PARIS AND HOLLAND - Chapter III
The Count de la Tour D'Auvergne and Madame D'Urfe--Camille--My
Passion for the Count's Mistress--The Ridiculous Incident Which Cured
Me--The Count de St. Germain
In spite of my love for Mdlle. Baletti, I did not omit to pay my
court to the most noted ladies of the pavement; but I was chiefly
interested in kept women, and those who consider themselves as
belonging to the public only in playing before them night by night,
queens or chamber-maids.
In spite of this affection, they enjoy what they call their
independence, either by devoting themselves to Cupid or to Plutus,
and more frequently to both together. As it is not very difficult to
make the acquaintance of these priestesses of pleasure and
dissipation, I soon got to know several of them.
The halls of the theatres are capital places for amateurs to exercise
their talents in intriguing, and I had profited tolerably well by the
lessons I had learnt in this fine school.
I began by becoming the friend of their lovers, and I often succeeded
by pretending to be a man of whom nobody need be afraid.
Camille, an actress and dancer at the Italian play, with whom I had
fallen in love at Fontainebleu seven years ago, was one of those of
whom I was most fond, liking the society at her pretty little house,
where she lived with the Count d'Eigreville, who was a friend of
mine, and fond of my company. He was a brother of the Marquis de
Gamache and of the Countess du Rumain, and was a fine young fellow of
an excellent disposition. He was never so well pleased as when he
saw his mistress surrounded by people--a taste which is rarely found,
but which is very convenient, and the sign of a temperament not
afflicted by jealousy. Camille had no other lovers--an astonishing
thing in an actress of the kind, but being full of tact and wit she
drove none of her admirers to despair. She was neither over sparing
nor over generous in the distribution of her favours, and knew how to
make the whole town rave about her without fearing the results of
indiscretion or sorrows of being abandoned.
The gentleman of whom, after her lover, she took most notice, was the
Count de la Tour d'Auvergne, a nobleman of an old family, who
idolized her, and, not being rich enough to possess her entirely, had
to be content with what she gave him. Camille had given him a young
girl, for whose keep she paid, who lived with Tour d'Auvergne in
furnished apartments in the Rue de Taranne, and whom he said he loved
as one loves a portrait, because she came from Camille. The count
often took her with him to Camille's to supper. She was fifteen,
simple in her manners, and quite devoid of ambition. She told her
lover that she would never forgive him an act of infidelity except
with Camille, to whom she felt bound to yield all since to her she
owed all.
I became so much in love with her that I often went to Camille's
solely to see her and to enjoy those artless speeches with which she
delighted the company. I strove as best I could to conceal my flame,
but often I found myself looking quite sad at the thought of the
impossibility of my love being crowned with success. If I had let my
passion be suspected I should have been laughed at, and should have
made myself a mark for the pitiless sarcasms of Camille. However, I
got my cure in the following ridiculous manner:--
Camille lived at the Barriere Blanche, and on leaving her house, one
rainy evening, I sought in vain for a coach to take me home.
"My dear Casanova," said Tour d'Auvergne, "I can drop you at your own
door without giving myself the slightest inconvenience, though my
carriage is only seated for two; however, my sweetheart can sit on
our knees."
I accepted his offer with pleasure, and we seated ourselves in the
carriage, the count on my left hand and Babet on both our knees.
Burning with amorous passion I thought I would take the opportunity,
and, to lose no time, as the coachman was driving fast, I took her
hand and pressed it softly. The pressure was returned. Joy! I
carried the hand to my lips, and covered it with affectionate though
noiseless kisses. Longing to convince her of the ardour of my
passion, and thinking that her hand would not refuse to do me a sweet
service, I . . . but just at critical moment,
"I am really very much obliged to you, my dear fellow," said the
Count de la Tour d'Auvergne, "for a piece of politeness thoroughly
Italian, of which, however, I do not feel worthy; at least, I hope
it's meant as politeness and not as a sign of contempt."
At these dreadful words I stretched out my hand and felt the sleeve
of his coat. Presence of mind was no good in a situation like this,
when his words were followed by a peal of loud laughter which would
have confounded the hardiest spirit. As for me, I could neither join
in his laughter nor deny his accusation; the situation was a fearful
one, or would have been if the friendly shades of night had not
covered my confusion. Babet did her best to find out from the count
why he laughed so much, but he could not tell her for laughing, for
which I gave thanks with all my heart. At last the carriage stopped
at my house, and as soon as my servant had opened the door of my
carriage I got down as fast as I could, and wished them good night--a
compliment which Tour d'Auvergne returned with fresh peals of
laughter. I entered my house in a state of stupefaction, and half an
hour elapsed before I, too, began to laugh at the adventure. What
vexed me most was the expectation of having malicious jests passed
upon me, for I had not the least right to reckon on the count's
discretion. However, I had enough sense to determine to join in the
laughter if I could, and if not, to take it well, for this is, and
always will be, the best way to get the laughers on one's own side at
Paris.
For three days I saw nothing of the delightful count, and on the
fourth I resolved to ask him to take breakfast with me, as Camille
had sent to my house to enquire how I was. My adventure would not
prevent me visiting her house, but I was anxious to know how it had
been taken.
As soon as Tour d'Auvergne saw me he began to roar with laughter, and
I joined in, and we greeted each other in the friendliest manner
possible. "My dear count," said I, "let us forget this foolish
story. You have no business to attack me, as I do not know how to
defend myself."
"Why should you defend yourself, my dear fellow. We like you all the
better for it, and this humorous adventure makes us merry every
evening."
"Everybody knows it, then?"
"Of course, why not? It makes Camille choke with laughter. Come
this evening; I will bring Babet, and she will amuse you as she
maintains that you were not mistaken."
"She is right."
"Eh? what? You do me too much honour, and I don't believe you; but
have it as you like."
"I can't do better, but I must confess when all's said that you were
not the person to whom my fevered imagination offered such ardent
homage."
At supper I jested, pretended to be astonished at the count's
indiscretion, and boasted of being cured of my passion. Babet called
me a villain, and maintained that I was far from cured; but she was
wrong, as the incident had disgusted me with her, and had attached me
to the count, who, indeed, was a man of the most amiable character.
Nevertheless, our friendship might have been a fatal one, as the
reader will see presently.
One evening, when I was at the Italian theatre, Tour d'Auvergne came
up to me and asked me to lend him a hundred louis, promising to repay
me next Saturday.
"I haven't got the money," I said, "but my purse and all it contains
is at your service."
"I want a hundred louis, my dear fellow, and immediately, as I lost
them at play yesterday evening at the Princess of Anhalt's."
"But I haven't got them."
"The receiver of the lottery ought always to be able to put his hand
on a hundred louis."
"Yes, but I can't touch my cash-box; I have to give it up this day
week."
"So you can; as I will repay you on Saturday. Take a hundred louis
from the box, and put in my word of honour instead; don't you think
that is worth a hundred Louis?"
"I have nothing to say to that, wait for me a minute."
I ran to my office, took out the money and gave it to him. Saturday
came but no count, and as I had no money I pawned my diamond ring and
replaced the hundred louis I owed the till. Three or four days
afterwards, as I was at the Comedie Francaise, the Count de la Tour
d'Auvergne came up to me and began to apologize. I replied by
shewing my hand, and telling him that I had pawned my ring to save my
honour. He said, with a melancholy air, that a man had failed to
keep his word with him, but he would be sure to give me the hundred
louis on the Saturday following, adding, "I give you my word of
honour."
"Your word of honour is in my box, so let's say nothing about that.
You can repay me when you like."
The count grew as pale as death.
"My word of honour, my dear Casanova, is more precious to me than my
life; and I will give you the hundred louis at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning at a hundred paces from the caf‚ at the end of the Champs-
Elysees. I will give you them in person, and nobody will see us. I
hope you will not fail to be there, and that you will bring your
sword. I shall have mine."
"Faith, count! that's making me pay rather dear for my jest. You
certainly do me a great honour, but I would rather beg your pardon,
if that would prevent this troublesome affair from going any
further."
"No, I am more to blame than you, and the blame can only be removed
by the sword's point. Will you meet me?
"I do not see how I can refuse you, although I am very much averse to
the affair."
I left him and went to Silvia's, and took my supper sadly, for I
really liked this amiable nobleman, and in my opinion the game we
were going to play was not worth the candle. I would not have fought
if I could have convinced myself that I was in the wrong, but after
turning the matter well-over, and looking at it from every point of
view, I could not help seeing that the fault lay in the count's
excessive touchiness, and I resolved to give him satisfaction. At
all hazards I would not fail to keep the appointment.
I reached the caf‚ a moment after him. We took breakfast together
and he payed. We then went out and walked towards the Etoile. When
we got to a sheltered place he drew a bundle of a hundred louis from
his pocket, gave it to me with the greatest courtesy, and said that
one stroke of the sword would be sufficient. I could not reply.
He went off four paces and drew his sword. I did the same without
saying a word, and stepping forward almost as soon as our blades
crossed I thrust and hit him. I drew back my sword and summoned him
to keep his word, feeling sure that I had wounded him in his chest.
He gently kissed his sword, and putting his hand into his breast he
drew it out covered with blood, and said pleasantly to me, "I am
satisfied."
I said to him all that I could, and all that it was my duty to say in
the way of compliment, while he was stanching the blood with his
handkerchief, and on looking at the point of my sword I was delighted
to find that the wound was of the slightest. I told him so offering
to see him home. He thanked me and begged me to keep my own counsel,
and to reckon him henceforth amongst my truest friends. After I had
embraced him, mingling my tears with my embraces, I returned home,
sad at heart but having learnt a most useful lesson. No one ever
knew of our meeting, and a week afterwards we supped together at
Camille's.
A few days after, I received from M. de la Ville the five hundred
louis for my Dunkirk mission. On my going to see Camille she told me
that Tour d'Auvergne was kept in bed by an attack of sciatica, and
that if I liked we could pay him a visit the next day. I agreed, and
we went. After breakfast was over I told him in a serious voice that
if he would give me a free hand I could cure him, as he was not
suffering from sciatica but from a moist and windy humour which I
could disperse my means of the Talisman of Solomon and five mystic
words. He began to laugh, but told me to do what I liked.
"Very good, then I will go out and buy a brush."
"I will send a servant."
"No, I must get it myself, as I want some drugs as well." I bought
some nitre, mercury, flower of sulphur, and a small brush, and on my
return said, "I must have a little of your -----, this liquid is
indispensable, and it must be quite fresh."
Camille and he began to laugh, but I succeeded in keeping the serious
face suitable to my office. I handed him a mug and modestly lowered
the curtains, and he then did what I wanted.
I made a mixture of the various ingredients, and I told Camille that
she must rub his thigh whilst I spoke the charm, but I warned her
that if she laughed while she was about it it would spoil all. This
threat only increased their good humour, and they laughed without
cessation; for as soon as they thought they had got over it, they
would look at one another, and after repressing themselves as long as
they could would burst out afresh, till I began to think that I had
bound them to an impossible condition. At last, after holding their
sides for half an hour, they set themselves to be serious in real
earnest, taking my imperturbable gravity for their example. De la
Tour d'Auvergne was the first to regain a serious face, and he then
offered Camille his thigh, and she, fancying herself on the boards,
began to rub the sick man, whilst I mumbled in an undertone words
which they would not have understood however clearly I had spoken,
seeing that I did not understand them myself.
I was nearly spoiling the efficacy of the operation when I saw the
grimaces they made in trying to keep serious. Nothing could be more
amusing than the expression on Camille's face. At last I told her
that she had rubbed enough, and dipping the brush into the mixture I
drew on his thigh the five-pointed star called Solomon's seal. I
then wrapped up the thigh in three napkins, and I told him that if he
would keep quiet for twenty-four hours without taking off--his
napkins, I would guarantee a cure.
The most amusing part of it all was, that by the time I had done the
count and Camille laughed no more, their faces wore a bewildered
look, and as for me . . . I could have sworn I had performed the
most wonderful work in the world. If one tells a lie a sufficient
number of times, one ends by believing it.
A few minutes after this operation, which I had performed as if by
instinct and on the spur of the moment, Camille and I went away in a
coach, and I told her so many wonderful tales that when she got out
at her door she looked quite mazed.
Four or five days after, when I had almost forgotten the farce, I
heard a carriage stopping at my door, and looking out of my window
saw M. de la Tour d'Auvergne skipping nimbly out of the carriage.
"You were sure of success, then," said he, "as you did not come to
see me the day after your astounding operation."
"Of course I was sure, but if I had not been too busy you would have
seen me, for all that."
"May I take a bath?"
"No, don't bathe till you feel quite well."
"Very good. Everybody is in a state of astonishment at your feat, as
I could not help telling the miracle to all my acquaintances. There
are certainly some sceptics who laugh at me, but I let them talk."
"You should have kept your own counsel; you know what Paris is like.
Everybody will be considering me as a master-quack."
"Not at all, not at all. I have come to ask a favour of you."
"What's that?"
"I have an aunt who enjoys a great reputation for her skill in the
occult sciences, especially in alchemy. She is a woman of wit, very,
rich, and sole mistress of her fortune; in short, knowing her will do
you no harm. She longs to see you, for she pretends to know you, and
says that you are not what you seem. She has entreated me to take
you to dine with her, and I hope you will accept the invitation. Her
name is the Marchioness d'Urfe"
I did not know this lady, but the name of d'Urfe caught my attention
directly, as I knew all about the famous Anne d'Urfe who flourished
towards the end of the seventeenth century. The lady was the widow
of his great-grandson, and on marrying into the family became a
believer in the mystical doctrines of a science in which I was much
interested, though I gave it little credit. I therefore replied that
I should be glad to go, but on the condition that the party should
not exceed the count, his aunt, and myself.
"She has twelve people every day to dinner, and you will find
yourself in the company of the best society in Paris."
"My dear fellow, that's exactly what I don't want; for I hate to be
thought a magician, which must have been the effect of the tales you
have told."
"Oh, no! not at all; your character is well known, and you will find
yourself in the society of people who have the greatest regard for
you."
"Are you sure of that?"
"The Duchess de l'Oragnais told me, that, four or five years ago, you
were often to be seen at the Palais Royal, and that you used to spend
whole days with the Duchess d'Orleans; Madame de Bouffers, Madame de
Blots, and Madame de Melfort have also talked to me about you. You
are wrong not to keep up your old acquaintances. I know at least a
hundred people of the first rank who are suffering from the same
malady as that of which you cured me, and would give the half of
their goods to be cured."
De la Tour d'Auvergne had reason on his side, but as I knew his
wonderful cure had been due to a singular coincidence, I had no
desire to expose myself to public ridicule. I therefore told him
that I did not wish to become a public character, and that he must
tell Madame d'Urfe that I would have the honour of calling on her in
strict privacy only, and that she might tell me the day and hour on
which I should kneel before her.
The same evening I had a letter from the count making an appointment
at the Tuileries for the morrow; he was to meet me there, and take me
to his aunt's to dinner. No one else was to be present.
The next day we met each other as had been arranged, and went to see
Madame d'Urfe, who lived on the Quai des Theatins, on the same side
as the "Hotel Bouillon."
Madame d'Urfe, a woman advanced in years, but still handsome,
received me with all the courtly grace of the Court of the Regency.
We spent an hour and a half in indifferent conversation, occupied in
studying each other's character. Each was trying to get at the
bottom of the other.
I had not much trouble in playing the part of the unenlightened, for
such, in point of fact, was my state of mind, and Madame d'Urfe
unconsciously betrayed the desire of shewing her learning; this put
me at my ease, for I felt sure I could make her pleased with me if I
succeeded in making her pleased with herself.
At two o'clock the same dinner that was prepared every day for twelve
was served for us three. Nothing worthy of note (so far as
conversation went) was done at dinner, as we talked commonplace after
the manner of people of fashion.
After the dessert Tour d'Auvergne left us to go and see the Prince de
Turenne, who was in a high fever, and after he was gone Madame d'Urfe
began to discuss alchemy and magic, and all the other branches of her
beloved science, or rather infatuation. When we got on to the magnum
opus, and I asked her if she knew the nature of the first matter, it
was only her politeness which prevented her from laughing; but
controlling herself, she replied graciously that she already
possessed the philosopher's stone, and that she was acquainted with
all the operations of the work. She then shewed me a collection of
books which had belonged to the great d'Urfe, and Renee of Savoy, his
wife; but she had added to it manuscripts which had cost her more
than a hundred thousand francs. Paracelsus was her favourite author,
and according to her he was neither man, woman, nor hermaphrodite,
and had the misfortune to poison himself with an overdose of his
panacea, or universal medicine. She shewed me a short manuscript in
French, where the great work was clearly explained. She told me that
she did not keep it under lock and key, because it was written in a
cypher, the secret of which was known only to herself.
"You do not believe, then, in steganography."
"No, sir, and if you would like it, I will give you this which has
been copied from the original."
"I accept it, madam, with all the more gratitude in that I know its
worth."
From the library we went into the laboratory, at which I was truly
astonished. She shewed me matter that had been in the furnace for
fifteen years, and was to be there for four or five years more. It
was a powder of projection which was to transform instantaneously all
metals into the finest gold. She shewed me a pipe by which the coal
descended to the furnace, keeping it always at the same heat. The
lumps of coal were impelled by their own weight at proper intervals
and in equal quantities, so that she was often three months without
looking at the furnace, the temperature remaining the same the whole
time. The cinders were removed by another pipe, most ingeniously
contrived, which also answered the purpose of a ventilator.
The calcination of mercury was mere child's play to this wonderful
woman. She shewed me the calcined matter, and said that whenever I
liked she would instruct me as to the process. I next saw the Tree
of Diana of the famous Taliamed, whose pupil she was. His real name
was Maillot, and according to Madame d'Urfe he had not, as was
supposed, died at Marseilles, but was still alive; "and," added she,
with a slight smile, "I often get letters from him. If the Regent of
France," said she, "had listened to me he would be alive now. He was
my first friend; he gave me the name of Egeria, and he married me to
M. d'Urfe"
She possessed a commentary on Raymond Lully, which cleared up all
difficult points in the comments of Arnold de Villanova on the works
of Roger Bacon and Heber, who, according to her, were still alive.
This precious manuscript was in an ivory casket, the key of which she
kept religiously; indeed her laboratory was a closed room to all but
myself. I saw a small cask full of 'platina del Pinto', which she
told me she could transmute into gold when she pleased. It had been
given her by M. Vood himself in 1743. She shewed me the same metal
in four phials. In the first three the platinum remained intact in
sulphuric, nitric, and muriatic acid, but in the fourth, which
contained 'aqua regia', the metal had not been able to resist the
action of the acid. She melted it with the burning-glass, and said
it could be melted in no other way, which proved, in her opinion, its
superiority to gold. She shewed me some precipitated by sal
ammoniac, which would not precipitate gold.
Her athanor had been alight for fifteen years. The top was full of
black coal, which made me conclude that she had been in the
laboratory two or three days before. Stopping before the Tree of
Diana, I asked her, in a respectful voice, if she agreed with those
who said it was only fit to amuse children. She replied, in a
dignified manner, that she had made it to divert herself with the
crystallization of the silver, spirit of nitre, and mercury, and that
she looked upon it as a piece of metallic vegetation, representing in
little what nature performed on a larger scale; but she added, very
seriously, that she could make a Tree of Diana which should be a very
Tree of the Sun, which would produce golden fruit, which might be
gathered, and which would continue to be produced till no more
remained of a certain ingredient. I said modestly that I could not
believe the thing possible without the powder of projection, but her
only answer was a pleased smile.
She then pointed out a china basin containing nitre, mercury, and
sulphur, and a fixed salt on a plate.
"You know the ingredients, I suppose?" said she.
"Yes; this fixed salt is a salt of urine."
"You are right."
"I admire your sagacity, madam. You have made an analysis of the
mixture with which I traced the pentacle on your nephew's thigh, but
in what way can you discover the words which give the pentacle its
efficacy?"
"In the manuscript of an adept, which I will shew you, and where you
will find the very words you used."
I bowed my head in reply, and we left this curious laboratory.
We had scarcely arrived in her room before Madame d'Urfe drew from a
handsome casket a little book, bound in black, which she put on the
table while she searched for a match. While she was looking about, I
opened the book behind her back, and found it to be full of
pentacles, and by good luck found the pentacle I had traced on the
count's thigh. It was surrounded by the names of the spirits of the
planets, with the exception of those of Saturn and Mars. I shut up
the book quickly. The spirits named were the same as those in the
works of Agrippa, with which I was acquainted. With an unmoved
countenance I drew near her, and she soon found the match, and her
appearance surprised me a good deal; but I will speak of that another
time.
The marchioness sat down on her sofa, and making me to do the like
she asked me if I was acquainted with the talismans of the Count de
Treves?
"I have never heard of them, madam, but I know those of Poliphilus:"
"It is said they are the same."
"I don't believe it."
"We shall see. If you will write the words you uttered, as you drew
the pentacle on my nephew's thigh, and if I find the same talisman
with the same words around it, the identity will be proved."
"It will, I confess. I will write the words immediately."
I wrote out the names of the spirits. Madame d'Urfe found the
pentacle and read out the names, while I pretending astonishment,
gave her the paper, and much to her delight she found the names to be
the same.
"You see," said she, "that Poliphilus and the Count de Treves
possessed the same art."
"I shall be convinced that it is so, if your book contains the manner
of pronouncing the ineffable names. Do you know the theory of the
planetary hours?"
"I think so, but they are not needed in this operation."
"They are indispensable, madam, for without them one cannot work with
any certainty. I drew Solomon's pentacle on the thigh of Count de la
Tour d'Auvergne in the hour of Venus, and if I had not begun with
Arael, the spirit of Venus, the operation would have had no effect."
"I did not know that. And after Arael?"
"Next comes Mercury, then the Moon, then Jupiter, and then the Sun.
It is, you see, the magic cycle of Zoroaster, in which Saturn and
Mars are omitted."
"And how would you have proceeded if you had gone to work in the hour
of the Moon?"
"I should have begun with Jupiter, passed to the Sun, then to Arael
or Venus, and I should have finished at Mercury."
"I see sir, that you are most apt in the calculation of the planetary
hours."
"Without it one can do nothing in magic, as one would have no proper
data; however, it is an easy matter to learn. Anyone could pick it
up in a month's time. The practical use, however, is much more
difficult than the theory; this, indeed, is a complicated affair. I
never leave my house without ascertaining the exact number of minutes
in the day, and take care that my watch is exact to the time, for a
minute more or less would make all the difference in the world"
"Would you have the goodness to explain the theory to me."
"You will find it in Artephius and more clearly in Sandivogius."
"I have both works, but they are in Latin."
"I will make you a translation of them."
"You are very kind; I shall be extremely obliged to you."
"I have seen such things here, madam, that I could not refuse, for
reasons which I may, perhaps, tell you to-morrow."
"Why not to-day?"
"Because I ought to know the name of your familiar spirit before I
tell you."
"You know, then, that I have a familiar? You should have one, if it
is true that you possess the powder of projection."
"I have one."
"Give me the oath of the order."
"I dare not, and you know why."
"Perhaps I shall be able to remove your fears by tomorrow."
This absurd oath was none other than that of the princes of the Rosy
Cross, who never pronounce it without being certain that each party
is a Rosicrucian, so Madame d'Urfe was quite right in her caution,
and as for me I had to pretend to be afraid myself. The fact is I
wanted to gain time, for I knew perfectly well the nature of the
oath. It may be given between men without any indecency, but a woman
like Madame d'Urfe would probably not relish giving it to a man whom
she saw for the first time.
"When we find this oath alluded to in the Holy Scriptures," she said,
"it is indicated by the words 'he swore to him by laying his hand on
his thigh.'"
"But the thigh is not really what is meant; and consequently we never
find any notice of a man taking this oath to a woman, as a woman has
no 'verbum'."
The Count de la Tour d'Auvergne came back at nine o'clock in the
evening, and he skewed no little astonishment at seeing me still with
his aunt. He told us that his cousin's fever had increased, and that
small-pox had declared itself; "and I am going to take leave of you,
my dear aunt, at least for a month, as I intend to shut myself up
with the sick man."
Madame d'Urfe praised his zeal, and gave him a little bag on his
promising to return it to her after the cure of the prince.
"Hang it round his neck and the eruption will come out well, and he
will be perfectly cured."
He promised to do so, and having wished us good evening he went out.
"I do not know, madam, what your bag contains, but if it have aught
to do with magic, I have no confidence in its efficacy, as you have
neglected to observe the planetary hour."
"It is an electrum, and magic and the observance of the hour have
nothing to do with it."
"I beg your pardon."
She then said that she thought my desire for privacy praiseworthy,
but she was sure I should not be ill pleased with her small circle,
if I would but enter it.
"I will introduce you to all my friends," said she, "by asking them
one at a time, and you will then be able to enjoy the company of them
all."
I accepted her proposition.
In consequence of this arrangement I dined the next day with M. Grin
and his niece, but neither of them took my fancy. The day after, I
dined with an Irishman named Macartney, a physician of the old
school, who bored me terribly. The next day the guest was a monk who
talked literature, and spoke a thousand follies against Voltaire,
whom I then much admired, and against the "Esprit des Lois," a
favourite work of mine, which the cowled idiot refused to attribute
to Montesquieu, maintaining it had been written by a monk. He might
as well have said that a Capuchin created the heavens and the earth.
On the day following Madame d'Urfe asked me to dine with the
Chevalier d'Arzigny, a man upwards of eighty, vain, foppish, and
consequently ridiculous, known as "The Last of the Beaus." However,
as he had moved in the court of Louis XIV., he was interesting
enough, speaking with all the courtesy of the school, and having a
fund of anecdote relating to the Court of that despotic and luxurious
monarch.
His follies amused me greatly. He used rouge, his clothes were cut
in the style which obtained in the days of Madame de Sevigne, he
professed himself still the devoted lover of his mistress, with whom
he supped every night in the company of his lady friends, who were
all young and all delightful, and preferred his society to all
others; however, in spite of these seductions, he remained faithful
to his mistress.
The Chevalier d'Arzigny had an amiability of character which gave
whatever he said an appearance of truth, although in his capacity of
courtier truth was probably quite unknown to him. He always wore a
bouquet of the most strongly-smelling flowers, such as tuberoses,
jonquils, and Spanish jasmine; his wig was plastered down with amber-
scented pomade, his teeth were made of ivory, and his eyebrows dyed
and perfumed, and his whole person exhaled an odour to which Madame
d'Urfe did not object, but which I could scarcely bear. If it had
not been for this drawback I should probably have cultivated his
society. He was a professed Epicurean, and carried out the system
with an amazing tranquillity. He said that he would undertake to
receive twenty-four blows with the stick every morning on the
condition that he should not die within the twenty-four hours, and
that the older he grew the more blows he would gladly submit to.
This was being in love with life with a vengeance.
Another day I dined with M. Charon, who was a counsellor, and in
charge of a suit between Madame d'Urfe and her daughter Madame du
Chatelet, whom she disliked heartily. The old counsellor had been
the favoured lover of the marchioness forty years before, and he
thought himself bound by the remembrance of their love-passages to
support the cause of his old sweetheart. In those days French
magistrates thought they had a right to take the side of their
friends, or of persons in whom they had an interest, sometimes for
friendship's sake, and sometimes for a monetary consideration; they
thought, in fact, that they were justified in selling justice.
M. Charon bored me like the others, as was natural, considering we
had no two tastes in common.
The scene was changed the next day when I was amused with the company
of M. de Viarme, a young counsellor, a nephew of Madame d'Urfe's, and
his pretty and charming wife. He was the author of the
"Remonstrances to the King," a work which got him a great reputation,
and had been read eagerly by the whole town. He told me that the
business of a counsellor was to oppose everything done by the crown,
good and bad. His reasons for this theory were those given by all
minorities, and I do not think I need trouble my readers with them.
The most enjoyable dinner I had was with Madame de Gergi, who came
with the famous adventurer, known by the name of the Count de St.
Germain. This individual, instead of eating, talked from the
beginning of the meal to the end, and I followed his example in one
respect as I did not eat, but listened to him with the greatest
attention. It may safely be said that as a conversationalist he was
unequalled.
St. Germain gave himself out for a marvel and always aimed at
exciting amazement, which he often succeeded in doing. He was
scholar, linguist, musician, and chemist, good-looking, and a perfect
ladies' man. For awhile he gave them paints and cosmetics; he
flattered them, not that he would make them young again (which he
modestly confessed was beyond him) but that their beauty would be
preserved by means of a wash which, he said, cost him a lot of money,
but which he gave away freely.
He had contrived to gain the favour of Madame de Pompadour, who had
spoken about him to the king, for whom he had made a laboratory, in
which the monarch--a martyr to boredom--tried to find a little
pleasure or distraction, at all events, by making dyes. The king had
given him a suite of rooms at Chambord, and a hundred thousand francs
for the construction of a laboratory, and according to St. Germain
the dyes discovered by the king would have a materially beneficial
influence on the quality of French fabrics.
This extraordinary man, intended by nature to be the king of
impostors and quacks, would say in an easy, assured manner that he
was three hundred years old, that he knew the secret of the Universal
Medicine, that he possessed a mastery over nature, that he could melt
diamonds, professing himself capable of forming, out of ten or twelve
small diamonds, one large one of the finest water without any loss of
weight. All this, he said, was a mere trifle to him.
Notwithstanding his boastings, his bare-faced lies, and his manifold
eccentricities, I cannot say I thought him offensive. In spite of my
knowledge of what he was and in spite of my own feelings, I thought
him an astonishing man as he was always astonishing me. I shall have
something more to say of this character further on.
When Madame d'Urfe had introduced me to all her friends, I told her
that I would dine with her whenever she wished, but that with the
exception of her relations and St. Germain, whose wild talk amused
me, I should prefer her to invite no company. St. Germain often
dined with the best society in the capital, but he never ate
anything, saying that he was kept alive by mysterious food known only
to himself. One soon got used to his eccentricities, but not to his
wonderful flow of words which made him the soul of whatever company
he was in.
By this time I had fathomed all the depths of Madame d'Urfe's
character. She firmly believed me to be an adept of the first order,
making use of another name for purposes of my own; and five or six
weeks later she was confirmed in this wild idea on her asking me if I
had diciphered the manuscript which pretended to explain the Magnum
Opus.
"Yes," said I, "I have deciphered it, and consequently read it, and I
now beg to return it you with my word of honour that I have not made
a copy; in fact, I found nothing in it that I did not know before."
"Without the key you mean, but of course you could never find out
that."
"Shall I tell you the key?"
"Pray do so."
I gave her the word, which belonged to no language that I know of,
and the marchioness was quite thunderstruck.
"This is too amazing," said she; "I thought myself the sole possessor
of that mysterious word--for I had never written it down, laying it
up in my memory--and I am sure I have never told anyone of it."
I might have informed her that the calculation which enabled me to
decipher the manuscript furnished me also with the key, but the whim
took me to tell her that a spirit had revealed it to me. This
foolish tale completed my mastery over this truly learned and
sensible woman on everything but her hobby. This false confidence
gave me an immense ascendancy over Madame d'Urfe, and I often abused
my power over her. Now that I am no longer the victim of those
illusions which pursued me throughout my life, I blush at the
remembrance of my conduct, and the penance I impose on myself is to
tell the whole truth, and to extenuate nothing in these Memoirs.
The wildest notion in the good marchioness's brain was a firm belief
in the possibility of communication between mortals and elementary
spirits. She would have given all her goods to attain to such
communication, and she had several times been deceived by impostors
who made her believe that she attained her aim.
"I did not think," said she, sadly, "that your spirit would have been
able to force mine to reveal my secrets."
"There was no need to force your spirit, madam, as mine knows all
things of his own power."
"Does he know the inmost secrets of my soul?"
"Certainly, and if I ask him he is forced to disclose all to me."
"Can you ask him when you like?"
"Oh, yes! provided I have paper and ink. I can even ask him
questions through you by telling you his name."
"And will you tell it me?"
"I can do what I say; and, to convince you, his name is Paralis. Ask
him a simple question in writing, as you would ask a common mortal.
Ask him, for instance, how I deciphered your manuscript, and you
shall see I will compel him to answer you."
Trembling with joy, Madame d'Urfe put her question, expressed it in
numbers, then following my method in pyramid shape; and I made her
extract the answer, which she wrote down in letters. At first she
only obtained consonants, but by a second process which supplied the
vowels she received a clear and sufficient answer. Her every feature
expressed astonishment, for she had drawn from the pyramid the word
which was the key to her manuscript. I left her, carrying with me
her heart, her soul, her mind, and all the common sense which she had
left.
