BACK AGAIN TO PARIS - Chapter XIII
My Stay at Paris and My Departure for Strasburg, Where I Find the
Renaud--My Misfortunes at Munich and My Sad Visit to Augsburg
At ten o'clock in the morning, cheered by the pleasant feeling of
being once more in that Paris which is so imperfect, but which is
the only true town in the world, I called on my dear Madame
d'Urfe, who received me with open arms. She told me that the
young Count d'Aranda was quite well, and if I liked she would ask
him to dinner the next day. I told her I should be delighted to
see him, and then I informed her that the operation by which she
was to become a man could not be performed till Querilinto, one of
the three chiefs of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross, was
liberated from the dungeons of the Inquisition, at Lisbon.
"This is the reason," I added, "that I am going to Augsburg in the
course of next month, where I shall confer with the Earl of
Stormont as to the liberation of the adept, under the pretext of a
mission from the Portuguese Government. For these purposes I shall
require a good letter of credit, and some watches and snuff-boxes
to make presents with, as we shall have to win over certain of the
profane."
"I will gladly see to all that, but you need not hurry yourself as
the Congress will not meet till September."
"Believe me, it will never meet at all, but the ambassadors of the
belligerent powers will be there all the same. If, contrary to my
expectation, the Congress is held, I shall be obliged to go to
Lisbon. In any case, I promise to see you again in the ensuing
winter. The fortnight that I have to spend here will enable me to
defeat a plot of St. Germain's."
"St. Germain--he would never dare to return to Paris."
"I am certain that he is here in disguise. The state messenger
who ordered him to leave London has convinced him the English
minister was not duped by the demand for his person to be given
up, made by the Comte d'Afri in the name of the king to the
States-General."
All this was mere guess-work, and it will be seen that I guessed
rightly.
Madame d'Urfe then congratulated me on the charming girl whom I
had sent from Grenoble to Paris. Valenglard had told her the
whole story.
"The king adores her," said she, "and before long she will make
him a father. I have been to see her at Passi with the Duchesse
de 1'Oraguais."
"She will give birth to a son who will make France happy, and in
thirty years time you will see wondrous things, of which,
unfortunately, I can tell you nothing until your transformation.
Did you mention my name to her?"
"No, I did not; but I am sure you will be able to see her, if only
at Madame Varnier's."
She was not mistaken; but shortly afterwards an event happened
which made the madness of this excellent woman much worse.
Towards four o'clock, as we were talking over my travels and our
designs, she took a fancy to walk in the Bois du Boulogne. She
begged me to accompany her, and I acceded to her request. We
walked into the deepest recesses of the wood and sat down under a
tree. "It is eighteen years ago," said she, "since I fell asleep
on the same spot that we now occupy. During my sleep the divine
Horosmadis came down from the sun and stayed with me till I awoke.
As I opened my eyes I saw him leave me and ascend to heaven. He
left me with child, and I bore a girl which he took away from me
years ago, no doubt to punish me for, having so far forgotten
myself as to love a mortal after him. My lovely Iriasis was like
him."
"You are quite sure that M. d'Urfe was not the child's father?"
"M. d'Urfe did not know me after he saw me lying beside the divine
Anael."
"That's the genius of Venus. Did he squint?"
"To excess. You are aware, then, that he squints?"
"Yes, and I know that at the amorous crisis he ceases to squint."
"I did not notice that. He too, left me on account of my sinning
with an Arab."
"The Arab was sent to you by an enemy of Anael's, the genius of
Mercury."
"It must have been so; it was a great misfortune."
"On the contrary, it rendered you more fit for transformation."
We were walking towards the carriage when all at once we saw St.
Germain, but as soon as he noticed us he turned back and we lost
sight of him.
"Did you see him?" said I. "He is working against us, but our
genie makes him tremble."
"I am quite thunderstruck. I will go and impart this piece of
news to the Duc de Choiseul to-morrow morning. I am curious to
hear what he will say when I tell him."
As we were going back to Paris I left Madame d'Urfe, and walked to
the Porte St. Denis to see my brother. He and his wife received
me with cries of joy. I thought the wife very pretty but very
wretched, for Providence had not allowed my brother to prove his
manhood, and she was unhappily in love with him. I say unhappily,
because her love kept her faithful to him, and if she had not been
in love she might easily have found a cure for her misfortune as
her husband allowed her perfect liberty. She grieved bitterly,
for she did not know that my brother was impotent, and fancied
that the reason of his abstention was that he did not return her
love; and the mistake was an excusable one, for he was like a
Hercules, and indeed he was one, except where it was most to be
desired. Her grief threw her into a consumption of which she died
five or six years later. She did not mean her death to be a
punishment to her husband, but we shall see that it was so.
The next day I called on Madame Varnier to give her Madame Morin's
letter. I was cordially welcomed, and Madame Varnier was kind
enough to say that she had rather see me than anybody else in the
world; her niece had told her such strange things about me that
she had got quite curious. This, as is well known, is a
prevailing complaint with women.
"You shall see my niece," she said, "and she will tell you all
about herself."
She wrote her a note, and put Madame Morin's letter under the same
envelope.
"If you want to know what my niece's answer is," said Madame
Varnier, "you must dine with me."
I accepted the invitation, and she immediately told her servant
that she was not at home to anyone.
The small messenger who had taken the note to Passi returned at
four o'clock with the following epistle:
"The moment in which I see the Chevalier de Seingalt once more
will be one of the happiest of my life. Ask him to be at your
house at ten o'clock the day after tomorrow, and if he can't come
then please let me know."
After reading the note and promising to keep the appointment, I
left Madame Varnier and called on Madame de Rumain, who told me I
must spend a whole day with her as she had several questions to
put to my oracle.
Next day Madame d'Urfe told me the reply she had from the Duc de
Choiseul, when she told him that she had seen the Comte de St.
Germain in the Bois du Boulogne.
"I should not be surprised," said the minister, "considering that
he spent the night in my closet."
The duke was a man of wit and a man of the world. He only kept
secrets when they were really important ones; very different from
those make-believe diplomatists, who think they give themselves
importance by making a mystery of trifles of no consequence. It
is true that the Duc de Choiseul very seldom thought anything of
great importance; and, in point of fact, if there were less
intrigue and more truth about diplomacy (as there ought to be),
concealment would be rather ridiculous than necessary.
The duke had pretended to disgrace St. Germain in France that he
might use him as a spy in London; but Lord Halifax was by no means
taken in by this stratagem. However, all governments have the
politeness to afford one another these services, so that none of
them can reproach the others.
The small Conte d'Aranda after caressing me affectionately begged
me to come and breakfast with him at his boarding-house, telling
me that Mdlle. Viar would be glad to see me.
The next day I took care not to fail in my appointment with the
fair lady. I was at Madame Varnier's a quarter of an hour before
the arrival of the dazzling brunette, and I waited for her with a
beating at the heart which shewed me that the small favours she
had given me had not quenched the flame of love. When she made
her appearance the stoutness of her figure carried respect with
it, so that I did not feel as if I could come forward and greet
her tenderly; but she was far from thinking that more respect was
due to her than when she was at Grenoble, poor but also pure. She
kissed me affectionately and told me as much.
"They think I am happy," said she, "and envy my lot; but can one
be happy after the loss of one's self-respect? For the last six
months I have only smiled, not laughed; while at Grenoble I
laughed heartily from true gladness. I have diamonds, lace, a
beautiful house, a superb carriage, a lovely garden, waiting-
maids, and a maid of honour who perhaps despises me; and although
the highest Court ladies treat me like a princess, I do not pass a
single day without experiencing some mortification."
"Mortification?"
"Yes; people come and bring pleas before me, and I am obliged to
send them away as I dare not ask the king anything."
"Why not?"
"Because I cannot look on him as my lover only; he is always my
sovereign, too. Ah! happiness is to be sought for in simple
homes, not in pompous palaces."
"Happiness is gained by complying with the duties of whatever
condition of life one is in, and you must constrain yourself to
rise to that exalted station in which destiny has placed you."
"I cannot do it; I love the king and I am always afraid of vexing
him. I am always thinking that he does too much for me, and thus
I dare not ask for anything for others."
"But I am sure the king would be only too glad to shew his love
for you by benefiting the persons in whom you take an interest."
"I know he would, and that thought makes me happy, but I cannot
overcome my feeling of repugnance to asking favours. I have a
hundred louis a month for pin-money, and I distribute it in alms
and presents, but with due economy, so that I am not penniless at
the end of the month. I have a foolish notion that the chief
reason the king loves me is that I do not importune him."
"And do you love him?"
"How can I help it? He is good-hearted, kindly, handsome, and
polite to excess; in short, he possesses all the qualities to
captivate a woman's heart.
"He is always asking me if I am pleased with my furniture, my
clothes, my servants, and my garden, and if I desire anything
altered. I thank him with a kiss, and tell him that I am pleased
with everything."
"Does he ever speak of the scion you are going to present to him?"
"He often says that I ought to be careful of myself in my
situation. I am hoping that he will recognize my son as a prince
of the blood; he ought in justice to do so, as the queen is dead."
"To be sure he will."
"I should be very happy if I had a son. I wish I felt sure that I
would have one. But I say nothing about this to anyone. If I
dared speak to the king about the horoscope, I am certain he would
want to know you; but I am afraid of evil tongues."
"So am I. Continue in your discreet course and nothing will come
to disturb your happiness, which may become greater, and which I
am pleased to have procured for you."
We did not part without tears. She was the first to go, after
kissing me and calling me her best friend. I stayed a short time
with Madame Varnier to compose my feelings, and I told her that I
should have married her instead of drawing her horoscope.
"She would no doubt have been happier. You did not foresee,
perhaps, her timidity and her lack of ambition."
"I can assure you that I did not reckon upon her courage or
ambition. I laid aside my own happiness to think only of hers.
But what is done cannot be recalled, and I shall be consoled if I
see her perfectly happy at last. I hope, indeed, she will be so,
above all if she is delivered of a son."
I dined with Madame d'Urfe, and we decided to send back Aranda to
his boarding-school that we might be more free to pursue our
cabalistic operations; and afterwards I went to the opera, where
my brother had made an appointment with me. He took me to sup at
Madame Vanloo's, and she received me in the friendliest manner
possible.
"You will have the pleasure of meeting Madame Blondel and her
husband," said she.
The reader will recollect that Madame Blondel was Manon Baletti,
whom I was to have married.
"Does she know I am coming?" I enquired.
"No, I promise myself the pleasure of seeing her surprise."
"I am much obliged to you for not wishing to enjoy my surprise as
well. We shall see each other again, but not to-day, so I must
bid you farewell; for as I am a man of honour I hope never to be
under the same roof as Madame Blondel again."
With this I left the room, leaving everybody in astonishment, and
not knowing where to go I took a coach and went to sup with my
sister-in-law, who was extremely glad to see me. But all through
supper-time this charming woman did nothing but complain of her
husband, saying that he had no business to marry her, knowing that
he could not shew himself a man.
"Why did you not make the trial before you married?"
"Was it for me to propose such a thing? How should I suppose that
such a fine man was impotent? But I will tell you how it all
happened. As you know, I was a dancer at the Comedie Italienne,
and I was the mistress of M. de Sauci, the ecclesiastical
commissioner. He brought your brother to my house, I liked him,
and before long I saw that he loved me. My lover advised me that
it was an opportunity for getting married and making my fortune.
With this idea I conceived the plan of not granting him any
favours. He used to come and see me in the morning, and often
found me in bed; we talked together, and his passions seemed to be
aroused, but it all ended in kissing. On my part, I was waiting
for a formal declaration and a proposal of marriage. At that
period, M. de Sauci settled an annuity of a thousand crowns on me
on the condition that I left the stage.
"In the spring M. de Sauci invited your brother to spend a month
in his country house. I was of the party, but for propriety's
sake it was agreed that I should pass as your brother's wife.
Casanova enjoyed the idea, looking upon it as a jest, and not
thinking of the consequences. I was therefore introduced as his
wife to my lover's family, as also to his relations, who were
judges, officers, and men about town, and to their wives, who were
all women of fashion. Your brother was in high glee that to play
our parts properly we were obliged to sleep together. For my
part, I was far from disliking the idea, or at all events I looked
upon it as a short cut to the marriage I desired.
"But how can I tell you? Though tender and affectionate in
everything, your brother slept with me for a month without our
attaining what seemed the natural result under the circumstances."
"You might have concluded, then, that he was impotent; for unless
he were made of stone, or had taken a vow of chastity, his conduct
was inexplicable."
"The fact is, that I had no means of knowing whether he was
capable or incapable of giving me substantial proof of his love."
"Why did you not ascertain his condition for yourself?"
"A feeling of foolish pride prevented me from putting him to the
test. I did not suspect the truth, but imagined reasons
flattering to myself. I thought that he loved me so truly that he
would not do anything before I was his wife. That idea prevented
me humiliating myself by making him give me some positive proof of
his powers."
"That supposition would have been tenable, though highly
improbable, if you had been an innocent young maid, but he knew
perfectly well that your novitiate was long over."
"Very true; but what can you expect of a woman impelled by love
and vanity?"
"Your reasoning is excellent, but it comes rather late." "Well,
at last we went back to Paris, your brother to his house, and I to
mine, while he continued his courtship, and I could not understand
what he meant by such strange behaviour. M. de Sauci, who knew
that nothing serious had taken place between us, tried in vain to
solve the enigma. 'No doubt he is afraid of getting you with
child,' he said, 'and of thus being obliged to marry you.' I began
to be of the same opinion, but I thought it a strange line for a
man in love to take.
"M. de Nesle, an officer in the French Guards, who had a pretty
wife I had met in the country, went to your brother's to call on
me. Not finding me there he asked why we did not live together.
Your brother replied openly that our marriage had been a mere
jest. M. de Nesle then came to me to enquire if this were the
truth, and when he heard that it was he asked me how I would like
him to make Casanova marry me. I answered that I should be
delighted, and that was enough for him. He went again to your
brother, and told him that his wife would never have associated
with me on equal terms if I had not been introduced to her as a
married woman; that the deceit was an insult to all the company at
the country-house, which must be wiped out by his marrying me
within the week or by fighting a duel. M. de Nesle added that if
he fell he would be avenged by all the gentlemen who had been
offended in the same way. Casanova replied, laughing, that so far
from fighting to escape marrying me, he was ready to break a lance
to get me. 'I love her,' he said, 'and if she loves me I am quite
ready to give her my hand. Be kind enough,' he added, 'to prepare
the way for me, and I will marry her whenever you like.'
"M. de Nesle embraced him, and promised to see to everything; he
brought me the joyful news, and in a week all was over. M. de
Nesle gave us a splendid supper on our wedding-day, and since then
I have had the title of his wife. It is an empty title, however,
for, despite the ceremony and the fatal yes, I am no wife, for
your brother is completely impotent. I am an unhappy wretch, and
it is all his fault, for he ought to have known his own condition.
He has deceived me horribly."
"But he was obliged to act as he did; he is more to be pitied than
to be blamed. I also pity you, but I think you are in the wrong,
for after his sleeping with you for a month without giving any
proof of his manhood you might have guessed the truth. Even if
you had been a perfect novice, M. de Sauci ought to have known
what was the matter; he must be aware that it is beyond the power
of man to sleep beside a pretty woman, and to press her naked body
to his breast without becoming, in spite of himself, in a state
which would admit of no concealment; that is, in case he were not
impotent."
"All that seems very reasonable, but nevertheless neither of us
thought of it; your brother looks such a Hercules."
"There are two remedies open to you; you can either have your
marriage annulled, or you can take a lover; and I am sure that my
brother is too reasonable a man to offer any opposition to the
latter course."
"I am perfectly free, but I can neither avail myself of a divorce
nor of a lover; for the wretch treats me so kindly that I love him
more and more, which doubtless makes my misfortune harder to bear."
The poor woman was so unhappy that I should have been delighted to
console her, but it was out of the question. However, the mere
telling of her story had afforded her some solace, and after
kissing her in such a way as to convince her that I was not like
my brother, I wished her good night.
The next day I called on Madame Vanloo, who informed me that
Madame Blondel had charged her to thank me for having gone away,
while her husband wished me to know that he was sorry not to have
seen me to express his gratitude.
"He seems to have found his wife a maid, but that's no fault of
mine; and Manon Baletti is the only person he ought to be grateful
to. They tell me that he has a pretty baby, and that he lives at
the Louvre, while she has another house in the Rue Neuve-des-
Petits-Champs."
"Yes, but he has supper with her every evening."
"It's an odd way of living."
"I assure you it answers capitally. Blondel regards his wife as
his mistress. He says that that keeps the flame of love alight,
and that as he never had a mistress worthy of being a wife, he is
delighted to have a wife worthy of being a mistress."
The next day I devoted entirely to Madame de Rumain, and we were
occupied with knotty questions till the evening. I left her well
pleased. The marriage of her daughter, Mdlle. Cotenfau, with M.
de Polignac, which took place five or six years later, was the
result of our cabalistic calculations.
The fair stocking-seller of the Rue des Prouveres, whom I had
loved so well, was no longer in Paris. She had gone off with a M.
de Langlade, and her husband was inconsolable. Camille was ill.
Coralline had become the titulary mistress of the Comte de la
Marche, son of the Prince of Conti, and the issue of this union
was a son, whom I knew twenty years later. He called himself the
Chevalier de Montreal, and wore the cross of the Knights of Malta.
Several other girls I had known were widowed and in the country,
or had become inaccessible in other ways.
Such was the Paris of my day. The actors on its stage changed as
rapidly as the fashions.
I devoted a whole day to my old friend Baletti, who had left the
theatre and married a pretty ballet-girl on the death of his
father; he was making experiments with a view to finding the
philosopher's stone.
I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the
Comedic Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me
that M. du Tillot had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.
"He would not get me anything to do," said Poinsinet, "because a
French poet is rather at a discount in Italy."
"Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?"
"Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was
going to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to
give him a thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome."
"His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on
his lady-mother with you."
"I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she
will invite you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk
to you."
"How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve
Apollo?"
"He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no
room, and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will
read you my play, the 'Cercle', which has been accepted. I am
sure it will be successful?"
The 'Cercle' was a short prose play, in which the poet satirised
the jargon of Dr. Herrenschwand, brother of the doctor I had
consulted at Soleure. The play proved to be a great success.
I took Poinsinet home to supper, and the poor nursling of the
muses ate for four. In the morning he came to tell me that the
Countess of Lismore expected me to supper.
I found the lady, still pretty, in company with her aged lover, M.
de St. Albin, Archbishop of Cambrai, who spent all the revenues of
his see on her. This worthy prelate was one of the illegitimate
children of the Duc d'Orleans, the famous Regent, by an actress.
He supped with us, but he only opened his mouth to eat, and his
mistress only spoke of her son, whose talents she lauded to the
skies, though he was in reality a mere scamp; but I felt in duty
bound to echo what she said. It would have been cruel to
contradict her. I promised to let her know if I saw anything more
of him.
Poinsinet, who was hearthless and homeless, as they say, spent the
night in my room, and in the morning I gave him two cups of
chocolate and some money wherewith to get a lodging. I never saw
him again, and a few years after he was drowned, not in the
fountain of Hippocrene, but in the Guadalquivir. He told me that
he had spent a week with M. de Voltaire, and that he had hastened
his return to Paris to obtain the release of the Abbe Morellet
from the Bastile.
I had nothing more to do at Paris, and I was only waiting for some
clothes to be made and for a cross of the order, with which the
Holy Father had decorated me, to be set with diamonds and rubies.
I had waited for five or six days when an unfortunate incident
obliged me to take a hasty departure. I am loth to write what
follows, for it was all my own fault that I was nearly losing my
life and my honour. I pity those simpletons who blame fortune and
not themselves for their misfortunes.
I was walking in the Tuileries at ten o'clock in the morning, when
I was unlucky enough to meet the Dangenancour and another girl.
This Dangenancour was a dancer at the opera-house, whom I had
desired to meet previously to my last departure from Paris. I
congratulated myself on the lucky chance which threw her in my
way, and accosted her, and had not much trouble in inducing her to
dine with me at Choisi.
We walked towards the Pont-Royal, where we took a coach. After
dinner had been ordered we were taking a turn in the garden, when
I saw a carriage stop and two adventurers whom I knew getting out
of it, with two girls, friends of the ones I had with me. The
wretched landlady, who was standing at the door, said that if we
liked to sit down together she could give us an excellent dinner,
and I said nothing, or rather I assented to the yes of my two
nymphs. The dinner was excellent, and after the bill was paid,
and we were on the point of returning to Paris, I noticed that a
ring, which I had taken off to shew to one of the adventurers
named Santis, was still missing. It was an exceedingly pretty
miniature, and the diamond setting had cost me twenty-five Louis.
I politely begged Santis to return me the ring, and he replied
with the utmost coolness that he had done so already.
"If you had returned it," said I, "it would be on my finger, and
you see that it is not."
He persisted in his assertion; the girls said nothing, but
Santis's friend, a Portuguese, named Xavier, dared to tell me that
he had seen the ring returned.
"You're a liar," I exclaimed; and without more ado I took hold of
Santis by the collar, and swore I would rot let him go till he
returned me my ring. The Portuguese rose to come to his friend's
rescue, while I stepped back and drew my sword, repeating my
determination not to let them go. The landlady came on the scene
and began to shriek, and Santis asked me to give him a few words
apart. I thought in all good faith that he was ashamed to restore
the ring before company, but that he would give it me as soon as
we were alone. I sheathed my sword, and told him to come with me.
Xavier got into the carriage with the four girls, and they all
went back to Paris.
Santis followed me to the back of the inn, and then assuming a
pleasant smile he told me that he had put the ring into his
friend's pocket for a joke, but that I should have it back at
Paris.
"That's an idle tale," I exclaimed, "your friend said that he saw
you return it, and now he has escaped me. Do you think that I am
green enough to be taken in by this sort of thing? You're a
couple of robbers."
So saying, I stretched out my hand for his watch-chain, but he
stepped back and drew his sword. I drew mine, and we had scarcely
crossed swords when he thrust, and I parrying rushed in and ran
him through and through. He fell to the ground calling, "Help!" I
sheathed my sword, and, without troubling myself about him, got
into my coach and drove back to Paris.
I got down in the Place Maubert, and walked by a circuitous way to
my hotel. I was sure that no one could have come after me there,
as my landlord did not even know my name.
I spent the rest of the day in packing up my trunks, and after
telling Costa to place them on my carriage I went to Madame
d'Urfe. After I had told her of what had happened, I begged her,
as soon as that which she had for me was ready, to send it to me
at Augsburg by Costa. I should have told her to entrust it to one
of her own servants, but my good genius had left me that day.
Besides I did not look upon Costa as a thief.
When I got back to the hotel I gave the rascal his instructions,
telling him to be quick and to keep his own counsel, and then I
gave him money for the journey.
I left Paris in my carriage, drawn by four hired horses, which
took me as far as the second post, and I did not stop till I got
to Strasburg, where I found Desarmoises and my Spaniard.
There was nothing to keep me in Strasburg, so I wanted to cross
the Rhine immediately; but Desarmoises persuaded me to come with
him to see an extremely pretty woman who had only delayed her
departure for Augsburg in the hope that we might journey there
together.
"You know the lady," said the false marquis, "but she made me give
my word of honour that I would not tell you. She has only her
maid with her, and I am sure you will be pleased to see her."
My curiosity made me give in. I followed Desarmoises, and came
into a room where I saw a nice-looking woman whom I did not
recognize at first. I collected my thoughts, and the lady turned
out to be a dancer whom I had admired on the Dresden boards eight
years before. She was then mistress to Count Bruhl, but I had not
even attempted to win her favour. She had an excellent carriage,
and as she was ready to go to Augsburg I immediately concluded
that we could make the journey together very pleasantly.
After the usual compliments had passed, we decided on leaving for
Augsburg the following morning. The lady was going to Munich, but
as I had no business there we agreed that she should go by
herself.
"I am quite sure," she said, afterwards, "that you will come too,
for the ambassadors do not assemble at Augsburg till next
September."
We supped together, and next morning we started on our way; she in
her carriage with her maid, and I in mine with Desarmoises,
preceded by Le Duc on horseback. At Rastadt, however, we made a
change, the Renaud (as she was called) thinking that she would
give less opportunity for curious surmises by riding with me while
Desarmoises went with the servant. We soon became intimate. She
told me about herself, or pretended to, and I told her all that I
did not want to conceal. I informed her that I was an agent of
the Court of Lisbon, and she believed me, while, for my part, I
believed that she was only going to Munich and Augsburg to sell
her diamonds.
We began to talk about Desarmoises, and she said that it was well
enough for me to associate with him, but I should not countenance
his styling himself marquis.
"But," said I, "he is the son of the Marquis Desarmoises, of
Nancy."
"No, he isn't; he is only a retired messenger, with a small
pension from the department of foreign affairs. I know the
Marquis Desarmoises; he lives at Nancy, and is not so old as our
friend."
"Then one can't see how he can be Desarmoises's father."
"The landlord of the inn at Strasburg knew him when he was a
messenger."
"How did you make his acquaintance?"
"We met at the table d'hote. After dinner he came up to my room,
and told me he was waiting for a gentleman who was going to
Augsburg, and that we might make the journey together. He told me
the name, and after questioning him I concluded that the gentleman
was yourself, so here we are, and I am very glad of it. But
listen to me; I advise you to drop all false styles and titles.
Why do you call yourself Seingalt?"
"Because it's my name, but that doesn't prevent my old friends
calling me Casanova, for I am both. You understand?"
"Oh, yes! I understand. Your mother is at Prague, and as she
doesn't get her pension on account of the war, I am afraid she
must be rather in difficulties."
"I know it, but I do not forget my filial duties. I have sent her
some money."
"That's right. Where are you going to stay at Augsburg ?"
"I shall take a house, and if you like you shall be the mistress
and do the honours."
"That would be delightful! We will give little suppers, and play
cards all night."
"Your programme is an excellent one."
"I will see that you get a good cook; all the Bavarian cooks are
good. We shall cut a fine figure, and people will say we love
each other madly."
"You must know, dearest, that I do not understand jokes at the
expense of fidelity."
"You may trust me for that. You know how I lived at Dresden."
"I will trust you, but not blindly, I promise you. And now let us
address each other in the same way; you must call me tu. You must
remember we are lovers."
"Kiss me!"
The fair Renaud did not like traveling by night; she preferred to
eat a good supper, to drink heavily, and to go to bed just as her
head began to whirl. The heat of the wine made her into a
Bacchante, hard to appease; but when I could do no more I told her
to leave me alone, and she had to obey.
When we reached Augsburg we alighted at the "Three Moors," but the
landlord told us that though he could give us a good dinner he
could not put us up, as the whole of the hotel had been engaged by
the French ambassador. I called on M. Corti, the banker to whom I
was accredited, and he soon got me a furnished house with a
garden, which I took for six months. The Renaud liked it
immensely.
No one had yet arrived at Augsburg. The Renaud contrived to make
me feel that I should be lonely at Augsburg without her, and
succeeded in persuading me to come with her to Munich. We put up
at the "Stag," and made ourselves very comfortable, while
Desarmoises went to stay somewhere else. As my business and that
of my new mate had nothing in common, I gave her a servant and a
carriage to herself, and made myself the same allowance.
The Abbe Gama had given me a letter from the Commendatore Almada
for Lord Stormont, the English ambassador at the Court of Bavaria.
This nobleman being then at Munich I hastened to deliver the
letter. He received me very well, and promised to do all he could
as soon as he had time, as Lord Halifax had told him all about it.
On leaving his Britannic Lordship's I called on M. de Folard, the
French ambassador, and gave him a letter from M. de Choiseul. M.
de Folard gave me a hearty welcome, and asked me to dine with him
the next day, and the day after introduced me to the Elector.
During the four fatal weeks I spent at Munich, the ambassador's
house was the only one I frequented. I call these weeks fatal,
and with reason, for in then I lost all my money, I pledged jewels
(which I never recovered) to the amount of forty thousand francs,
and finally I lost my health. My assassins were the Renaud and
Desarmoises, who owed me so much and paid me so badly.
The third day after my arrival I had to call on the Dowager
Electress of Saxony. It was my brother-in-law, who was in her
train, that made me go, by telling me that it must be done, as she
knew me and had been enquiring for me. I had no reason to repent
of my politeness in going, as the Electress gave me a good
reception, and made me talk to any extent. She was extremely
curious, like most people who have no employment, and have not
sufficient intelligence to amuse themselves.
I have done a good many foolish things in the course of my
existence. I confess it as frankly as Rousseau, and my Memoirs
are not so egotistic as those of that unfortunate genius; but I
never committed such an act of folly as I did when I went to
Munich, where I had nothing to do. But it was a crisis in my
life. My evil genius had made me commit one folly after another
since I left Turin. The evening at Lord Lismore's, my connection
with Desarmoises, my party at Choisi, my trust in Costa, my union
with the Renaud, and worse than all, my folly in letting myself
play at faro at a place where the knavery of the gamesters is
renowned all over Europe, followed one another in fatal
succession. Among the players was the famous, or rather infamous,
Affisio, the friend of the Duc de Deux-Ponts, whom the duke called
his aide-decamp, and who was known for the keenest rogue in the
world.
I played every day, and as I often lost money on my word of
honour, the necessity of paying the next day often caused me the
utmost anxiety. When I had exhausted my credit with the bankers,
I had recourse to the Jews who require pledges, and in this
Desarmoises and the Renaud were my agents, the latter of whom
ended by making herself mistress of all my property. This was not
the worst thing she did to me; for she, gave me a disease, which
devoured her interior parts and left no marks outwardly, and was
thus all the more dangerous, as the freshness of her complexion
seemed to indicate the most perfect health. In short, this
serpent, who must have come from hell to destroy me, had acquired
such a mastery over me that she persuaded me that she would be
dishonoured if I called in a doctor during our stay at Munich, as
everybody knew that we were living together as man and wife.
I cannot imagine what had become of my wits to let myself be so
beguiled, while every day I renewed the poison that she had poured
into my veins.
My stay at Munich was a kind of curse; throughout that dreadful
month I seemed to have a foretaste of the pains of the damned.
The Renaud loved gaming, and Desarmoises was her partner. I took
care not to play with them, for the false marquis was an
unmitigated cheat and often tricked with less skill than
impudence. He asked disreputable people to my house and treated
them at my expense; every evening scenes of a disgraceful
character took place.
The Dowager Electress mortified me extremely by the way she
addressed me on my last two visits to her.
"Everybody knows what kind of a life you lead here, and the way
the Renaud behaves, possibly without your knowing it. I advise
you to have done with her, as your character is suffering."
She did not know what a thraldom I was under. I had left Paris
for a month, and I had neither heard of Madame d'Urfe nor of
Costa. I could not guess the reason, but I began to suspect my
Italian's fidelity. I also feared lest my good Madame d'Urfe
might be dead or have come to her senses, which would have come to
the same thing so far as I was concerned; and I could not possibly
return to Paris to obtain the information which was so necessary
both for calming my mind and refilling my purse.
I was in a terrible state, and my sharpest pang was that I began
to experience a certain abatement of my vigors, the natural result
of advancing years. I had no longer that daring born of youth and
the knowledge of one's strength, and I was not yet old enough to
have learnt how to husband my forces. Nevertheless, I made an
effort and took a sudden leave of my mistress, telling her I would
await her at Augsburg. She did not try to detain me, but promised
to rejoin me as soon as possible; she was engaged in selling her
jewellery. I set out preceded by Le Duc, feeling very glad that
Desarmoises had chosen to stay with the wretched woman to whom he
had introduced me. When I reached my pretty house at Augsburg I
took to my bed, determined not to rise till I was cured or dead.
M. Carli, my banker, recommended to me a doctor named Cephalides,
a pupil of the famous Fayet, who had cured me of a similar
complaint several years before. This Cephalides was considered
the best doctor in Augsburg. He examined me and declared he could
cure me by sudorifics without having recourse to the knife. He
began his treatment by putting me on a severe regimen, ordering
baths, and applying mercury locally. I endured this treatment for
six weeks, at the end of which time I found myself worse than at
the beginning. I had become terribly thin, and I had two enormous
inguinal tumours. I had to make up my mind to have them lanced,
but though the operation nearly killed me it did not to make me
any better. He was so clumsy as to cut the artery, causing great
loss of blood which was arrested with difficulty, and would have
proved fatal if it had not been for the care of M. Algardi, a
Bolognese doctor in the service of the Prince-Bishop of Augsburg.
I had enough of Cephalides, and Dr. Algardi prepared in my
presence eighty-six pills containing eighteen grains of manna. I
took one of these pills every morning, drinking a large glass of
curds after it, and in the evening I had another pill with barley
water, and this was the only sustenance I had. This heroic
treatment gave me back my health in two months and a half, in
which I suffered a great deal of pain; but I did not begin to put
on flesh and get back my strength till the end of the year.
It was during this time that I heard about Costa's flight with my
diamonds, watches, snuff-box, linen, rich suits, and a hundred
louis which Madame d'Urfe had given him for the journey. The
worthy lady sent me a bill of exchange for fifty thousand francs,
which she had happily not entrusted to the robber, and the money
rescued me very opportunely from the state to which my imprudence
had reduced me.
At this period I made another discovery of an extremely vexatious
character; namely, that Le Duc had robbed me. I would have
forgiven him if he had not forced me to a public exposure, which I
could only have avoided with the loss of my honour. However, I
kept him in my service till my return to Paris at the commencement
of the following year.
Towards the end of September, when everybody knew that the
Congress would not take place, the Renaud passed through Augsburg
with Desarrnoises on her way to Paris; but she dared not come and
see me for fear I should make her return my goods, of which she
had taken possession without telling me. Four or five years later
she married a man named Bohmer, the same that gave the Cardinal de
Rohan the famous necklace, which he supposed was destined for the
unfortunate Marie Antoinette. The Renaud was at Paris when I
returned, but I made no endeavour to see her, as I wished, if
possible, to forget the past. I had every reason to do so, for
amongst all the misfortunes I had gone through during that
wretched year the person I found most at fault was myself.
Nevertheless, I would have given myself the pleasure of cutting
off Desarmoises's ears; but the old rascal, who, no doubt, foresaw
what kind of treatment I was likely to mete to him, made his
escape. Shortly after, he died miserably of consumption in
Normandy.
My health had scarcely returned, when I forgot all my woes and
began once more to amuse myself. My excellent cook, Anna Midel,
who had been idle so long, had to work hard to satisfy my ravenous
appetite. My landlord and pretty Gertrude, his daughter, looked
at me with astonishment as I ate, fearing some disastrous results.
Dr. Algardi, who had saved my life, prophesied a dyspepsia which
would bring me to the tomb, but my need of food was stronger than
his arguments, to which I paid no kind of attention; and I was
right, for I required an immense quantity of nourishment to
recover my former state, and I soon felt in a condition to renew
my sacrifices to the deity for whom I had suffered so much.
I fell in love with the cook and Gertrude, who were both young and
pretty. I imparted my love to both of them at once, for I had
foreseen that if I attacked them separately I should conquer
neither. Besides, I felt that I had not much time to lose, as I
had promised to sup with Madame, d'Urfe on the first night of the
year 1761 in a suite of rooms she had furnished for me in the Rue
de Bac. She had adorned the rooms with superb tapestry made for
Rene of Savoy, on which were depicted all the operations of the
Great Work. She wrote to me that she had heard that Santis had
recovered from the wound I had given him, and had been committed
to the Bicetre for fraud.
Gertrude and Anna Midel occupied my leisure moments agreeably
enough during the rest of my stay at Augsburg, but they did not
make me neglect society. I spent my evenings in a very agreeable
manner with Count Max de Lamberg, who occupied the position of
field-marshal to the prince-bishop. His wife had all the
attractions which collect good company together. At this house I
made the acquaintance of the Baron von Selentin, a captain in the
Prussian service, who was recruiting for the King of Prussia at
Augsburg. I was particularly drawn to the Count Lamberg by his
taste for literature. He was an extremely learned man, and has
published some excellent works. I kept up a correspondence with
him till his death, by his own fault, in 1792, four years from the
time of my writing. I say by his fault, but I should have said by
the fault of his doctors, who treated him mercurially for a
disease which was not venereal; and this treatment not only killed
him but took away his good name.
His widow is still alive, and lives in Bavaria, loved by her
friends and her daughters, who all made excellent marriages.
At this time a miserable company of Italian actors made their
appearance in Augsburg, and I got them permission to play in a
small and wretched theatre. As this was the occasion of an
incident which diverted me, the hero, I shall impart it to my
readers in the hope of its amusing them also.
