EXPELLED FROM SPAIN - Chapter X
My Departure--Letter from Henriette--Marsellies--History of Nina--Nice--
Turin--Lugano--Madame De****
As soon as I had regained my usual strength, I went to take leave of the
Marquis d'Argens and his brother. I dined with them, pretending not to
observe the presence of the Jesuit, and I then spent three delightful
hours in conversation with the learned and amiable Marquis d'Argens. He
told me a number of interesting anecdotes about the private life of
Frederick II. No doubt the reader would like to have them, but I lack
the energy to set them down. Perhaps some other day when the mists about
Dux have dispersed, and some rays of the sun shine in upon me, I shall
commit all these anecdotes to paper, but now I have not the courage to do
so.
Frederick had his good and his bad qualities, like all great men, but
when every deduction on the score of his failings has been made, he still
remains the noblest figure in the eighteenth century.
The King of Sweden, who has been assassinated, loved to excite hatred
that he might have the glory of defying it to do its worst. He was a
despot at heart, and he came to a despot's end. He might have foreseen a
violent death, for throughout his life he was always provoking men to the
point of despair. There can be no comparison between him and Frederick.
The Marquis d'Argens made me a present of all his works, and on my asking
him if I could congratulate myself on possessing the whole number, he
said yes, with the exception of a fragment of autobiography which he had
written in his youth, and which he had afterwards suppressed.
"Why so?" I asked.
"Because I was foolish enough to write the truth. Never give way to this
temptation, if it assails you. If you once begin on this plan you are
not only compelled to record all your vices and follies, but to treat
them in the severe tone of a philosophical historian. You must not, of
course, omit the good you may have done; and so praise and blame is
mingled on every page. All the evil you say of yourself will be held for
gospel, your peccadilloes will be made into crimes, and your good deeds
will not only be received with incredulity, but you will be taxed with
pride and vanity for having recorded them. Besides, if you write your
memoirs, you make an enemy in every chapter if you once begin to tell the
truth. A man should neither talk of himself nor write of himself, unless
it be to refute some calumny or libel."
I was convinced, and promised never to be guilty of such a folly, but in
spite of that I have been writing memoirs for the last seven years, and
though I repent of having begun, I have sworn to go on to the end.
However, I write in the hope that my Memoirs may never see the light of
day; in the first place the censure would not allow them to be printed,
and in the second I hope I shall be strong-minded enough, when my last
illness comes, to have all my papers burnt before my eyes. If that be
not the case I count on the indulgence of my readers, who should remember
that I have only written my story to prevent my going mad in the midst of
all the petty insults and disagreeables which I have to bear day by day
from the envious rascals who live with me in this castle of Count
Waldstein, or Wallenstein, at Dux.
I write ten or twelve hours a day, and so keep black melancholy at bay.
My readers shall hear more of my sufferings later on, if I do not die
before I write them down.
The day after Corpus Christi I left Aix for Marseilles. But here I must
set down a circumstance that I had forgotten; I mean the procession of
Corpus Christi.
Everyone knows that this festival is celebrated with great ceremony all
over Christendom; but at Aix these ceremonies are of such a nature that
every man of sense must be shocked at my recital.
It is well known that this procession in honour of the Being of beings,
represented under the sacramental forms, is followed by all the religious
confraternities, and this is duly done at Aix; but the scandalous part of
the ceremony is the folly and the buffoonery which is allowed in a rite
which should be designed to stir up the hearts of men to awe and
reverence their Creator.
Instead of that, the devil, death, and the seven deadly sins, are
impersonated in the procession. They are clad in the most absurd
costumes, and make hideous contortions, beating and abusing each other in
their supposed vexation at having to join in the Creator's praises. The
people hoot and hiss them, the lower classes sing songs in derision of
them, and play them all manner of tricks, and the whole scene is one of
incredible noise, uproar, and confusion, more worthy of some pagan
bacchanalia than a procession of Christian people. All the country-folk
from five or six leagues around Aix pour into the town on that day to do
honour to God. It is the only occasion of the kind, and the clergy,
either knavish or ignorant, encourage all this shameful riot. The lower
orders take it all in good faith, and anyone who raised any objection
would run some risk, for the bishop goes in front of the saturnalia, and
consequently it is all holy.
I expressed my disapproval of the whole affair, as likely to bring
discredit on religion, to a councillor of parliament, M. de St. Marc; but
he told me gravely that it was an excellent thing, as it brought no less
than a hundred thousand francs into the town on the single day.
I could find no reply to this very weighty reason.
Every day I spent at Aix I thought of Henriette. I knew her real name,
and remembering the message she had sent me by Marcoline I hoped to meet
her in some assembly, being ready to adapt my conduct to hers. I had
often heard her name mentioned, but I never allowed myself to ask any
question, not wishing our old friendship to be suspected. Believing her
to be at her country house, I had resolved on paying her a visit, and had
only stayed on at Aix so as to recover my health before seeing her. In
due course I left Aix with a letter in my pocket for her, resolving to
send it in, and to remain in my carriage till she asked me to get down.
We arrived at her residence at eleven o'clock. A man came to the door,
took my letter, and said madam should have it without fail.
"Then she is not here."
"No, sir; she is at Aix."
"Since when?"
"For the last six months."
"Where does she live?"
"In her town house. She will be coming here in three weeks to spend the
summer as usual."
"Will you let me write a letter?"
"If you will get down you will find all the necessary materials in
madam's room."
I went into the house, and to my extreme surprise found myself face to
face with my nurse.
"You live here, then."
"Yes, sir."
"Since when?"
"For the last ten years."
"How did you come to nurse me?"
"If you will step upstairs I will tell you."
Her story was as follows:
"Madam sent for me in haste, and told me to go and attend to you as if it
were herself. She told me to say that the doctor had sent me if you
asked any questions."
"The doctor said he didn't know you."
"Perhaps he was speaking the truth, but most likely he had received
orders from madam. That's all I know, but I wonder you haven't seen her
at Aix."
"She cannot see any company, for I have been everywhere."
"She does not see any company at her own house, but she goes everywhere."
"It's very strange. I must have seen her, and yet I do not think I could
have passed her by unrecognized. You have been with her ten years?"
"Yes, sir, as I had the honour of informing you."
"Has she changed? Has she had any sickness? Has she aged?"
"Not at all. She has become rather stout, but I assure you you would
take her for a woman of thirty."
"I must be blind, or I cannot have seen her. I am going to write to her
now."
The woman went out, leaving me in astonishment, at the extraordinary
situation in which I was placed.
"Ought I to return to Aix immediately?" I asked myself. She has a town
house, but does not see company, but she might surely see me: She loves
me still. She cared for me all through my illness, and she would not
have done so if she had become indifferent to me. She will be hurt at my
not recognizing her. She must know that I have left Aix, and will no
doubt guess that I am here now. Shall I go to her or shall I write?
I resolved to write, and I told her in my letter that I should await her
reply at Marseilles. I gave the letter to my late nurse, with some money
to insure its being dispatched at once, and drove on to Marseilles where
I alighted at an obscure inn, not wishing to be recognized. I had
scarcely got out of my carriage when I saw Madame Schizza, Nina's sister.
She had left Barcelona with her husband. They had been at Marseilles
three or four days and were going to Leghorn.
Madame Schizza was alone at the moment, her husband having gone out; and
as I was full of curiosity I begged her to come up to my room while my
dinner was getting ready.
"What is your sister doing? Is she still at Barcelona?"
"Yes; but she will not be there long, for the bishop will not have her in
the town or the diocese, and the bishop is stronger than the viceroy.
She only returned to Barcelona on the plea that she wished to pass
through Catalonia of her way home, but she does not need to stay there
for nine or ten months on that account. She will have to leave in a
month for certain, but she is not much put out, as the viceroy is sure to
keep her wherever she goes, and she may eventually succeed in ruining
him. In the meanwhile she is revelling in the bad repute she has gained
for her lover."
"I know something of her peculiarities; but she cannot dislike a man who
has made her rich."
"Rich! She has only got her diamonds. Do you imagine this monster
capable of any feelings of gratitude? She is not a human being, and no
one knows her as I do. She has made the count commit a hundred acts of
injustice so that all Spain may talk of her, and know that she has made
herself mistress of his body and soul, and all he has. The worse his
actions are, the more certain she feels that people will talk of her, and
that is all she wants. Her obligations to me are beyond counting, for
she owes me all, even to her existence, and instead of continuing my
husband in her service she has sent him about his business."
"Then I wonder how she came to treat me so generously."
"If you knew all, you would not feel grateful to her."
"Tell me all, then."
"She only paid for your keep at the inn and in prison to make people
believe you were her lover, and to shame the count. All Barcelona knows
that you were assassinated at her door, and that you were fortunate
enough to run the fellow through."
"But she cannot have been the instigator of, or even the accomplice in,
the plot for my assassination. That's against nature."
"I dare say, but everything in Nina is against nature. What I tell you
is the bare truth, for I was a witness of it all. Whenever the viceroy
visited her she wearied him with praise of your gallantry, your wit, your
noble actions, comparing you with the Spaniards, greatly to their
disadvantage.
"The count got impatient and told her to talk of something else, but she
would not; and at last he went away, cursing your name. Two days before
you came to grief he left her, saying,--
"'Valga me Dios! I will give you a pleasure you do not expect.'
"I assure you that when we heard the pistol-shot after you had gone, she
remarked, without evincing the slightest emotion, that the shot was the
pleasure her rascally Spaniard had promised her.
"I said that you might be killed.
"'All the worse for the count,' she replied, 'for his turn will come
also.'
"Then she began laughing like a madcap; she was thinking of the
excitement your death would cause in Barcelona.
"At eight o'clock the following day, your man came and told her that you
had been taken to the citadel; and I will say it to her credit, she
seemed relieved to hear you were alive."
"My man--I did not know that he was in correspondence with her."
"No, I suppose not; but I assure you the worthy man was very much
attached to you."
"I am sure he was. Go on."
"Nina then wrote a note to your landlord. She did not shew it me, but it
no doubt contained instructions to supply you with everything.
"The man told us that he had seen your sword all red with blood, and that
your cloak had a bullet hole through it. She was delighted, but do not
think it was because she loved you; she was glad you had escaped that you
might take your revenge. However, she was troubled by the pretext on
which the count had had you arrested.
"Ricla did not come to see her that day, but he came the next day at
eight o'clock, and the infamous creature received him with a smiling
face. She told him she had heard he had imprisoned you, and that she was
obliged to him, as he had, of course, done so to protect you from any
fresh attempts on your life.
"He answered, dryly, that your arrest had nothing to do with anything
that might have happened the night before. He added that you had only
been seized pending the examination of your papers, and that if they were
found to be in good form, you would be set at liberty in the course of a
few days.
"Nina asked him who was the man that you had wounded. He replied that
the police were enquiring into the matter, but that so far they had
neither found a dead man nor a wounded man, nor any traces of blood. All
that had been found was Casanova's hat, and this had been returned to
him.
"I left them alone together till midnight, so I cannot say what further
converse they may have had on the subject, but three or four days later
everybody knew that you were imprisoned in the tower.
"Nina asked the count the reason of this severity in the evening, and he
replied that your passports were thought to be forgeries, because you
were in disgrace with the State Inquisitors, and therefore would not be
in a position to get a passport from the Venetian ambassador. On this
supposition he said you had been placed in the tower, and if it proved to
be a true one, you would be still more severely punished.
"This news disturbed us, and when we heard that Pogomas had been arrested
we felt certain he had denounced you in revenge for your having procured
his dismissal from Nina's house. When we heard that he had been let out
and sent to Genoa, we expected to hear of your being set at liberty, as
the authorities must have been satisfied of the genuine character of your
passports; but you were still shut up, and Nina did not know what to
think, and the count would not answer her when she made enquiries about
you. She had made up her mind to say no more about it, when at last we
heard you had been set free and that your passports had been declared
genuine.
"Nina thought to see you in the pit of the opera-house, and made
preparations for a triumph in her box; but she was in despair when she
heard no performance was to be given. In the evening the count told her
that your passports had been returned with the order to leave in three
days. The false creature praised her lover's prudence to his face, but
she cursed him in her heart.
"She knew you would not dare to see her, and when you left without
writing her a note, she said you had received secret orders not to hold
any further communications with her. She was furious with the viceroy.
"'If Casanova had had the courage to ask me to go with him, I would have
gone,' said she.
"Your man told her of your fortunate escape from three assassins. In the
evening she congratulated Ricla on the circumstance, but he swore he knew
nothing about it. Nina did not believe him. You may thank God from the
bottom of your heart that you ever left Spain alive after knowing Nina.
She would have cost you your life at last, and she punishes me for having
given her life."
"What! Are you her mother?"
"Yes; Nina, that horrible woman, is my daughter."
"Really? Everybody says you are her sister."
"That is the horrible part of it, everybody is right."
"Explain yourself"
"Yes, though it is to my shame. She is my sister and my daughter, for
she is the daughter of my father."
"What! your father loved you?"
"I do not know whether the scoundrel loved me, but he treated me as his
wife. I was sixteen then. She is the daughter of the crime, and God
knows she is sufficient punishment for it. My father died to escape her
vengeance; may he also escape the vengeance of God. I should have
strangled her in her cradle, but maybe I shall strangle her yet. If I do
not, she will kill me."
I remained dumb at the conclusion of this dreadful story, which bore all
the marks of truth.
"Does Nina know that you are her mother?"
"Her own father told her the secret when she was twelve, after he had
initiated her into the life she has been living ever since. He would
have made her a mother in her turn if he had not killed himself the same
year, maybe to escape the gallows."
"How did the Conte de Ricla fall in love with her?"
"It is a short story and a curious one. Two years ago she came to
Barcelona from Portugal, and was placed in one of the ballets for the
sake of her pretty face, for as to talents she had none, and could only
do the rebaltade (a sort of skip and pirouette) properly.
The first evening she danced she was loudly applauded by the pit, for as
she did the rebaltade she shewed her drawers up to her waist. In Spain
any actress who shews her drawers on the stage is liable to a fine of a
crown. Nina knew nothing about this, and, hearing the applause, treated
the audience to another skip of the same kind, but at the end of the
ballet she was told to pay two crowns for her immodesty. Nina cursed and
swore, but she had to give in. What do you think she did to elude the
law, and at the same time avenge herself?"
"Danced badly, perhaps."
"She danced without any drawers at all, and did her rebdltade as before,
which caused such an effervescence of high spirits in the house as had
never been known at Barcelona.
"The Conte de Ricla had seen her from his box, and was divided between
horror and admiration, and sent for the inspector to tell him that this
impudent creature must be punished.
"'In the mean time,' said he, 'bring her before me.'
"Presently Nina appeared in the viceroy's box, and asked him, impudently,
what he wanted with her.
"'You are an immodest woman, and have failed in your duty to the public.'
"'What have I done?
"'You performed the same skip as before.'
"'Yes, but I haven't broken your law, for no one can have seen my drawers
as I took the precaution not to put any on. What more can I do for your
cursed law, which has cost me two crowns already? Just tell me.'
"The viceroy and the great personages around him had much ado to refrain
from laughter, for Nina was really in the right, and a serious discussion
of the violated law would have been ridiculous.
"The viceroy felt he was in a false position, and merely said that if she
ever danced without drawers again she should have a month's imprisonment
on bread and water.
"A week after one of my husband's ballets was given. It was so well
received that the audience encored it with enthusiasm. Ricla gave orders
that the public should be satisfied, and all the dancers were told they
would have to reappear.
"Nina, who was almost undressed, told my husband to do as best he could,
as she was not going to dance again. As she had the chief part my
husband could not do without her, and sent the manager to her dressing-
room. She pushed the poor man out with so much violence that he fell
against the wall of the passage, head foremost.
"The manager told his piteous tale to the viceroy, who ordered two
soldiers to bring her before him. This was his ruin; for Nina is a
beautiful woman, and in her then state of undress she would have seduced
the coldest of men.
"The count reproved her, but his voice and his manner were ill-assured,
and growing bolder as she watched his embarrassment, Nina replied that he
might have her torn to pieces if he liked, but she would not dance
against her will, and nowhere in her agreement was it stipulated that she
should dance twice in the same evening, whether for his pleasure or
anyone else's. She also expressed her anger at making her appear before
him in a state of semi-nudity, and swore she would never forgive his
barbarous and despotic conduct.
"'I will dance no more before you or your people.
Let me go away, or kill me if you like; do your worst on me, and you
shall find that I am a Venetian and a free woman!'
"The viceroy sat astonished, and said she must be mad. He then summoned
my husband and told him she was no longer in his service. Nina was told
she was free, and could go where she would.
"She went back to her dressing-room and came to us, where she was living.
"The ballet went on without her, and the poor viceroy sat in a dream, for
the poison had entered into his veins.
"Next day a wretched singer named Molinari called on Nina and told her
that the viceroy was anxious to know whether she were really mad or not,
and would like to see her in a country house, the name of which he
mentioned: this was just what the wretched woman wanted.
"'Tell his highness,' she said to Molinari, "that I will come, and that
he will find me as gentle as a lamb and as good as an angel.'
"This is the way in which the connection began, and she fathomed his
character so astutely that she maintained her conquest as much with ill-
treatment and severity as with her favours."
Such was the tale of the hapless Madame Schizza. It was told with all
the passion of an Italian divided between repentance for the past and the
desire of vengeance.
The next day, as I had expected, I received a letter from Henriette. It
ran as follows:
"My Dear Old Friend,--Nothing could be more romantic than our meeting at
my country house six years ago, and now again, after a parting of so many
years. Naturally we have both grown older, and though I love you still I
am glad you did not recognize me. Not that I have become ugly, but I am
stout, and this gives me another look. I am a widow, and well enough off
to tell you that if you lack money you will find some ready for you in
Henriette's purse. Do not come back to Aix to see me, as your return
might give rise to gossip; but if you chance to come here again after
some time, we may meet, though not as old acquaintances. I am happy to
think that I have perhaps prolonged your days by giving you a nurse for
whose trustworthiness I would answer. If you would like to correspond
with me I should be happy to do my part. I am very curious to know what
happened to you after your flight from The Leads, and after the proofs
you have given me of your discretion I think I shall be able to tell you
how we came to meet at Cesena, and how I returned to my country. The
first part is a secret for everyone; only M. d'Antoine is acquainted with
a portion of the story. I am grateful for the reticence you have
observed, though Marcoline must have delivered the message I gave her.
Tell me what has become of that beautiful girl. Farewell!"
I replied, accepting her offer to correspond, and I told her the whole
story of my adventures. From her I received forty letters, in which the
history of her life is given. If she die before me, I shall add these
letters to my Memoirs, but at present she is alive and happy, though
advanced in years.
The day after I went to call on Madame Audibert, and we went together to
see Madame N---- N----, who was already the mother of three children.
Her husband adored her, and she was very happy. I gave her good news of
Marcoline, and told the story of Croce and Charlotte's death, which
affected her to tears.
In turn she told me about Rosalie, who was quite a rich woman. I had no
hopes of seeing her again, for she lived at Genoa, and I should not have
cared to face M. Grimaldi.
My niece (as I once called her) mortified me unintentionally; she said I
was ageing. Though a man can easily make a jest of his advancing years,
a speech like this is not pleasant when one has not abandoned the pursuit
of pleasure. She gave me a capital dinner, and her husband made me
offers which I was ashamed to accept. I had fifty Louis, and, intending
to go on to Turin, I did not feel uneasy about the future.
At Marseilles I met the Duc de Vilardi, who was kept alive by the art of
Tronchin. This nobleman, who was Governor of Provence, asked me to
supper, and I was surprised to meet at his house the self-styled Marquis
d'Aragon; he was engaged in holding the bank. I staked a few coins and
lost, and the marquis asked me to dine with him and his wife, an elderly
Englishwoman, who had brought him a dowry of forty thousand guineas
absolutely, with twenty thousand guineas which would ultimately go to her
son in London. I was not ashamed to borrow fifty Louis from this lucky
rascal, though I felt almost certain that I should never return the
money.
I left Marseilles by myself, and after crossing the Alps arrived at
Turin.
There I had a warm welcome from the Chevalier Raiberti and the Comte de
la Perouse. Both of them pronounced me to be looking older, but I
consoled myself with the thought that, after all, I was only forty-four.
I became an intimate friend of the English ambassador, Sir N----, a rich,
accomplished and cultured man, who kept the choicest of tables.
Everybody loved him, and amongst others this feeling was warmly shared by
a Parmese girl, named Campioni, who was wonderfully beautiful.
As soon as I had told my friends that I intended to go into Switzerland
to print at my own expense a refutation in Italian of the "History of the
Venetian Government," by Amelot de la Houssaye, they all did their best
by subscribing and obtaining subscriptions. The most generous of all was
the Comte de la Perouse, who gave me two hundred and fifty francs for
fifty copies. I left Turin in a week with two thousand lire in my purse.
With this I should be able to print the book I had composed in my prison;
but I should have to rewrite it 'ab initio', with the volume to my hand,
as also the "History of Venice," by Nani.
When I had got these works I set out with the intention of having my book
printed at Lugano, as there was a good press there and no censure. I
also knew that the head of the press was a well-read man, and that the
place abounded in good cheer and good society.
Lugano is near Milan, Como, and Lake Maggiore, and I was well pleased
with the situation. I went to the best inn, which was kept by a man
named Tagoretti, who gave me the best room in the house.
The day after my arrival I called on Dr. Agnelli, who was at once
printer, priest, theologian, and an honest man. I made a regular
agreement with him, he engaging to print at the rate of four sheets a
week, and on my side I promised to pay him every week. He reserved the
right of censorship, expressing a hope that our opinions might coincide.
I gave him the preface and the preliminary matter at once, and chose the
paper and the size, large octavo.
When I got back to my inn the landlord told me that the bargello, or
chief constable, wanted to see me.
Although Lugano is in Switzerland, its municipal government is modelled
after that of the Italian towns.
I was curious to hear what this ill-omened personage could have to say to
me, so I told him to shew him in. After giving me a profound bow, with
his hat in his hand, Signor Bargello told me that he had come to offer me
his services, and to assure me that I should enjoy complete tranquillity
and safety in Lugano, whether from any enemies within the State or from
the Venetian Government, in case I had any dispute with it.
"I thank you, signor," I replied, "and I am sure that you are telling me
the truth, as I am in Switzerland."
"I must take the liberty of telling you, sir, that it is customary for
strangers who take up their residence in Lugano, to pay some trifling
sum, either by the week, the month, or the year."
"And if they refuse to pay?"
"Then their safety is not so sure."
"Money does everything in Lugano, I suppose."
"But, sir----"
"I understand, but let me tell you that I have no fears, and I shall
consequently beg to be excused from paying anything."
"You will forgive me, but I happen to know that you have some disputes
with the Venetian Government."
"You are making a mistake, my good fellow."
"No, I am not."
"If you are so sure, find someone to bet me two hundred sequins that I
have reason to fear the Venetian Government; I will take the bet and
deposit the amount."
The bargello remained silent, and the landlord told him he seemed to have
made some kind of mistake, so he went away, looking very disappointed.
My landlord was delighted to hear that I thought of making some stay at
Lugano, and advised me to call on the high bailiff, who governed the
place.
"He's a very nice Swiss gentleman," said he, "and his wife a clever
woman, and as fair as the day."
"I will go and see him to-morrow."
I sent in my name to the high bailiff at noon on the day following, and
what was my surprise to find myself in the presence of M. de R and his
charming wife. Beside her was a pretty boy, five or six years old.
Our mutual surprise may be imagined!
