saints-Quentin, the king's trusty friend, had the charge of that important affair. It was his province. He inquired from the painter whether the original could be brought to Versailles, not supposing that there would be any difficulty, a promise to attend to it. He therefore called on me to communicate the proposal. I thought it was delightful, and I immediately told the sister who jumped for joy. She set to work cleaning, washing, and clothing the young beauty. In two or three days after we went to Versailles with the painter to see what could be done. Monsieur des Saints-Quentin's valet, having received his instructions from his master, took the two females to a pavilion in the park, and the painter went to the hotel to await the result of his negotiation. Half an hour afterwards the king entered the pavilion alone, asked the young, O Morphe, if she was a Greek woman, took the portrait out of his pocket, and, after a careful examination exclaimed, I have never seen a better likeness. His majesty then sat down, took the young girl on his knees, bestowed a few caresses on her, and, having a certain with his royal hand that the fruit had not yet been plucked, gave her a kiss. O Morphe was looking attentively at her master and smiled. What are you laughing at? said the king. I laugh because you, and a crown of six francs, are as like as two peas. That naivety made the king laugh heartily, and he asked her whether she would like to remain in Versailles. That depends on my sister, answered the child. But the sister hastened to tell the king that she could not aspire to a greater honour. The king locked them up again in the pavilion and went away, but in less than a quarter of an hour San Quentin came to fetch them, placed the young girl in an apartment under the care of a female attendant, and with the sister he went to meet at the hotel, the German artist to whom he gave fifty Louis for the portrait, and nothing to Morphe. He only took her address, promising her that she would soon hear from him. The next day she received one thousand Louis. The worthy German gave me twenty-five Louis for my portrait, the promise to make a careful copy of the one I had given to Patu, and he offered to paint for me gratuitously the likeness of every girl of whom I might wish to keep a portrait. I enjoyed heartily the pleasure of the good fleeting, when she found herself in the possession of a thousand gold pieces which she had received, seeing herself rich, and considering me as the author of her fortune, she did not know how to show me her gratitude. The young and lovely O Morphe, for the king always called her by that name, pleased the sovereign by her simplicity and her pretty ways, even more than by her rare beauty, the most perfect, the most regular I recollect to have ever seen. He placed her in one of the apartments of his park du Kérth, the voluptuous monarch's harem in which no one could get admittance except the ladies presented at court. At the end of one year she gave birth to a son, who, like so many others, God knows where. For as long as Queen Mary lived no one ever knew what became of the natural children of Louis XV. O Morphe fell into disgrace at the end of three years, but the king, as he sent her away, ordered her to receive a sum of four hundred thousand francs which she brought as a dowry to an officer from Brittany. In 1783, happening to be in Fontainebleau, I made the acquaintance of a charming young woman of twenty-five, the offspring of that marriage and the living portrait of his mother, of the history of whom he had not the slightest knowledge, and I thought at my duty not to enlighten him. I wrote my name on his tablets, and begged him to present my compliments to his mother. The wicked trick of Madame de Valentin-Tois, sister-in-law of the Prince of Monaco, was the cause of O Morphe's disgrace. That lady, who was well known in Paris, told her one day, if she wished to make the king very merry, she had only to ask him how he treated his old wife. Too simple to guess the snare thus laid out for her, O Morphe actually asked that important question. But Louis XV gave her a look of fury, and exclaimed, Miserable wretch, who taught you to address me that question.  The king left her, and would never see her again. The Countess de Valentin-Tois was exiled for two years from the court of Louis XV, who knew how wrongly he was behaving towards his wife as a husband, would not deserve any reproach at her hands as a king, and woe to anyone who forgot the respect due to the queen. The French are undoubtedly the most witty people in Europe, and perhaps in the whole world, but Paris is all the same, the city for imposters and quacks to make a fortune. When their navery is found out, people turn it into a joke and laugh. But in the midst of the merriment, another mountabank makes his appearance, and does something more wonderful than those who preceded him, and he makes his fortune, whilst the scoffing of the people is in abeyance. It is the unquestionable effect of the power which fashion gives over that amiable, clever, and lively nation. If anything is astonishing, no matter how extravagant it may be, the crowd is surely to welcome it greedily, for anyone would be afraid of having been taken for a fool if he should exclaim, it is impossible. Physicians are perhaps the only men in France who know that an infinite gulf yawns before the will and the deed. Wilst in Italy it is an axiom known to everybody, but I do not mean to say that the Italians are superior to the French. A certain painter met with great success for some time by announcing a thing which was an impossibility, namely by pretending that he could take a portrait of a person without seeing the individual, and only from the description given. But he wanted the description to be thoroughly accurate. The result of it was that the portrait did greater honor to the person who gave the description than to the painter himself, but at the same time the informer found himself under the obligation of finding the likeness very good, otherwise the artist alleged the most legitimate excuse, and said that if the likeness was not perfect, the fault was to be ascribed to the person who had given an imperfect description. One evening I was taking supper at Sylvia's when one of the guests spoke of that wonderful new artist without laughing, and with every appearance of believing the whole affair. "'That painter,' added he, "'has already painted more than one hundred portraits, and they are all perfect likenesses.' Everybody was of the same opinion. It was splendid. I was the only one who, laughing heartily, took the liberty of saying it was absurd and impossible. The gentleman who had brought the wonderful news, feeling angry, proposed a wager of one hundred Louis. I laughed all the more because his offer cannot be accepted, unless I exposed myself to being made a dupe. But the portraits are all admirable likenesses. I do not believe it, or if they are they must be cheating somewhere. But the gentleman, being bent upon convincing Sylvia and me, for she had taken my part, proposed to make us dine with the artist, and we accepted. The next day we called upon the painter, where we saw a quantity of portraits, all of whom the artist claimed to be speaking likenesses. As we did not know the persons whom they represented, we could not deny his claim. "'Sir,' said Sylvia to the artist, "'could you paint the likeness of my daughter without seeing her?' "'Yes, madam, if you are certain of giving me an exact description of the expression of her features.' We exchanged a glance, and no more was said about it. The painter told us that supper was his favorite meal, and that he would be delighted if we would often give him the pleasure of our company. Like Awquax, he possessed an immense quantity of letters and testimonials from Bordeaux, Toulouse, Lyon, Rouen, etc., which paid the highest compliments to the perfection of his portraits, or gave descriptions for new pictures ordered from him. His portraits, by the way, had to be paid in advance. Two or three days afterwards I met his pretty niece, who obligingly upgraded me for not having yet availed myself of her uncle's invitation to supper. The niece was a dainty morsel worthy of a king, and her approaches being very flattering to my vanity, I promised I would come the next day. In less than a week it turned out a serious engagement. I fell in love with the interesting niece, who, being full of wit and well-disposed to enjoy herself, had no love for me, and granted me no favor. I hoped, and feeling that I was caught, I felt it was the only thing I could do. One day, that I was alone in my room, drinking my coffee and thinking of her, the door was suddenly opened without anybody being announced, and a young man came in. I did not recollect him, but without giving me time to ask any questions he said to me, Sir, I have had the honor of meeting you at the supper table of Miser Samson, the painter. Ah, yes, I beg you to excuse me, sir, I did not at first recollect you. It is natural, for your eyes are always on Madame Iselle Samson. Very likely, but you must admit, that she is a charming creature. I have no difficulty whatever in agreeing with you, to my misery I know it but too well. You are in love with her? Alas, yes, and I say again to my misery. To your misery, but why, do you not gain her love? That is the very thing I have been striving for since last year, and I was beginning to have some hope when your arrival has reduced me to despair. I have reduced you to despair? Yes, sir. I am very sorry, but I cannot help it. You could easily help it, and if you would allow me, I could suggest to you the way in which you could greatly oblige me. Speak candidly. You might never put your foot in the house again. That is a rather singular proposal, but I agree that it is truly the only thing I can do if I have a real wish to oblige you. Do you think, however, that in that case you would succeed in gaining her affection? Then it will be my business to succeed. Do not go there again, and I will take care of the rest. I might render you that very great service, but you must confess that you must have a singular opinion of me to suppose that I am a man to do such a thing. Yes, sir, I admit that it may appear singular, but I take you for a man of great sense and sound intellect, and after having considered the subject deeply, I have thought that you would put yourself in my place, that you would not wish to make me miserable, or to expose your own life for a young girl who can have inspired you with but a passing fancy, whilst my only wish is to secure the happiness or the misery of my life, whichever it may prove, by uniting her existence with mine. But suppose that I should intend, like you, to ask her in marriage. Then we should both be worthy of pity, and one of us would have ceased to exist before the other obtained her, for, as long as I shall live, Mademoiselle Samson shall not be the wife of another. This young man, well-made, pale, grave, as cold as a piece of marble, madly in love, who, in his reason mixed with utter despair, came to speak to me in such a manner, with the most surprising column, made me pause and consider. Undoubtedly I was not afraid, but although in love with Mademoiselle Samson, I did not feel my passion sufficiently strong to cut the throat of a man for the sake of her beautiful eyes, or to lose my own life to defend my budding affection. Without answering the young man, I began to pace up and down my room, and for a quarter of an hour I weighed the following question, which I put to myself. Which decision will appear more manly in the eyes of my rival, and will win my own esteem to the deeper degree, namely, to accept coolly his offer to cut one another's throats, or to allay his anxiety by withdrawing from the field with dignity? Pride, whispered, fight! Reason said, compel thy rival to acknowledge thee a wiser man than he is. What would you think of me, sir? I said to him, with an air of decision, if I consented to give up my visits to Mademoiselle Samson. I would think that you had pity on a miserable man, and I say that in that case you will ever find me ready to shed the last drop of my blood to prove my deep gratitude. Who are you? My name is Garnier. I am the only son of Monsieur Garnier, wine merchant from the Rue de Seine. Well, Monsieur Garnier, I will never again call on Mademoiselle Samson. Let us be friends. Until death, farewell, sir. Adieu, be happy. Patu came in five minutes after Garnier had left me. I related the adventure to him, and he thought I was a hero. I would have acted as you have done, he observed, but I would not have acted like Garnier. It was about that time that Count de Malforte, Colonel of the Oléon Regiment, entreated me through Camille, Coraline's sister, to answer two questions by means of my capitalism. I gave two answers very vague, yet meaning a great deal. I put them under a sealed envelope and gave them to Camille, who asked me the next day to accompany her to a place which she said she could not name to me. I followed her. She took me to the Palais Royale, and then, through a narrow staircase to the apartments of the Duchess of Chât. I waited about a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the Duchess came in, and loaded Camille with caresses for having brought me. Then, addressing herself to me, she told me, with dignity, yet very graciously, the difficulty she experienced in understanding the answers I had sent, and which she was holding in her hand. At first I expressed some perplexity at the questions, having emanated from her royal highness, and I told her afterwards that I understood cabalism, but that I could not interpret the meaning of the answers obtained through it, and that her highness must ask new questions likely to render the answers easier to be understood. She wrote down all she could not make out, and all she wanted to know. Madam, you must be kind enough to divide the questions, for the cabalistic oracle never answers two questions at the same time. Well then, prepare the questions yourself. Your highness will excuse me, but every word must be written with your own hand, recollect, madam, that you will address yourself to a superior intelligence, knowing all your secrets. She began to write, and asked seven or eight questions. She read them over carefully, and said with a face beaming with noble confidence, Sir, I wish to be certain that no one shall ever know what I have just written. Your highness may rely on my honor. I read attentively, and saw that her wish for secrecy was reasonable, and that if I put the questions in my pocket, I should run the risk of losing them and implicating myself. I will only require three hours to complete my task, I said to the duchess, and I wish your highness to feel no anxiety. If you have any other engagement, you can leave me here alone, provided I am not disturbed by anybody. When it is completed, I will put it all in a sealed envelope. I only want your highness to tell me, to whom I must deliver the parcel. Either to me, or to Madame de Polignac, if you know her. Yes, madam, I have the honor to know her. The duchess handed me a small tinder-box to enable me to light a wax candle, and she went away with Camille. I remained alone, locked up in the room, and at the end of three hours, just as I completed my task, Madame de Polignac came for the parcel, and I left the palace. The duchess they shot. Daughter of the prince of Conti was twenty-six years of age.   Short and sweet were the words she had constantly on her lips. She was pretty but she stood badly, and used to laugh at Marcelle, the teacher of Graceful Department, who wanted to correct her awkward bearing. She kept her head bent forward, and her feet turned inside when dancing. Yet she was a charming dancer. Unfortunately, her face was covered with pimples, which injured her beauty very greatly. Her physicians thought they were caused by a disease of the liver, but they came from the impurity of the blood which at last killed her, and from which she suffered throughout her life. The questions she had asked for my oracle related to affairs connected with her heart, and she wished likewise to know how she could get rid of the blotches which disfigured her. My answers were rather obscure in such matters, as I was not specially acquainted with, but they were very clear concerning her disease, and my oracle became precious and necessary to her highness. Chapter 9 Part 2 The next day, after dinner, Camille wrote me a note, as I expected, requesting me to give up all other engagements in order to present myself at five o'clock at the Palais Royale, in the same room in which the duchess had already received me the day before. I was punctual. An elderly valet de chambre, who was waiting for me, immediately went to give notice of my arrival. And five minutes after, the charming princess made her appearance. After addressing me in a very complementary manner, she drew all my answers from her pocket and inquired whether I had any pressing engagements. Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important business than to attend to your wishes. Very well, I do not intend to go out and we can work. She then showed me all the questions which she had already prepared on different subjects, and particularly those relating to the cure of her pimples. One circumstance had contributed to render my oracle precious to her, because nobody could possibly know it, and I had guessed it. Had I not done so, I daresay it would have been all the same.  I had already answered that she could not get rid of the pimples on her face in less than a week, but that a year of diet would be necessary to affect a radical cure. We spent three hours in asserting what she was to do, and believing implicitly in the power and in the science of the oracle, she undertook to follow faithfully everything ordered. Within one week all the ugly pimples had entirely disappeared. I took care to purge her slightly, I prescribed every day what she was to eat, and forbade the use of all cosmetics. I only advised her to wash herself every morning and evening with plantain water. The modest oracle told the princess to make use of the same water for her ambitions on every part of her body, where she desired to obtain the same result, and she obeyed the prescription religiously. I went to the opera on purpose, on the day when the duchess showed herself there with a smooth and rosy shin. After the opera, she took a walk in the great alley of the Palais Royale, followed by the ladies of her suite, and flattered by everybody. She saw me and honored me with a smile. I was truly happy. Camille, Madame de Pauleignac, and Monsieur de Malfeur, and Monsieur de Malfort were the only persons who knew that I was the oracle of the duchess, and I enjoyed my success. But the next day a few pimples reappeared on her beautiful complexion, and I received an order to repair it once to the Palais Royale. The Valais, who did not know me, showed me into a delightful bourgeois near a closet in which there was a bath. The duchess came in. She looked sad, for she had several small pimples on the forehead and the chin. She held in her hand a question for the oracle, and as it was only a short one, I thought it would give her the pleasure of finding the answer by herself. The numbers translated by the princess reproached her for having transgressed the regimen prescribed. She confessed to having drank some liqueurs and eaten some ham, but she was astounded at having found that answer herself, and she could not understand how such an answer could result from an agglomeration of numbers. At that moment one of her women came in to whisper a few words to her. She told her to wait outside, and turning towards me she said, "'Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who as delicate as discreet?' With these words she hastily concealed in her pocket all the papers that which did not relate to her disease. Then she called out. A man entered the room whom I took for a stable boy. It was Monsieur de Melfort. "'See,' said the princess to him, Monsieur Casanova has taught me the cabalistic science.' And she showed him the answer she had obtained herself. The Count could not believe it. "'Well,' said the duchess to me, we must convince him. What shall I ask? Anything your highness chooses.' She considered for one instance, in drawing from her pocket a small ivory box she wrote, "'Tell me why this poematum has no longer any effect.' She formed the pyroman, the columns and the key, as I had taught her, and she was ready to get the answer. I told her how to make the additions and subtractions, which seemed to come from the numbers, but which in reality were only arbitrary. Then I told her to interpret the numbers and letters, and I left the room under some pretext. I came back when I thought that she had completed the translation, and I found her wrapped in amazement. "'Ah,' she exclaimed, what an answer! Perhaps it is not the right one. But that will happen sometimes, madame. Not the right one, sir. It is divine. Here it is!' That pyroman has no effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother.' "'I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madame. Very likely, sir. But it is because you do not know that the pyroman in question was given to me five years ago by the abbey de Brosse, who it cured me at that time. But it was ten months before the birth of the duke de Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly acquainted with that sublime, cabalistic science.' "'What?' said the Count. "'Is it the palmetum of history of which I know?' "'Precisely. It is astonishing. I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman, the name of whom I would rather not give. Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts.' She then asked this question. What disease is that woman suffering from?' She made the calculation, and the answer which I made her brought forth was this. She wants to deceive her husband. This time the duchess fairly screamed with astonishment. It was getting very late, and I was preparing to take leave when Monsieur de Melfort, who was speaking to her highness, told me that we might go together. When we were out he told me that the cabalistic answer concerning the palmetum was truly wonderful. This was the history of it.  The abbey de Broces cured her with that palmetum, and her beautiful face, having entirely recovered its original bloom, she made her appearance at the theater Francais, in the queen's box. The duke deschates, not knowing that his wife had gone to the theater where she went but very seldom, was in the king's box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her very handsome he inquired who she was, and when he was told he would not believe it. He left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her, and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the duke des Montpensiers, who is now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her pregnancy the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the palmetum remained without any effect. As he concluded his explanation the count offered me a tortoise-shell box with a very good likeness of her royal highness, and said, The duchess begs you to accept of this portrait, and in case you would like it to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that purpose. It was a purse of one hundred louis. I accepted both, and entreated the count, to offer the expressions of my profound gratitude for her highness. I never had the portrait mounted, for I was then in want of money for some other purpose. After that the duchess did me the honor of sending for me several times, but her cure remained altogether out of the question. She could not make up her mind to follow a regular diet. She would sometimes keep me at work five or six hours, now in one corner, now in another, going in and out herself all the time, and having either supper or dinner brought to me by the old valet, who never uttered a word. Her questions to the oracle alluded only to the secret affairs which she was curious to know, and she often found truths, with which I was not myself acquainted, through the answers. She wished me to teach her the Kabbalistic science, but she never pressed her wish upon me. She, however, commissioned M. de Malfour to tell me that, if I would teach her, she would get me an appointment, with an income of twenty-five thousand francs. Alas, it was impossible. I was madly in love with her, but I would not for the world have allowed her to guess my feelings. My pride was the corrective of my love. I was afraid of her haughtiness humiliating me, and perhaps I was wrong. All I know is that I even now repent of having listened to a foolish pride. It is true that I enjoyed certain privileges which she might have refused me, if she had known my love. One day she wished my oracle to tell her whether it was possible to cure a cancer which Madame de Popinlier had in her breast. I took it in my head to answer that the lady alluded to had no cancer, and was enjoying excellent health. How is that? said the duchess. Madame Paris believes her to be suffering from a cancer, and she has a consultation upon consultation. Yet I have faith in the oracle. Soon afterwards, seeing the duke de Richelot at the court, she told him she was certain that Madame de Popinlier was not ill. The marshal, who knew the secret, told me that she was mistaken, but she proposed a wager of a hundred thousand francs. I trembled when the duchess related the conversation to me. Has he accepted your wages? I inquired anxiously. No, he seemed surprised. You are aware that he ought to know the truth. Three or four days after that conversation, the duchess told me triumphantly that Miss Cher de Richelot may confess to her that the cancer was only a ruse to excite the pity of her husband, with whom Madame de Popinlier wanted to live again on good terms. She added that the marshal had expressed his willingness to pay one hundred thousand Louis to know how she had discovered the truth. If you wish to earn that sum, said the duchess to me, I will tell him about it. But I was afraid of a snare. I knew the temper of the marshal, and the story of the hole in the wall through which he introduced himself into that lady's apartment was the talk of all Paris. Miss Cher de Popinlier himself made the adventure more public by refusing to live with his wife, to whom he paid an income of twelve thousand francs. The duchess de Charte had written some charming poetry on that amusing affair, but out of her own couture no one knew it except the king, who was fond of the princess, although she was in the habit of scoffing at him. One day, for instance, she asked him whether it was true that the king of Prussia was expected in Paris, Louis XV having answered that it was an idle rumour. I am very sorry, she said, for I am longing to see a king. My brother had completed several pictures, and having decided on presenting one to Miss Cher de Maginlier, we repaired one morning to the apartment of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in the habit of paying their court to him. We were shown into a hall adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early, we waited for Miss Cher de Maginlier. My brother's picture was exposed there. It was a battle-piece in the style of Bourguignon. The first person who entered through the room stopped before the picture, examined it attentively and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a poor painting. A moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at the picture, smiled and said, That's the work of a beginner. I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me.  My poor brother felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally. The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitted him. I rose with the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him that Miss Cher de Maginlier would soon come, and that his approbation of the picture would avenge him for the insults of the crowd. Fortunately, this was not my brother's opinion, and we left the room hurriedly, took a coach, went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting. As soon as it had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces. He made up his mind to settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to study an art which he loved to idolatry. We resolved on going to Dresden together. Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris, I dined alone at the house of the gatekeeper of the Toulier. His name was Condé. After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the bill, on which every item was reckoned and doubled its value. I pointed it out to her, but she answered very curtly that she could not abate mon sous. I paid, and as the bill was receded with the words Femme Condé, I took the pen and to the words Condé, I added Labre, and I went away leaving the bill on the table.    Sacre bleu mon sous. No vulgar passion, my dear sir. Follow me. You shall soon be satisfied. I walked rapidly towards the Port d'Étoile, where, seeing that the place was deserted, I abruptly asked the fellow what he wanted and why he had attacked me. I am the Cheviere d'Étalvie. You have insulted an honest woman, who is under my protection, unsheath. With these words he drew his longsword, I unsheathed mine, and after a minute or two I lunged rapidly and wounded him in the breast. He jumped backward, exclaiming that I had wounded him treacherously.  You will not do it, for I am wounded, but I insist upon having my revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges.  I left him there, satisfied that I had acted according to the laws of the duello, for he had drawn his sword before me, and if he had not been skillful enough to cover himself in good time, it was not, of course, my business to teach him. Towards the middle of August I left Paris with my brother. I had made a stay of two years in that city, the best in the world. I had enjoyed myself greatly, and met with no unpleasantness, but that I had now, and then, been short of money. We went through Metz, Mayance, and Frankfurt, and arrived in Dresden at the end of the same month. My mother offered us the most affectionate welcome, and was delighted to see us again. My brother remained four years in that pleasant city, constantly engaged in the study of art, and copying all the fine paintings of battles by the great masters of the celebrated Electoral Gallery. He went back to Paris only when he felt he could set criticism and defiance. I shall say hereafter how it was we both reached that city about the same time, but before that period, dear reader, you will see what good and adverse fortune did for or against me. My life in Dresden, until the end of the carnival in 1753, does not offer any extraordinary adventure. To please the actors, and especially my mother, I wrote a kind of melodrama, in which I brought out two harlequins. It was a parody of the Frère Enemy by Racine. The king was highly amused at the comic fancies which filled my play, and he made me a beautiful present. The king was grand and generous, and these qualities found a ready echo in the breast of the famous Count de Bruyre. I left Dresden soon after that, bidding adieu to my mother, to my brother François, and to my sister, then the wife of Pierre Auguste, chief player of the harpsichord at the court, who died two years ago, leaving his widow and family in comfortable circumstances. My stay in Dresden was marked by an amorous souvenir, of which I got rid, as in previous similar circumstances, by a diet of six weeks. I've often remarked that the greatest part of my life was spent in trying to make myself ill, and when I had succeeded in trying to recover my health, I have met with equal success in both things, and now that I enjoy excellent health in that line, I am very sorry to be physically unable to make myself ill again. But age, that cruel and unavoidable disease, compels me to be in good health, in spite of myself. The illness I allude to, which the Italians call Molle Francais, although we might claim the honor of its first importation, does not shorten life, but it leaves indelible marks on the face. Those scars, less honorable perhaps than those which are one in the service of Mars, being obtained through pleasure, ought not to leave any regret behind. In Dresden I had frequent opportunities of seeing the king, who was very fond of the Count de Brule, his minister, because that favored possessed the double secret of showing himself more extravagant even than his master, and of indulging all his whims. Never was a monarch a greater enemy to economy. He laughed heartily when he was plundered, and he spent a great deal in order to have occasion to laugh often. Since he had not sufficient wit to amuse himself with the follies of other kings, and with the absurdities of mankind, he kept four buffoons, who are called fools in Germany, although these degraded beings are generally more witty than their masters.  Yet these professional buffoons sometimes captivate the mind of their master to such an extent that they obtain from him very important favors in behalf of the persons they protect. In a consequence of this they are often courted by the highest families. Where is the man who will not debase himself if he be in want? Does not Agamendnan say, in Homer, that in such a case man must necessarily be guilty of meanness? And Agamendnan, in Homer, lived long before our time. It evidently proves that men are at all times moved by the same motive, namely self-interest. It is wrong to say that the Count de Brule was the ruin of Saxony, for he was only the faithful minister of his royal master's inclinations. His children are poor, and justify their father's conduct. The court at Dresden was at that time the most brilliant in Europe. The fine arts flourished, but there was no gallantry, for King Augustus had no inclination for the fair sex, and the Saxons were not of a nature to be thus inclined, unless the example was set by their sovereign. At my arrival in Prague, where I did not intend to stop, I delivered a letter I had for Locatelli, manager of the opera, and went to pay a visit to Madame Morelli, an old acquaintance for whom I had great affection. And for two or three days she supplied all the wants of my heart. As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend Frabrey, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with him. After embracing him I represented to him, but in vain, that I had made all arrangements to go away immediately. You will go this evening, he said, with a friend of mine, and you will catch the coach. I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder of the day passed in the most agreeable manner. Frabrey was longing for war, and his wishes regrettified two years afterwards. He covered himself with glory. I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well worthy to be known. He took his meals every day at a table laid out for thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of both sexes, and a few friends. He did the honors of his well-supplied board nobly, and his real passion was good living. I shall have occasion to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety. CHAPTER X CHAPTER X My stay in Vienna, Joseph II, my departure for Venice. Arrived for the first time in the capital of Austria at the age of eight and twenty, well provided with clothes but rather short of money, a circumstance which made it necessary for me to curtail my expenses until the arrival of the proceeds of a letter of exchange which I had drawn upon Micheal de Bragedin. The only letter of recommendation I had was from the poet Migliavaca of Dresden, addressed to the illustrious Abbe Metastasio, whom I wished ardently to know. I delivered the letter the day after my arrival, and in one hour of conversation I found him more learned than I should have supposed from his works. Besides Metastasio was so modest that at first I did not think that modesty natural, but it was not long before I discovered that it was genuine, for when he recited something of his own composition he was the first to call the attention of his hearers, to the important parts, or to the fine passages, with as much simplicity as he would remark the weak ones. I spoke to him of his tutor Gravina, and as we were on that subject he recited to me five or six stanzas which he had written on his death, and which had not been printed. Moved by the remembrance of his friend and by the sad beauty of his own poetry, his eyes were filled with tears, and when he had done reciting the stanzas he said, in a tone of touching simplicity, Detemi il vero, Sipuo er meglio? I answered that he alone had the right to believe it impossible. I then asked him whether he had to work a great deal to compose his beautiful poetry. He showed me four or five pages which he had covered with erasures and words crossed and scratched out, only because he had wished to bring fourteen lines to perfection, and he assured me that he had never been able to compose more than that number in one day. He confirmed to my knowledge of a truth which I had found out before, namely that the very lines which most readers believe to have flowed easily from the poet's pen are generally those which he has had the greatest difficulty in composing. Which of your operas I inquired do you like best? Attilio Regolo, Macquesto non vuol, Giedire, Cessia il megliori. All your works have been translated in Paris into French prose, but the publisher was ruined, for it is not possible to read them, and it proves the elevation and the power of your poetry. Several years ago another foolish publisher ruined himself by a translation into French prose of the splendid poetry of Ariosto. I laugh at those who maintain that poetry can be translated into prose. I am of your opinion, and you are right. He told me that he had never written in Arietta without composing the music of it himself, but that as a general rule he never showed his music to anyone. The French, he added, entertained the very strange belief that it is possible to adapt poetry to music already composed, and he made on that subject this very philosophical remark. You might just as well say to a sculptor, here is a piece of marble, make a venus, and let her expression be shown before the features are chiseled. I went to the Imperial Library, and was much surprised to meet De La Hay in the company of two Poles, and a young Venetian whom his father had entrusted to him to complete his education. I believed him to be in Poland, and as the meeting recalled interesting recollections, I was pleased to see him.  He told me that he was in Vienna on business, and that he would go to Venester in the summer. He paid one another several visits, and hearing that I was rather short of money, he lent me fifty ducats, which I returned a short time after. He told me that Bavois was already Lieutenant Colonel in the Venetian army, and the news afforded me great pleasure. He had been fortunate enough to be appointed Adjutant General by Monsieur Morassini, who, after his return from his Embassy in France, had made him commissary of the borders. I was delighted to hear of the happiness and success of two men who certainly could not help acknowledging me as the original cause of their good fortune. In Vienna I acquired the certainty of De La Haye being a Jesuit, but he would not let anyone allude to the subject. Not knowing where to go, and longing for some recreation, I went to the rehearsal of the opera which was to be performed after Easter, and met Baudin, the first dancer, who had married the handsome Jefois whom I had seen in Turin. I likewise met, in the same place, Campioni, the husband of the beautiful Ancilla.  Campioni was at the same time a great dancer and a great gambler. I took up my lodgings with him. In Vienna everything is beautiful. Money was then very plentiful and luxury very great, but the severity of the empress made the worship of Venus difficult, particularly for strangers. A legion of vile spies who were decorated with the fine title of commissaries of chastity were the merciless tormentors of all the girls. The empress did not practice the sublime virtue of tolerance for what is called illegitimate love, and in her excessive devotion she thought that her persecutions of the most natural inclinations in man and woman were very agreeable to God. Holding in her imperial hands the register of cardinal sins she fancied that she could be indulgent for six of them and keep all her severity for the seventh, lewdness which in her estimation could not be forgiven. One can ignore pride, she would say, for dignity wears the same garb. Avarice is fearful it is true, but one might be mistaken about it because it is often very like economy. As for anger it is a murderous disease in its excess, but murder is punishable with death. Gluttony is sometimes nothing but epicurism, and religion does not forbid that sin, for in good company it is held of valuable quality.  Envy is a low passion which no one ever avows. To punish it in any other way than by its own corroding vetum I would have to torture everybody at court, and weariness is the punishment of sloth, but lust is a different thing altogether. My chast soul could not forgive such a sin, and I declare open war against it. My subjects are at liberty to think women handsome as much as they please. Women may do all in their power to appear beautiful. People may entertain each other as they like because I cannot forbid conversation, but they shall not gratify desires on which the preservation of the human race depends, unless it is in the holy state of legal marriage. Therefore all the miserable creatures who live by the barter of their caresses, and of the charms given to them by nature, shall be sent to Temeswar. I am aware that in Rome people are very indulgent on that point, and that in order to prevent another greater crime, which is not prevented, every cardinal has one or more mistresses, but in Rome the climate requires certain concessions which are not necessary here, where the bottle and the pipe replace all pleasures. She might have added, and the table, for the Austrians are known to be terrible eaters. I will have no indulgence either for domestic disorders for the moment I hear that a wife is unfaithful to her husband. I will have her locked up in spite of all, in spite of the generally received opinion that the husband is the real judge and master of his wife. That privilege cannot be granted in my kingdom where husbands are by far too indifferent on that subject. Fanatic husbands may complain as much as they please that I dishonor them by punishing their wives. They are dishonored already by the fact of the woman's infidelity. But madam, dishonor rises in reality only from the fact of infidelity being made public, besides, you might be deceived, although you are empress. I know that, but that is no business of yours, and I do not grant you the right of contradicting me. Such is the way in which Maria Teresa would have argued, and notwithstanding the principle of virtue from which her argument had originated, it had ultimately given birth to all the infamous deeds which her executioners, the commissaries of Chastity, committed with impunity under her name. At every hour of the day, in all the streets of Vienna, they carried off and took to prison the poor girls who happened to live alone, and very often went out only to earn an honest living. I should like to know how it was possible to know that a girl was going to some man to get from him consolations for her miserable position, or that she was in search of someone disposed to offer her those consolations. But it was difficult. A spy would follow them at a distance. The police department kept a crowd of those spies, and as the scoundrels wore no particular uniform, it was impossible to know them. As a natural consequence, there was a general distrust of all strangers. If a girl entered a house, the spy who had followed her, waited for her, stopped her as she came out, and subjected her to an interrogatory. If the poor creature looked uneasy, if she hesitated in answering in such a way as to satisfy the spy, the fellow would take her to prison, in all cases beginning by plundering her of whatever money or jewelry she carried about her person, and the restitution of which could never be obtained. Vienna was, in that respect, a true den of privileged thieves. It happened to me one day, in Leopold's dot, that in the midst of some tumult a girl slipped in my hand a gold watch to secure it from the clutches of a police spy who was pressing upon her to take her up. I did not know the poor girl, whom I was fortunate enough to see again one month afterwards. She was pretty, and she had been compelled to more than one sacrifice in order to obtain her liberty. I was glad to be able to hand her watch back to her, and although she was well worthy of a man's attention, I did not ask her for anything to reward my faithfulness. The only way in which girls could walk unmolested in the streets was to go about with their head bent down with beads in hand, for in that case the disgusting brood of spies dared not arrest them, because they might be on their way to church, and Maria Teresa would certainly have sent to the gallows the spy guilty of such a mistake. Those low villains rendered a stay in Vienna very unpleasant to foreigners, and it was a matter of the greatest difficulty to gratify the slightest natural want without running the risk of being annoyed. One day, as I was standing close to the wall in a narrow street, I was much astonished at hearing myself rudely addressed by a scoundrel with a round wig, who told me that if I did not go somewhere else to finish what I had begun, he would have me arrested. And why, if you please? Because on your left there is a woman who can see you. I lifted up my head, and I saw on the fourth story a woman who, with the telescope she had applied to her eye, could have told whether I was a Jew or a Christian. I obeyed, laughing heartily, and related the adventure everywhere, but no one was astonished because the same thing happened over and over again every day. In order to study the manners and habits of the people I took my meals in all sorts of places, one day, having gone with Campione to dine at the crawfish, I found, to my great surprise, sitting at the table-dote, that Pepe Ilcadedo, whose acquaintance I had made at the time of my arrest in the Spanish army and whom I had met afterwards, in Venice and in Lyon, under the name of Don Joseph Marcotti. Campione, who had been his partner in Lyon, embraced him, talked with him in private, and informed me that the man had resumed his real name, and that he was now called Count Aflicio. He told me that after dinner there would be a pharaoh-bank in which I would have an interest, and he therefore requested me not to play. I accepted the offer. Aflicio won, a captain of the name of Becasio, threw the cards at his face, a trifle to which the self-styled Count was accustomed, and which did not elicit any remark from him. When the game was over we repaired to the coffee-room where an officer of gentlemanly appearance, staring at me, began to smile, but not in an offensive manner. Sir, I asked him politely, may I ask why you are laughing? It makes me laugh to see that you do not recognize me. I have some idea that I have seen you somewhere, but I could not say where or when I had that honour. Nine years ago, by the orders of the Prince Dilabcoitz, I escorted you to the Gate of Rimini. You are barren, Vy, precisely. We embraced one another. He offered me his friendly services, promising to procure me all the pleasure he could in Vienna. I accepted gratefully, and the same evening he presented me to a Countess at whose house I made the acquaintance of the Ami Testigrosa, who was called Grosstet by everybody. He was Minister of the Duke of Modem, and great at court because he had negotiated the marriage of the archduke with Beatrice Dest. I also became acquainted there with the Count of Rokendorf, and Count Cerotin, and with several noble young ladies who are called in Germany for all lines, and with a barreness who had led a pretty wild life, but who could yet captivate a man. We had supper, and I was created barren. It was in vain that I observed that I had no title whatever. You must be something, I was told, and you cannot be less than barren. You must confess yourself to be at least that, if you wish to be received anywhere in Vienna. Well, I will be a barren, since it is of no importance. The barreness was not long before she gave me to understand that she felt kindly disposed towards me, and that she would receive my attentions with pleasure. I paid her a visit the very next day. If you are fond of cards, she said, come in the evening. At her house I made the acquaintance of several gamblers, and of three or four frawlines, who without any dread of the commissaries of chastity were devoted to the worship of Venus, and were so kindly disposed that they were not afraid of lowering their nobility by accepting some reward for their kindness. A circumstance which proved to me that the commissaries were in the habit of troubling only the girls who did not frequent good houses. The barreness invited me to introduce all my friends, so I brought to her house Vi Campioni and Afflicio. The last one played, held the bank, one, and Tramontini, with whom I had become acquainted, presented him to his wife, who was called Madame Tassi. It was through her that Afflicio made the useful acquaintance of the Prince of Sex, Hildberghausen. This introduction was the origin of the great fortune made by that contraband count, because Tramontini, who had become his partner in all important gambling transactions, contrived to obtain for him the prince, the rank of captain in the service of their imperial and royal majesties, and in less than three weeks Afflicio wore the uniform and the insignia of his grade. When I left Vienna he possessed one hundred thousand florins. Their majesties were fond of gambling, but not of punting. The emperor had a creature of his own to hold the bank. He was a kind, magnificent, but not extravagant prince. I saw him in his grand imperial costume, and I was surprised to see him dressed in the Spanish fashion.  Charles V of Spain, who had established that etiquette which was still in existence, although after him no emperor had been a Spaniard, and although Francis I had nothing in common with that nation. In Poland some years afterwards I saw the same Caprice at the coronation of Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski, and the old Palantyne noblemen almost broke their hearts at the sight of that costume, but they had to show as good a countenance as they could for under Russian despotism the only privilege they enjoyed was that of resignation. The emperor of Francis I was handsome, and would have looked so under the hood of a monk as well as under an imperial crown. He had every possible consideration for his wife, and allowed her to get the state into debt, because he possessed the art of becoming himself the creditor of the state. He favored commerce because it filled his coffers. He was rather addicted to gallantry, and the empress, who always called him master, feigned not to notice it, because she did not want the world to know that her charms could no longer captivate her royal spouse, and the more so that the beauty of her numerous family was generally admired. All the arch-duchesses except the eldest seemed to me very handsome, but amongst the sons I had the opportunity of seeing only the eldest, and I thought the expression of his face bad and unpleasant, in spite of the contrary opinion of Abbey Gross-Tet, who prided himself upon being a good physiognomist. What do you see, he asked me one day, on the countenance of that prince? Self-conceit and suicide. It was a prophecy, for Joseph II positively killed himself, although not willfully, and it was his self-conceit which prevented him from knowing it. He was not wanting and learning, but the knowledge which he believed himself to possess destroyed the learning in which he had in reality. He delighted in speaking to those who did not know how to answer him, whether because they were amazed at his arguments or because they pretended to be so, but he called pedants and avoided all persons who by true reasoning pulled down the weak scaffolding of his arguments. Seven years ago I happened to meet him at Luxembourg, and he spoke to me with just contempt of a man who had exchanged immense sums of money, and a great deal of debasing meanness against some miserable parchments, and he added, I despise men who purchase nobility. Your Majesty is right, but what are we to think of those who sell it? After that question he turned his back upon me, and henceforth he thought me unworthy of being spoken to. The great passion of that king was to see those who listened to him laugh, whether with sincerity or with affectation, when he related something. He could narrate well and amplify in a very amusing manner all the particulars of an anecdote, but he called anyone who did not laugh at his jests of fool, and that was always the person who understood him best. He gave the preference to the opinion of Brambia, who encouraged his suicide, over that of the physicians who were directing him according to reason. Nevertheless no one ever denied his claim to great courage, but he had no idea whatever of the art of government, for he had not the slightest knowledge of the human heart, and he could neither dissemble nor keep a secret. He had so little control over his own countenance that he could not even conceal the pleasure he felt in punishing, and when he saw anyone whose features did not please him, he could not help making a rye face which disfigured him greatly. Joseph II sank under a truly cruel disease, which left him until the last moment the faculty of arguing upon everything, at the same time that he knew his death to be certain. His prince must have felt the misery of repenting everything he had done, and of seeing the impossibility of undoing it, partly because it was irreparable, partly because if he had undone through reason what he had done through senselessness he would have thought himself dishonored, for he must have clung to the last to the belief in the infallibility attached to his high birth, in spite of the state of languor of his soul which ought to have proved to him the weakness and the fallibility of his nature. He had the greatest esteem for his brother who has now succeeded him, but he had not the courage to follow the advice which that brother gave him. An impulse worthy of a great soul made him bestow a large reward upon the physician, a man of intelligence, who pronounced his sentence of death, but a completely opposite weakness had prompted him, a few months before, to load with benefits the doctors and the quack who made him believe that they had cured him. He must likewise have felt the misery of knowing that he would not be regretted after his death, a grievous thought, especially for a sovereign. His niece, whom he loved dearly, died before him, and if he had had the affection of those who surrounded him they would have spared him that fearful information, for it was evident that his end was near at hand, and no one could dread his anger for having kept that event from him. Although very much pleased with Vienna and with the pleasures I enjoyed with the beautiful Fraulines, whose acquaintance I had made at the house of the Baroness, I was thinking of leaving that agreeable city when Berenwey, meeting me at Count Dorazo's wedding, invited me to join a picnic at Schoenbrunn. I went, and I failed to observe the laws of temperance. The consequence was that I returned to Vienna with such a severe indigestion that in twenty-four hours I was at the point of death. I made use of the last particle of intelligence left in me by the disease to save my own life. Campioni, Rokendorf, and Sarotin were by my bedside. Monsieur Sarotin, who felt the great friendship for me, had brought a physician, although I had almost positively declared that I would not see one. That disciple of San Grotto, thinking that he could allow full sway to the despotism of science, had sent for a surgeon, and they were going to bleed me against my will. I was half-dead. I do not know by what strange inspiration I opened my eyes, and I saw a man standing lancid in hand and preparing to open the vein. No, no, I said. And I languidly withdrew my arm, but the tormentor, wishing, as the physician expressed it, to restore me to life in spite of myself, got hold of my arm again. I suddenly felt my strength returning.  That was enough. Everybody ran away, with the exception of my servant, who did not abandon me, and gave me as much water as I wanted to drink. On the fourth day I had recovered my usual good health. That adventure amused all the idlers of Vienna for several days, and Abbey Gross-Tet assured me that if I had killed the poor surgeon it would not have gone any further, because all the witnesses present in my room at the time would have declared that he wanted to use violence to bleed me, which made a case of legitimate self-defense. I was likewise told by several persons that all the physicians in Vienna were of opinion that if I had been bled I should have been a dead man, but if drinking water had not saved me those gentlemen would certainly have not expressed the same opinion. I felt, however, that I had to be careful and not to fall ill in the capital of Austria, for it was likely that I should not have found a physician without difficulty. At the opera a great many persons wished after that to make my acquaintance, and I was looked upon as a man who had fought pistol in hand against death.  He died because he was bled once when he could not oppose any resistance. My indigestion reminded me of a witty saying of a man who was not much in the habit of uttering many of them. I mean, Monsieur des Maison Rouge, who was taken home one day, almost dying from a severe attack of indigestion, his carriage having been stopped opposite the Kans-Va, by some obstruction, a poor man came up and bedged alms, saying, Sir, I am starving. Eh! What are you complaining of, answered Maison Rouge, sighing deeply? I wish I was in your place, you rogue. At that time I made the acquaintance of a Milanese dancer who had wit, excellent manners, a literary education, and what is more great beauty. She received very good society, and did the honors of her drawing room marvelously well. I became acquainted at her house with Count Christopher Erdody, an amiable, wealthy and generous man, and with a certain Prince Kinsky, who had all the grace of a Harlequin. That girl inspired me with love, but it was in vain, for she was herself enamored of a dancer from Florence called Argeolini. I courted her, but she only laughed at me, for an actress, if in love with someone, is a fortress, which cannot be taken unless you build a bridge of gold, and I was not rich. Yet I did not despair, and kept on burning my incense at her feet. She liked my society, because she used to show me the letters she wrote, and I was very careful to admire her style. She had her own portrait in miniature, which was an excellent likeness. The day before my departure, vexed at having lost my time and my amorous compliments, I made up my mind to steal that portrait, a slight compensation for not having won the original. As I was taking leave of her, I saw the portrait within my reach, seized it, and left Vienna for Presberg, where Beren Wey had invited me to accompany him in several lovely frawlines on a party of pleasure. When we got out of the carriages, the first person I tumbled upon was the Chevalier de Talvie, the protector of Madame Kandlam, whom I had treated so well in Paris. The moment he saw me, he came up and told me that I owed him his revenge. I promised to give it to you, but I never leave one pleasure for another, I answered. We shall see one another again. That is enough. Will you do me the honor to introduce me to these ladies? Very willingly, but not in the street. We went inside of the hotel, and he followed us, thinking that the man, who after all was as brave as a French Chevalier, might amuse us, I presented him to my friends. He had been staying at the same hotel for a couple of days, and he was in mourning. He asked if we intended to go to the Prince Bishop's ball. It was the first news we had of it, if I answered affirmatively. One can attend it, said Talvie, without being presented, and that is why we intend to go, for I am not known to anybody here. He left us, and the landlord, having come in to receive our orders, gave us some particulars, respecting the ball. Our lovely frawn-lines, expressing a wish to attend it, we made up our minds to gratify them. We were not known to anyone, and were rambling through the apartments when we arrived before a large table at which the Prince Bishop was holding a pharaoh-bank. The pile of gold that the noble prelate had before him could not have been less than thirteen or fourteen thousand florins. The Chevalier de Talvie was standing between two ladies to whom he was whispering sweet words, while the prelate was shuffling the cards. The Prince, looking at the Chevalier, took it into his head to ask him in a most engaging manner to risk a card. Willingly, my lord, said Talvie, the whole of the bank upon this card. He well answered the prelate, to show that he was not afraid. He dealt, Talvie won, and my lucky Frenchman, with the greatest coolness, filled his pockets with the Prince's gold. The Bishop, astonished, and seeing, but rather late, how foolish he had been, said to the Chevalier, Sir, if you had lost, how would you have managed to pay me? My lord, that is my business. You are more lucky than wise. Most likely, my lord, but that is my business. Seeing that the Chevalier was on the point of leaving, I followed him, and at the bottom of the stairs, after congratulating him, I asked him to lend me a hundred sovereigns. He gave them to me at once, assuring me that he was delighted to have it in his power to oblige me. I will give you my bill, nothing of the sort. I put the gold into my pocket, carrying very little for the crowd of masked persons, whom curiosity had brought around the lucky winner, and who had witnessed the transaction. We went away, and I returned to the ballroom. Rokendorf and Sarotin were amongst the guests, having heard that the Chevalier had handed me some gold, asked me who he was. I gave them an answer half true and half false, and I told them that the gold I had just received was the payment of a sum I had lent him in Paris. Of course they could not help believing me, or at least pretending to do so. When we had returned to the inn, the landlord informed us that the Chevalier had left the city on horseback as fast as he could gallop, and that a small travelling bag was all his luggage. We sat down to supper, and in order to make our meal more cheerful, I told Vy and our charming froline the manner in which I had known Tall V, and now I had contrived to have my share of what he had won. On our arrival in Vienna the adventure was already known. People admired the Frenchman, and laughed at the bishop. I was not spared by public rumour, but I took no notice of it, for I did not think it necessary to defend myself. No one knew the Chevalier de Tall V, and the French ambassador was not even acquainted with his name. I do not know whether he was ever heard of again. I left Vienna in a post-cheese. After I had said farewell to my friends, ladies and gentlemen, and on the fourth day I slept in Trieste. The next day I sailed for Venice, which I reached in the afternoon, two days before Ascension Day. After an absence of three years I had the happiness of embracing my beloved protector, Monsieur de Braga d'A, and his two inseparable friends, who were delighted to see me in good health and well-equipped. CHAPTER 11 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova Volume 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit the LibriVox.org. Recording by Joelle Peebles. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova Volume 2, Paris and Prison, by Jacques Amo Casanova, translated by Arthur Machin. CHAPTER 11 I returned the portrait I had stolen in Vienna. I proceeded to Padua, an adventure on my way back and its consequences. I meet Therese Emer again, my acquaintance with Mamzelle C.C. I found myself again in my native country with that feeling of delight which is experienced by all true-hearted men when they see again the place in which they have received the first lasting impressions. I had acquired some experience. I knew the laws of honor and politeness. In one word I felt myself superior to most of my equals, and I longed to resume my old habits and pursuits. But I intended to adopt a more regular and more reserved line of conduct. I saw with great pleasure, as I entered my study, the perfect statue quo which had been preserved there. My papers, covered with a thick layer of dust, testified well enough that no strange hand had ever meddled with them. Two days after my arrival, as I was getting ready to accompany the Boussentoro on which the doge was going, as usual, to wed the Adriatic, the widow of so many husbands, and yet as young as on the first day of her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was from Monsieur Giovanni Grimani, a young nobleman who, well aware that he had no right to command me, begged me in the most polite manner to call at his house to receive a letter which had been entrusted to him for delivery in my own hands. I went to him immediately, and after the usual compliments he handed me a letter with a flying seal, which he had received the day before. Here are the contents. Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it to the person who will hand you this letter. Fogliazzi. Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket, and gave it at once to Monsieur Grimani, who received it with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise, for he had evidently thought that the commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfill, and he remarked, Love has most likely made a thief of you, but I congratulate you for your passion cannot be a very ardent one. How can you judge of that? From the readiness with which you give up this portrait. I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else. I thank you, and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship. I place it in my estimation infinitely above the portrait and even above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer? I promise you to send it. Here is some paper. Write your letter. You need not seal it. I wrote the following words.  Bad weather, having compelled the authorities to postpone the wonderful wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied Monsieur de Bregadin, who was going to Padua. The amiable old man ran away from the noisy pleasures which no longer suited his age, and he was going to spend in peace the few days which the public rejoicings would have rendered unpleasant for him in Venice. On the following Saturday after dinner I bade him farewell and got into the post-Chase to return to Venice. If I had left Padua two minutes sooner or later the whole course of my life would have been altered, and my destiny, if destiny is truly shaped by fatal combinations, would have been very different, but the reader can judge for himself. Having therefore left Padua at the very instant marked by fatality, I met at Oriago a cabriolet drawn at full speed by two post-horses, containing a very pretty woman and a man wearing a German uniform. Within a few yards from me the vehicle was suddenly upset on the side of the river, and the woman falling over the officer was in great danger of rolling into the Brenta. I jumped out of my chaise without even stopping my postillian, and rushing to the assistance of the lady I remedied with a chaste hand at the disorder caused to her toilet by her fall. Her companion, who had picked himself up without any injury, hastened towards us, and there was the lovely creature sitting on the ground thoroughly amazed, and less confused from her fall than from the indiscretion of her petticoats, which had exposed in all their nakedness certain parts which an honest woman never shows to a stranger. In the warmth of her thanks, which lasted until her postillian and mine had rided the Cabriolet, she often called me her saviour, her guardian angel. The vehicle being all right, the lady continued her journey towards Padua, and I resumed mine towards Venice, which I reached just in time to dress for the opera. The next day I masked myself early to accompany the Bucentoro, which, favoured by fine weather, was to be taken to the Lido for the great and ridiculous ceremony. The whole affair is under the responsibility of the Admiral of the Arsenal, who answers for the weather remaining fine under penalty of his head, for the slightest contrary wind might capsize the ship and drown the doge with all the most serene nobleman, the ambassadors, and the pope's nuncio, who is the sponsor of that burlesque wedding which the Venetians respect even to superstition. To crown the misfortune of such an accident it would make the whole of Europe laugh, and people would not fail to say that the doge of Venice had gone at last to consummate his marriage. I had removed my mask and was drinking some coffee under the procurities of St. Mark's Square, when a fine-looking female mask struck me gallantly on the shoulder with her fan. As I did not know who she was I did not take much notice of it, and after I had finished my coffee I put on my mask and walked towards the Speagia del Sepulcro, where Monsieur de Pragodin's gondola was waiting for me. As I was getting near the Ponte del Paglia I saw the same masked woman attentively looking at some wonderful monster shown for a few pints. I went up to her and asked her why she had struck me with her fan, to punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life. I guessed that she was the person I had rescued the day before on the banks of the Brenta, and after paying her some compliments I inquired whether she intended to follow the Bucentoro. I should like it, she said, if I had a safe gondola. I offered her mine, which was one of the largest, and after consulting a masked person who accompanied her she accepted. Before stepping in I invited them to take off their masks, but they told me that they wished to remain unknown. I then begged them to tell me if they belonged to the sweet of some ambassador, because in that case I should be compelled much to my regret to withdraw my invitation. But they assured me that they were both Venetians. The gondola belonging to a patrician I might have committed myself with the state inquisitors, a thing which I wished particularly to avoid. We were following the Bucentoro, and seated near the lady I allowed myself a few slight liberties, but she foiled my intentions by changing her seat. After the ceremony we returned to Venice and the officer who accompanied the lady told me that I would oblige them by dining in their company at the savage. I accepted, for I felt somewhat curious about the woman, what I had seen of her at the time of her fall warranted my curiosity. The officer left me alone with her, and went before us to order dinner. As soon as I was alone with her I emboldened by the mask. I told her that I was in love with her, that I had a box at the opera which I placed entirely at her disposal, and that if she would only give me the hope that I was not wasting my time and my attentions I would remain her humble servant during the carnival. If you mean to be cruel, I added, pray say so candidly. I must ask you to tell me what sort of woman you take me for. For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree, therefore I hope that you will give me this very day some marks of your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner. You will do as you please, but I trust that after dinner you will have changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking is not pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an explanation, it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think so? Yes, I do, but I am afraid of being deceived. How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be the end. I only beg today for one encouraging word. Give it to me, and I will, at once, be modest, obedient, and discreet. Pray calm yourself. We found the officer waiting for us before the door of the savage, and went upstairs. The moment we were in the room she took off her mask, and I thought her more beautiful than the day before. I wanted only to ascertain for the sake of form and etiquette whether the officer was her husband, her lover, a relative, or a protector, as used as I was to gallant adventures I wished to know the nature of the one in which I was embarking. We sat down to dinner, and the manners of the gentleman and of the lady made it necessary for me to be careful. It was to him that I offered my box, and it was accepted. But as I had none I went out after dinner under pretense of some engagement in order to get one at the opera-bufa, where Petricci and Lascui were then the shining stars. After the opera I gave them a good supper at an inn, and I took them to their house in my gondola. Thanks to the darkness of the night I obtained from the pretty woman all the favors which can be granted by the side of a third person who has to be treated with caution. As we parted company the officer said, You shall hear from me to-morrow. Where and how? Never mind that. The next morning the servant announced an officer. It was my man. After we had exchanged the usual compliments, after I had thanked him for the honor he had done me the day before, I asked him to tell me his name. He answered me in the following manner, speaking with great fluency but without looking at me. My name is P. C. My father is rich and enjoys great consideration at the exchange, but we are not on friendly terms at present. I reside in St. Mark's Square. The lady you saw with me was a ma'am Zell O. She is the wife of the broker C., and her sister Mary the patrician P. M., but Madame C. is at variance with her husband on my account as she is the cause of my quarrel with my father. I wear this uniform in virtue of a captaincy in the Austrian service, but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for the supply of oxen to the city of Venice, and I get the cattle from Syria and Hungary. This contract gives me a net profit of ten thousand florins a year, but an unforeseen embarrassment which I must remedy. A fraudulent bankruptcy and some extraordinary expenditure place me for the present in monetary difficulties. Four years ago I heard a great deal about you and wished very much to make your acquaintance. I firmly believe that it was through the interference of heaven that we became acquainted the day before yesterday. I have no hesitation in claiming from you an important service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship. Come to my assistance without running any risk yourself. Back these three bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay them, for I will leave in your hands these three other bills which fall due before the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon the proceeds of my contract during the whole year, so that should I fail to take up these bills you could seize my cattle in Trieste, which is the only road through which they can come. Just at his speech and at his proposal, which seemed to me allure and made me fear a world of trouble which I always abhorred, struck by the strange idea of that man who, thinking that I would easily fall into the snare, gave me the preference over so many other persons whom he certainly knew better than me, I did not hesitate to tell him that I would never accept his offer. He then had recourse to all his eloquence to persuade me, but I embarrassed him greatly by telling him how surprised I was at his giving me the preference over all his other acquaintances when I had had the honour to know him only for two days. Sir, he said, with bare-faced impudence, having recognized in you a man of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see the advantages of my offer and that you would not raise any objection. You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will take me for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if I accepted. He left me with an apology for having troubled me and saying that he hoped to see me in the evening at St. Mark's Square where he would be with Madame C. He gave me his address, telling me that he had retained possession of his apartment unknown to his father. This was as much as to say that he expected me to return his visit, but if I had been prudent I should not have done so. Disgusted at the manner in which that man had attempted to get hold of me, I no longer felt any inclination to try my fortune with his mistress, for it seemed evident that they were conspiring together to make a dupe of me, and as I had no wish to afford them that gratification I avoided them in the evening. It would have been wise to keep to that line of conduct, but the next day obeying my evil genius, and thinking that a polite call would not have any consequences, I called upon him. A servant having taken me to his room, he gave me the most friendly welcome and reproached me in a friendly manner for not having shown myself the evening before. After that he spoke again of his affairs, and made me look at a heap of papers and documents. I found it very wearisome. If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange, he said, I will take you as a partner in my contract. By this extraordinary mark of friendship he was offering me, at least he said so, an income of five thousand florins a year, but my only answer was to beg that the matter should never be mentioned again. I was going to take leave of him, when he said that he wished to introduce me to his mother and sister. He left the room and came back with them. The mother was a respectable, simple-looking woman, but the daughter was a perfect beauty. She literally dazzled me. After a few minutes the over-trustful mother begged to leave to retire, and her daughter remained. In less than half an hour I was captivated. Her perfection delighted me. Her lively wit, her artless reasoning, her candor, her ingenuousness, her natural and noble feelings, her cheerful and innocent quickness, that harmony which arises from beauty, wit, and innocence, and which had always the most powerful influence over me, everything, in fact, conspired to make me the slave of the most perfect woman that the wildest dreams could imagine.  She read notebooks, but her father's a serious man who had no novels in his library, and she was longing to read some tales of romance. She had likewise a great wish to know Venice, and as no one visited the family she had never been told that she was truly a prodigy of beauty. Her brother was writing while I conversed with her, or rather answered all the questions which she addressed to me, and which I could only satisfy by developing the ideas that she already had, and that she was herself amazed to find in her own mind, for her soul had until then been unconscious of its own powers. Yet I did not tell her that she was lovely, and that she interested me in the highest degree, because I had so often said the same to other women, and without truth, that I was afraid of raising her suspicions. I left the house with a sensation of dreamy sadness, feeling deeply moved by the rare qualities I had discovered in that charming girl. I promised myself not to see her again, for I hardly thought myself the man to sacrifice my liberty entirely and to ask her in marriage, although I certainly believed her endowed with all the qualities necessary to minister to my happiness. I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went to pay her a visit. I found the worthy woman the same as she had always been towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate welcome. She told me that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had caused Monsieur de Malapiero to strike me thirteen years before, had just returned from Beiruth, where the Margrave had made her fortune, as she lived in the house opposite Madame Manzoni who wanted to enjoy her surprise sent her word to come over. She came almost immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of eight years, a lovely child, and the only one she had given to her husband, who was a dancer in Beiruth. Our surprise at seeing one another again was equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting what had occurred in our young days. It is true that we had but trifles to recollect. I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of my position from external appearances, she thought it right to congratulate me, but her fortune would have been established on a firmer basis than mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct. She unfortunately indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers will become acquainted. She was an excellent musician, but her fortune was not altogether owing to her talent. Her charms had done more for her than anything else. She told me her adventures, very like with some restrictions, and we parted after a conversation of two hours. She invited me to breakfast for the following day. She told me that the Margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old acquaintance, I was not likely to give rise to any suspicion. That is the aphorism of all women addicted to gallantry. She added that I could, if I liked, see her that same evening in her box, and that Monsieur Papa Faba, who was her godfather, would be glad to see me. I called at her house early the next morning, and I found her in bed with her son, who, thanks to the principles in which he had been educated, got up and left the room as soon as he saw me seated near his mother's bed. I spent three hours with her, and I recollect that the last was delightful. The reader will know the consequence of that pleasant hour later. I saw her a second time during the fortnight she passed in Venice, and when she left I promised to pay her a visit in Beirut, but I never kept my promise. I had at that time to attend the affairs of my posthumous brother, who had, as he said, a call from heaven to the priesthood, but he wanted a patrimony. While he was ignorant and devoid of any merit save a handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would ensure his happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his preaching, for which, according to the bunt of the women with whom he was acquainted, he had a decided talent. I took everything into my hands, and I succeeded in obtaining for him a patrimony from Monsieur Grimani, who still owed us the value of the furniture in my father's house, of which he had never rendered any account. He transferred to him a life interest in a house in Venice, and two years afterwards my brother was ordained, but the patrimony was only fictitious, the house being already mortgaged. The Abbey Grimani was, however, a kind Jesuit, and those sainted servants of God think that all is well, that ends well, and profitably to themselves. I shall speak again of my unhappy brother, whose destiny became involved with mine. Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P.C. and I met him in the street. He told me that his sister was constantly speaking of me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told her, and that his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made my acquaintance. She would be a good match for you, he added, for she will have a dowry of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take coffee with my mother and sister. I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my word. It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such circumstances. I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl, and when I left her I was deeply in love. As I went away I told her that I envied the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush. After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings towards her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave towards ma'am Zell C.C. as an honest man, nor as a libertine. I could not hope to obtain her hand, and I almost fancied I would stab anyone who advised me to seduce her. I felt that I wanted some diversion. I went to the gaming table. Playing is sometimes an excellent lennative to calm the mind and to smother the ardent fire of love. I played with wonderful luck, and I was going home with plenty of gold, when in a solitary narrow street I met a man bent down, less by age than by the heavy weight of misery. As I came near him I recognized Count Bonafiti, the sight of whom moved me with pity. He recognized me likewise. We talked for some time, and at last he told me the state of abject poverty to which he was reduced, and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family. I do not blush, he added, in begging from you, one sequin which will keep us alive for five or six days. I immediately gave him ten trying to prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his gratitude, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears.  I can neither support her in those feelings, he said, with a sigh, nor reward her for them. Seeing that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired him, I took his address and promised to pay him a visit. I was curious to see what had become of a virtue of which I did not entertain a very high opinion. I called the next day. I found a house almost bare of furniture and the daughter alone, a circumstance which did not astonish me. The young Countess had seen me arrive and received me on the stairs in the most amiable manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her handsome, agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her acquaintance in Fort St. Andrew. Her father, having announced my visit, she was in high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I had been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she gave way again to the transport of joy, which, as she said, she felt in seeing me again. The ardour of our mutual kisses given at first under the auspices of friendship was not long in exciting our senses to such an extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had nothing more to desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of course, to be, or at least to appear to be, surprised at what had taken place. And I could not honestly hesitate to assure the poor Countess that it was only the first token of a constant and true love. She believed it, or she feigned to believe it, and perhaps I myself fancied it was true, for the moment. When we had become calm again, she told me the fearful state to which they were reduced, her brothers walking barefooted in the streets and her father having positively no bread to give them. Then you have not any lover? What? A lover? Where could I find a man courageous enough to be my lover in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first-comer for the sum of thirty-sue? There is not a man in Venice who would think me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as this. Besides, I was not born for prostitution. Such a conversation was not very cheerful. She was weeping, and the spectacle of her sadness joined to the picture of misery which surrounded me, was not at all the thing to excite love. I left her with a promise to call again, and I put twelve sequins in her hand. She was surprised at the amount. She had never known herself so rich before. I have always regretted I did not give her twice as much. The next day P.C. called on me, and said cheerfully that his mother had given permission to her daughter to go to the opera with him, that the young girl was delighted because she had never been there before, and that, if I liked, I could wait for them at some place where they would meet me. But does your sister know that you intend me to join you? She considers it a great pleasure. Does your mother know it? No, but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great esteem of you. In that case I will try to find a private box. Very well, wait for us at such a place. The scoundrel did not speak of his letters of exchange again, and as he saw that I was no longer paying my attentions to his mistress, and that I was in love with his sister, he had formed the fine project of selling her to me. I pitied the mother and the daughter who had confidence in such a man, but I had not the courage to resist the temptation. I even went so far as to persuade myself that as I loved her it was my duty to accept the offer, in order to save her from other snares. For if I had declined her brother might have found some other man less scrupulous, and I could not bear the idea. I thought that in my company her innocence ran no risk. I took a box at the St. Samuel opera, and I was waiting for them at the appointed place long before the time. They came at last, and the sight of my young friend delighted me. She was elegantly masked, and her brother wore his uniform. In order not to expose the lovely girl to being recognized on account of her brother, I made them get into my gondola. He insisted upon being landed near the house of his mistress, who was ill. He said, and he added that he would soon join us in our box. I was astonished that C.C. did not show any surprise or repugnance at remaining alone with me in the gondola, but I did not think the conduct of her brother extraordinary, for it was evident that it was all arranged beforehand in his mind. I told C.C. that we would remain in the gondola until the opening of the theatre, and that as the heat was intense she would do well to take off her mask, which she did at once. The law I had laid upon myself to respect her, the noble confidence which was beaming on her countenance and in her looks, her innocent joy, everything increased the ardour of my love. Not knowing what to say to her, for I could speak to her of nothing but love, and it was a delicate subject, I kept looking at her charming face, not daring to let my eyes rest upon two budding globes shaped by the graces, for fear of giving the alarm to her modesty. Speak to me, she said at last, you only look at me without uttering a single word. You have sacrificed yourself for me, because my brother would have taken you with him to his lady-love, who to judge from what he says must be as beautiful as an angel. I have seen that lady. I suppose she is very witty. She may be so, but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have never visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not therefore imagine, beautiful C.C., that I have made the slightest sacrifice for your sake. I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you were sad. If I do not speak to you, it is because I am too deeply moved by your angelic confidence in me. I am very glad it is so, but how could I not trust you? I feel much more free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself. My mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are certainly an honest man. Besides you are not married. That is the first thing I asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you envied the fate of the man who would have me for his wife? But that very moment I was thinking that your wife would be the happiest woman in Venice. These words uttered with the most candid artlessness and with that tone of sincerity which comes from the heart had upon me an effect which it would be difficult to describe. I suffered because I could not imprint the most loving kiss upon the sweet lips which had just pronounced them, but at the same time it caused me the most delicious felicity to see that such an angel loved me. With such conformity of feelings I said, we would, lovely sea, be perfectly happy if we could be united forever, but I am old enough to be your father. You my father, are you joking? Do you know that I am fourteen? Do you know that I am twenty-eight? Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine? If my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me. I could not keep anything from him. The hour to go to the theatre had come. We landed and the performance engrossed all her intention. Her brother joined us only when it was nearly over. It had certainly been a part of his calculation. I took them to an inn for supper, and the pleasure I experienced in seeing the charming girl eat with a good appetite made me forget that I had had no dinner. I hardly spoke during the supper, for love made me sick, and I was in a state of excitement which could not last long. In order to excuse my silence, I feigned to be suffering from the toothache. After supper, P.C. told his sister that I was in love with her, and that I should certainly feel better if she would allow me to kiss her. The only answer of the innocent girl was to offer me her laughing lips, which seemed to call for kisses. I was burning, but my respect for that innocent and naïve young creature was such that I only kissed her cheek, and even that in a manner very cold in appearance. What a kiss! exclaimed P.C. Come, come! A good lover's kiss. I did not move. The impudent fellow annoyed me, but his sister, turning her head aside, sadly said, Do not press him. I am not so happy as to please him. That remark gave the alarm to my love. I could no longer master my feelings. What! exclaimed warmly. What! beautiful sea! You do not condescend to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have inspired me with. You suppose that you do not please me?  Then folding her in my arms and pressing her lovingly against my breast I imprinted on her mouth the long and ardent kiss which I had so much wish to give her. But the nature of that kiss made the timid dove feel that she had fallen into the vulture's claws. She escaped from my arms, amazed at having discovered my love in such a manner. Her brother expressed his approval while she replaced her mask over her face in order to conceal her confusion. I asked her whether she had any longer any doubts as to my love. You have convinced me, she answered, but because you have undeceived me you must not punish me. I thought that this was a very delicate answer dictated by true sentiment, but her brother was not pleased with it and said it was foolish. We put on our masks, left the inn, and after I had escorted them to their house I went home deeply in love, happy in my most inmost soul, and yet very sad. The reader will learn in the following chapters the progress of my love and the adventures in which I found myself engaged.