Previous

Home

Next

---

 

SOUTH OF FRANCE - Chapter IV

I Leave Marseilles--Henriette at Aix--Irene at Avignon--Treachery of
Possano--Madame d'Urfe Leaves Lyon


The wedding only interested me because of the bride.  The plentiful
rather than choice repast, the numerous and noisy company, the empty
compliments, the silly conversation, the roars of laughter at very
poor jokes--all this would have driven me to despair if it had not
been for Madame Audibert, whom I did not leave for a moment. 
Marcoline followed the young bride about like a shadow, and the
latter, who was going to Genoa in a week, wanted Marcoline to come in
her tram, promising to have her taken to Venice by a person of trust,
but my sweetheart would listen to no proposal for separating her from
me,--

"I won't go.  to Venice," she said, "till you send me there."

The splendours of her friend's marriage did not make her experience
the least regret at having refused the young wine merchant.  The
bride beamed with happiness, and on my congratulating her she
confessed her joy to be great, adding that it was increased by the
fact that she owed it all to me.  She was also very glad to be going
to Genoa, where she was sure of finding a true friend in Rosalie, who
would sympathize with her, their fortunes having been very similar.

The day after the wedding I began to make preparations for my
departure.  The first thing I disposed of was the box containing the
planetary offerings.  I kept the diamonds and precious stones, and
took all the gold and silver to Rousse de Cosse, who still held the
sum which Greppi had placed to my credit.  I took a bill of exchange
on Tourton and Bauer, for I should not be wanting any money at Lyons
as Madame d'Urfe was there, and consequently the three hundred louis
I had about me would be ample.  I acted differently where Marcoline
was concerned.  I added a sufficient sum to her six hundred louis to
give her a capital in round numbers of fifteen thousand francs.  I
got a bill drawn on Lyons for that amount, for I intended at the
first opportunity to send her back to Venice, and with that idea had
her trunks packed separately with all the linen and dresses which I
had given her in abundance.

On the eve of our departure we took leave of the newly-married couple
and the whole family at supper, and we parted with tears, promising
each other a lifelong friendship.

The next day we set out intending to travel all night and not to stop
till we got to Avignon, but about five o'clock the chain of the
carriage broke, and we could go no further until a wheelwright had
repaired the damage.  We settled ourselves down to wait patiently,
and Clairmont went to get information at a fine house on our right,
which was approached by an alley of trees.  As I had only one
postillion, I did not allow him to leave his horses for a moment. 
Before long we saw Clairmont reappear with two servants, one of whom
invited me, on behalf of his master, to await the arrival of the
wheelwright at his house.  It would have been churlish to refuse this
invitation which was in the true spirit of French politeness, so
leaving Clairmont in charge Marcoline and I began to wend our way
towards the hospitable abode.

Three ladies and two gentleman came to meet us, and one of the
gentlemen said they congratulated themselves on my small mishap,
since it enabled madam to offer me her house and hospitality.  I
turned towards the lady whom the gentleman had indicated, and thanked
her, saying, that I hoped not to trouble her long, but that I was
deeply grateful for her kindness.  She made me a graceful curtsy, but
I could not make out her features, for a stormy wind was blowing, and
she and her two friends had drawn their hoods almost entirely over
their faces.  Marcoline's beautiful head was uncovered and her hair
streaming in the breeze.  She only replied by graceful bows and
smiles to the compliments which were addressed to her on all sides. 
The gentleman who had first accosted me asked me, as he gave her his
arm, if she were my daughter.  Marcoline smiled and I answered that
she was my cousin, and that we were both Venetians.

A Frenchman is so bent on flattering a pretty woman that he will
always do so, even if it be at the expense of a third party.  Nobody
could really think that Marcoline was my daughter, for though I was
twenty years older than she was, I looked ten years younger than my
real age, and so Marcoline smiled suggestively.

We were just going into the house when a large mastiff ran towards
us, chasing a pretty spaniel, and the lady, being afraid of getting
bitten, began to run, made a false step, and fell to the ground.  We
ran to help her, but she said she had sprained her ankle, and limped
into the house on the arm of one of the gentlemen.  Refreshments were
brought in, and I saw that Marcoline looked uneasy in the company of
a lady who was talking to her.  I hastened to excuse her, saying that
she did not speak French.  As a matter of fact, Marcoline had begun
to talk a sort of French, but the most charming language in the world
will not bear being spoken badly, and I had begged her not to speak
at all till she had learned to express herself properly.  It is
better to remain silent than to make strangers laugh by odd
expressions and absurd equivocations.

The less pretty, or rather the uglier, of the two ladies said that it
was astonishing that the education of young ladies was neglected in
such a shocking manner at Venice.  "Fancy not teaching them French!"

"It is certainly very wrong, but in my country young ladies are
neither taught foreign languages nor round games.  These important
branches of education are attended to afterwards."

"Then you are a Venetian, too?"

"Yes, madam."

"Really, I should not have thought so."

I made a bow in return for this compliment, which in reality was only
an insult; for if flattering to me it was insulting to the rest of my
fellow-countrymen, and Marcoline thought as much for she made a
little grimace accompanied by a knowing smile.

"I see that the young lady understands French," said our flattering
friend, "she laughs exactly in the right place."

"Yes, she understands it, and as for her laughter it was due to the
fact that she knows me to be like all other Venetians."

"Possibly, but it is easy to see that you have lived a long time in
France."

"Yes, madam," said Marcoline ; and these words in her pretty Venetian
accent were a pleasure to hear.

The gentleman who had taken the lady to her room said that she found
her foot to be rather swollen, and had gone to bed hoping we would
all come upstairs.

We found her lying in a splendid bed, placed in an alcove which the
thick curtains of red satin made still darker.  I could not see
whether she was young or old, pretty or ugly.  I said that I was very
sorry to be the indirect cause of her mishap, and she replied in good
Italian that it was a matter of no consequence, and that she did not
think she could pay too dear for the privilege of entertaining such
pleasant guests.

"Your ladyship must have lived in Venice to speak the language with
so much correctness."

"No, I have never been there, but I have associated a good deal with
Venetians."

A servant came and told me that the wheelwright had arrived, and that
he would take four hours to mend my carriage, so I went downstairs. 
The man lived at a quarter of a league's distance, and by tying the
carriage pole with ropes, I could drive to his place, and wait there
for the carriage to be mended.  I was about to do so, when the
gentleman who did the honours of the house came and asked me, on
behalf of the lady, to sup and pass the night at her house, as to go
to the wheelwright's would be out of my way; the man would have to
work by night, I should be uncomfortable, and the work would be ill
done.  I assented to the countess's proposal, and having agreed with
the man to come early the next day and bring his tools with him, I
told Clairmont to take my belongings into the room which was assigned
to me.

When I returned to the countess's room I found everyone laughing at
Marcoline's sallies, which the countess translated.  I was not
astonished at seeing the way in which my fair Venetian caressed the
countess, but I was enraged at not being able to see her, for I knew
Marcoline would not treat any woman in that manner unless she were
pretty.

The table was spread in the bedroom of the countess, whom I hoped to
see at supper-time, but I was disappointed; for she declared that she
could not take anything, and all supper-time she talked to Marcoline
and myself, shewing intelligence, education, and a great knowledge of
Italian.  She let fall the expression, "my late husband," so I knew
her for a widow, but as I did not dare to ask any questions, my
knowledge ended at that point.  When Clairmont was undressing me he
told me her married name, but as I knew nothing of the family that
was no addition to my information.

When we had finished supper, Marcoline took up her old position by
the countess's bed, and they talked so volubly to one another that
nobody else could get in a word.

When politeness bade me retire, my pretended cousin said she was
going to sleep with the countess.  As the latter laughingly assented,
I refrained from telling my madcap that she was too forward, and I
could see by their mutual embraces that they were agreed in the
matter.  I satisfied myself with saying that I could not guarantee
the sex of the countess's bed-fellow, but she answered,

"Never mind; if there be a mistake I shall be the gainer."

This struck me as rather free, but I was not the man to be
scandalized.  I was amused at the tastes of my fair Venetian, and at
the manner in which she contrived to gratify them as she had done at
Genoa with my last niece.  As a rule the Provencal women are inclined
this way, and far from reproaching them I like them all the better
for it.

The next day I rose at day-break to hurry on the wheelwright, and
when the work was done I asked if the countess were visible. 
Directly after Marcoline came out with one of the gentlemen, who
begged me to excuse the countess, as she could not receive me in her
present extremely scanty attire; "but she hopes that whenever you are
in these parts you will honour her and her house by your company,
whether you are alone or with friends."

This refusal, gilded as it was, was a bitter pill for me to swallow,
but I concealed my disgust, as I could only put it down to
Marcoline's doings; she seemed in high spirits, and I did not like to
mortify her.  I thanked the gentleman with effusion, and placing a
Louis in the hands of all the servants who were present I took my
leave.

I kissed Marcoline affectionately, so that she should not notice my
ill humour, and asked how she and the countess spent the night."

"Capitally," said she.  "The countess is charming, and we amused
ourselves all night with the tricks of two amorous women."

"Is she pretty or old?"

"She is only thirty-three, and, I assure you, she is as pretty as my
friend Mdlle. Crosin.  I can speak with authority for we saw each
other in a state of nature."

"You are a singular creature; you were unfaithful to me for a woman,
and left me to pass the night by myself."

"You must forgive me, and I had to sleep with her as she was the
first to declare her love."

"Really?  How was that?"

"When I gave her the first of my kisses she returned it in the
Florentine manner, and our tongues met.  After supper, I confess, I
was the first to begin the suggestive caresses, but she met me half-
way.  I could only make her happy by spending the night with her. 
Look, this will shew you how pleased she was."

With these words Marcoline drew a superb ring, set with brilliants,
from her finger.  I was astonished.

"Truly," I said, "this woman is fond of pleasure and deserves to have
it."

I gave my Lesbian (who might have vied with Sappho) a hundred. 
kisses, and forgave her her infidelity.

"But," I remarked, "I can't think why she did not want me to see her;
I think she has treated me rather cavalierly."

"No, I think the reason was that she was ashamed to be seen by my
lover after having made me unfaithful to him; I had to confess that
we were lovers."

"Maybe.  At all events you have been well paid; that ring is worth
two hundred louis:"

"But I may as well tell you that I was well enough paid for the
pleasure I gave by the pleasure I received."

"That's right; I am delighted to see you happy."

"If you want to make me really happy, take me to England with you. 
My uncle will be there, and I could go back to Venice with him."

"What!  you have an uncle in England?  Do you really mean it?  It
sounds like a fairy-tale.  You never told me of it before."

"I have never said anything about it up to now, because I have always
imagined that this might prevent your accomplishing your desire."

"Is your uncle a Venetian?  What is he doing in England?  Are you
sure that he will welcome you?"

"Yes."

"What is his name?  And how are we to find him in a town of more than
a million inhabitants?"

"He is ready found.  His name is Mattio Boisi, and he is valet de
chambre to M. Querini, the Venetian ambassador sent to England to
congratulate the new king; he is accompanied by the Procurator
Morosini.  My uncle is my mother's brother; he is very fond of me,
and will forgive my fault, especially when he finds I am rich.  When
he went to England he said he would be back in Venice in July, and we
shall just catch him on the point of departure."

As far as the embassy went I knew it was all true, from the letters I
had received from M. de Bragadin, and as for the rest Marcoline
seemed to me to be speaking the truth.  I was flattered by her
proposal and agreed to take her to England so that I should possess
her for five or six weeks longer without committing myself to
anything.

We reached Avignon at the close of the day, and found ourselves very
hungry.  I knew that the "St. Omer" was an excellent inn, and when I
got there I ordered a choice meal and horses for five o'clock the
next morning.  Marcoline, who did not like night travelling, was in
high glee, and threw her arms around my neck, saying,--

"Are we at Avignon now?"

"Yes, dearest."

"Then I conscientiously discharge the trust which the countess placed
in me when she embraced me for the last time this morning.  She made
me swear not to say a word about it till we got to Avignon."

"All this puzzles me, dearest; explain yourself."

"She gave me a letter for you,"

"A letter?"

"Will you forgive me for not placing it in your hands sooner?"

"Certainly, if you passed your word to the countess; but where is
this letter?"

"Wait a minute."

She drew a large bundle of papers from her pocket, saying,--

"This is my certificate of baptism."

"I see you were born in 1746."

"This is a certificate of 'good conduct.'"

"Keep it, it may be useful to you."

"This is my certificate of virginity."

"That's no use.  Did you get it from a midwife?"

"No, from the Patriarch of Venice."

"Did he test the matter for himself?"

"No, he was too old; he trusted in me."

"Well, well, let me see the letter."

"I hope I haven't lost it."

"I hope not, to God."

"Here is your brother's promise of marriage; he wanted to be a
Protestant."

"You may throw that into the fire."

"What is a Protestant?"

"I will tell you another time.  Give me the letter."

"Praised be God, here it is!"

"That's lucky; but it has no address."

My heart beat fast, as I opened it, and found, instead of an address,
these words in Italian:

"To the most honest man of my acquaintance."

Could this be meant for me?  I turned down the leaf, and read one
word--Henriette!  Nothing else; the rest of the paper was blank.

At the sight of that word I was for a moment annihilated.

"Io non mori, e non rimasi vivo."

Henriette!  It was her style, eloquent in its brevity.  I recollected
her last letter from Pontarlier, which I had received at Geneva, and
which contained only one word--Farewell!

Henriette, whom I had loved so well, whom I seemed at that moment to
love as well as ever.  "Cruel Henriette," said I to myself, "you saw
me and would not let me see you.  No doubt you thought your charms
would not have their old power, and feared lest I should discover
that after all you were but mortal.  And yet I love you with all the
ardour of my early passion.  Why did you not let me learn from your
own mouth that you were happy?  That is the only question I should
have asked you, cruel fair one.  I should not have enquired whether
you loved me still, for I feel my unworthiness, who have loved other
women after loving the most perfect of her sex.  Adorable Henriette,
I will fly to you to-morrow, since you told me that I should be
always welcome."

I turned these thoughts over in my own mind, and fortified myself in
this resolve; but at last I said,--

"No, your behaviour proves that you do not wish to see me now, and
your wishes shall be respected; but I must see you once before I
die."

Marcoline scarcely dared breathe to see me thus motionless and lost
in thought, and I do not know when I should have come to myself if
the landlord had not come in saying that he remembered my tastes, and
had got me a delicious supper.  This brought me to my senses, and I
made my fair Venetian happy again by embracing her in a sort of
ecstacy.

"Do you know," she said, "you quite frightened me?  You were as pale
and still as a dead man, and remained for a quarter of an hour in a
kind of swoon, the like of which I have never seen.  What is the
reason?  I knew that the countess was acquainted with you, but I
should never have thought that her name by itself could have such an
astonishing effect."

"Well, it is strange; but how did you find out that the countess knew
me?"

"She told me as much twenty times over in the night, but she made me
promise to say nothing about it till I had given you the letter."

"What did she say to you about me?"

"She only repeated in different ways what she has written for an
address."

"What a letter it is!  Her name, and nothing more."

"It is very strange."

"Yes, but the name tells all."

"She told me that if I wanted to be happy I should always remain with
you.  I said I knew that well; but that you wanted to send me back to
Venice, though you were very fond of me.  I can guess now that you
were lovers.  How long ago was it?"

"Sixteen or seventeen years."

"She must have been very young, but she cannot have been prettier
than she is now."

"Be quiet, Marcoline."

"Did your union with her last long?"

"We lived together four months in perfect happiness."

"I shall not be happy for so long as that."

"Yes you will, and longer, too; but with another man, and one more
suitable to you in age.  I am going to England to try to get my
daughter from her mother."

"Your daughter?  The countess asked me if you were married, and I
said no."

"You were right; she is my illegitimate daughter.  She must be ten
now, and when you see her you will confess that she must belong to
me."

Just as we were sitting down to table we heard someone going
downstairs to the table d'hote in the room where I had made Madame
Stuard's acquaintance, our door was open, and we could see the people
on the stairs; and one of them seeing us gave a cry of joy, and came
running in, exclaiming, "My dear papa!  "I turned to the light and
saw Irene, the same whom I had treated so rudely at Genoa after my
discussion with her father about biribi.  I embraced her effusively,
and the sly little puss, pretending to be surprised to see Marcoline,
made her a profound bow, which was returned with much grace. 
Marcoline listened attentively to our conversation.

"What are you doing here, fair Irene?"

"We have been here for the last fortnight.  Good heavens!  how lucky
I am to find you again.  I am quite weak.  Will you allow me to sit
down, madam?"

"Yes, yes, my dear," said I, "sit down;" and I gave her a glass of
wine which restored her.

A waiter came up, and said they were waiting for her at supper, but
she said, "I won't take any supper;" and Marcoline, always desirous
of pleasing me, ordered a third place to be laid.  I made her happy
by giving an approving nod.

We sat down to table, and ate our meal with great appetite.  "When we
have done," I said to Irene, "you must tell us what chance has
brought you to Avignon."

Marcoline, who had not spoken a word hitherto, noticing how hungry
Irene was, said pleasantly that it would have been a mistake if she
had not taken any supper.  Irene was delighted to hear Venetian
spoken, and thanked her for her kindness, and in three or four
minutes they had kissed and become friends.

It amused me to see the way in which Marcoline always fell in love
with pretty women, just as if she had been a man.

In the course of conversation I found that Irene's father and mother
were at the table d'hote below, and from sundry exclamations, such as
"you have been brought to Avignon out of God's goodness," I learned
that they were in distress.  In spite of that Irene's mirthful
countenance matched Marcoline's sallies, and the latter was delighted
to hear that Irene had only called me papa because her mother had
styled her my daughter at Milan.

We had only got half-way through our supper when Rinaldi and his wife
came in.  I asked them to sit down, but if it had not been for Irene
I should have given the old rascal a very warm reception.  He began
to chide his daughter for troubling me with her presence when I had
such fair company already, but Marcoline hastened to say that Irene
could only have given me pleasure, for in my capacity of her uncle I
was always glad when she was able to enjoy the society of a sweet
young girl.

"I hope," she added, "that if she doesn't mind she will sleep with
me."

"Yes, yes," resounded on all sides, and though I should have
preferred to sleep with Marcoline by herself, I laughed and agreed; I
have always been able to accommodate myself to circumstances.

Irene shared Marcoline's desires, for when it was settled that they
should sleep together they seemed wild with joy, and I added fuel to
the fire by plying them with punch and champagne.

Rinaldi and his wife did not leave us till they were quite drunk. 
When we had got rid of them, Irene told us how a Frenchman had fallen
in love with her at Genoa, and had persuaded her father to go to Nice
where high play was going on, but meeting with no luck there she had
been obliged to sell what she had to pay the inn-keeper.  Her lover
had assured her that he would make it up to her at Aix, where there
was some money owing to him, and she persuaded her father to go
there; but the persons who owed the money having gone to Avignon,
there had to be another sale of goods.

"When we got here the luck was no better, and the poor young man,
whom my father reproached bitterly, would have killed himself if I
had not given him the mantle you gave me that he might pawn it and go
on his quest.  He got four louis for it, and sent me the ticket with
a very tender letter, in which he assured me that he would find some
money at Lyons, and that he would then return and take us to
Bordeaux, where we are to find treasures.  In the meanwhile we are
penniless, and as we have nothing more to sell the landlord threatens
to turn us out naked."

"And what does your father mean to do?"

"I don't know.  He says Providence will take care of us."

"What does your mother say?"

"Oh!  she was as quiet as usual."

"How about yourself?"

"Alas!  I have to bear a thousand mortifications every day.  They are
continually reproaching me with having fallen in love with this
Frenchman, and bringing them to this dreadful pass."

"Were you really in love with him?"

"Yes, really."

"Then you must be very unhappy."

"Yes, very; but not on account of my love, for I shall get over that
in time, but because of that which will happen to-morrow."

"Can't you make any conquests at the table-d'hote?"

"Some of the men say pretty things to me, but as they all know how
poor we are they are afraid to come to our room."

"And yet in spite of all you keep cheerful; you don't look sad like
most of the unhappy.  I congratulate you on your good spirits."
Irene's tale was like the fair Stuard's story over again, and
Marcoline, though she had taken rather too much champagne, was deeply
moved at this picture of misery.  She kissed the girl, telling her
that I would not forsake her, and that in the meanwhile they would
spend a pleasant night.

"Come! let us to bed!" said she; and after taking off her clothes she
helped Irene to undress.  I had no wish to fight, against two, and
said that I wanted to rest.  The fair Venetian burst out laughing and
said,--

"Go to bed and leave us alone."

"I did so, and amused myself by watching the two Bacchantes; but
Irene, who had evidently never engaged in such a combat before, was
not nearly so adroit as Marcoline.

Before long Marcoline brought Irene in her arms to my bedside, and
told me to kiss her.

"Leave me alone, dearest," said I, "the punch has got into your head,
and you don't know what you are doing."

This stung her; and urging Irene to follow her example, she took up a
position in my bed by force; and as there was not enough room for
three, Marcoline got on top of Irene, calling her her wife.

I was virtuous enough to remain a wholly passive spectator of the
scene, which was always new to me, though I had seen it so often; but
at last they flung themselves on me with such violence that I was
obliged to give way, and for the most part of the night I performed
my share of the work, till they saw that I was completely exhausted. 
We fell asleep, and I did not wake up till noon, and then I saw my
two beauties still asleep, with their limbs interlaced like the
branches of a tree.  I thought with a sigh of the pleasures of such a
sleep, and got out of bed gently for fear of rousing them.  I ordered
a good dinner to be prepared, and countermanded the horses which had
been waiting several hours.

The landlord remembering what I had done for Madame Stuard guessed I
was going to do the same for the Rinaldis, and left them in peace.

When I came back I found my two Lesbians awake, and they gave me such
an amorous welcome that I felt inclined to complete the work of the
night with a lover's good morning; but I began to feel the need of
husbanding my forces, so I did nothing, and bore their sarcasms in
silence till one o'clock, when I told them to get up, as we ought to
have done at five o'clock, and here was two o'clock and breakfast not
done.

"We have enjoyed ourselves," said Marcoline, "and time that is given
to enjoyment is never lost."

When they were dressed, I had coffee brought in, and I gave Irene
sixteen louis, four of which were to redeem her cloak.  Her father
and mother who had just dined came in to bid us good-day, and Irene
proudly gave her father twelve Louis telling him to scold her a
little less in future.  He laughed, wept, and went out, and then came
back and said he found a good way of getting to Antibes at a small 
cost, but they would have to go directly, as the driver wanted to get
to St. Andiol by nightfall.

"I am quite ready."

"No, dear Irene," said I, "you shall not go; you shall dine with your
friend, and your driver can wait.  Make him do so, Count Rinaldi ; my
niece will pay, will you not, Marcoline?"

"Certainly.  I should like to dine here, and still better to put off
our departure till the next day."

Her wishes were my orders.  We had a delicious supper at five
o'clock, and at eight we went to bed and spent the night in
wantonness, but at five in the morning all were ready to start. 
Irene, who wore her handsome cloak, shed hot tears at parting from
Marcoline, who also wept with all her heart.  Old Rinaldi, who proved
himself no prophet, told me that I should make a great fortune in
England, and his daughter sighed to be in Marcoline's place.
We shall hear of Rinaldi later on.

We drove on for fifteen posts without stopping, and passed the night
at Valence.  The food was bad, but Marcoline forgot her discomfort in
talking of Irene.

"Do you know," said she, "that if it had been in my power I should
have taken her from her parents.  I believe she is your daughter,
though she is not like you."

"How can she be my daughter when I have never known her mother?"

"She told me that certainly."

"Didn't she tell you anything else?"

"Yes, she told me that you lived with her for three days and bought
her maidenhead for a thousand sequins."

"Quite so, but did she tell you that I paid the money to her father?"

"Yes, the little fool doesn't keep anything for herself.  I don't
think I should ever be jealous of your mistresses, if you let me
sleep with them.  Is not that a mark of a good disposition?
Tell me."

"You have, no doubt, a good disposition, but you could be quite as
good without your dominant passion."

"It is not a passion.  I only have desires for those I love."

"Who gave you this taste?"

"Nature.  I began at seven, and in the last ten years I have
certainly had four hundred sweethearts."

"You begin early.  But when did you begin to have male sweethearts?"

"At eleven."

"Tell me all about it."

"Father Molini, a monk, was my confessor, and he expressed a desire
to know the girl who was then my sweetheart.  It was in the carnival
time, and he gave us a moral discourse, telling us that he would take
us to the play if we would promise to abstain for a week.  We
promised to do so, and at the end of the week we went to tell him
that we had kept our word faithfully.  The next day Father Molini
called on my sweetheart's aunt in a mask, and as she knew him, and as
he was a monk and a confessor, we were allowed to go with him. 
Besides, we were mere children; my sweetheart was only a year older
than I.

"After the play the father took us to an inn, and gave us some
supper; and when the meal was over he spoke to us of our sin, and
wanted to see our privates.  'It's a great sin between two girls,'
said he, 'but between a man and a woman it is a venial matter.  Do
you know how men are made?'  We both knew, but we said no with one
consent.  'Then would you like to know?' said he.  We said we should
like to know very much, and he added, 'If you will promise to keep it
a secret, I may be able to satisfy your curiosity.'  We gave our
promises, and the good father proceeded to gratify us with a sight of
the riches which nature had lavished on him, and in the course of an
hour he had turned us into women.  I must confess that he understood
so well how to work on our curiosity that the request came from us. 
Three years later, when I was fourteen, I became the mistress of a
young jeweller.  Then came your brother; but he got nothing from me,
because he began by saying that he could not ask me to give him any
favours till we were married."

"You must have been amused at that."

"Yes, it did make me laugh, because I did not know that a priest
could get married; and he excited my curiosity by telling me that
they managed it at Geneva.  Curiosity and wantonness made me escape
with him; you know the rest."

Thus did Marcoline amuse me during the evening, and then we went to
bed and slept quietly till the morning.  We started from Valence at
five, and in the evening we were set down at the "Hotel du Parc" at
Lyons.

As soon as I was settled in the pleasant apartments allotted to me I
went to Madame d'Urfe, who was staying in the Place Bellecour, and
said, as usual, that she was sure I was coming on that day.  She
wanted to know if she had performed the ceremonies correctly, and
Paralis, of course, informed her that she had, whereat she was much
flattered.  The young Aranda was with her, and after I had kissed him
affectionately I told the marchioness that I would be with her at ten
o'clock the next morning, and so I left her.

I kept the appointment and we spent the whole of the day in close
conference, asking of the oracle concerning her being brought to bed,
how she was to make her will, and how she should contrive to escape
poverty in her regenerated shape.  The oracle told her that she must
go to Paris for her lying-in, and leave all her possessions to her
son, who would not be a bastard, as Paralis promised that as soon as
I got to London an English gentleman should be sent over to marry
her.  Finally, the oracle ordered her to prepare to start in three
days, and to take Aranda with her.  I had to take the latter to
London and return him to his mother, for his real position in life
was no longer a mystery, the little rascal having confessed all;
however, I had found a remedy for his indiscretion as for the
treachery of the Corticelli and Possano.

I longed to return him to the keeping of his mother, who constantly
wrote me impertinent letters.  I also wished to take my daughter,
who, according to her mother, had become a prodigy of grace and
beauty.

After the oracular business had been settled, I returned to the
"Hotel du Parc" to dine with Marcoline.  It was very late, and as I
could not take my sweetheart to the play I called on M. Bono to
enquire whether he had sent my brother to Paris.  He told me that he
had gone the day before, and that my great enemy, Possano, was still
in Lyons, and that I would do well to be on my guard as far as he was
concerned.

"I have seen him," said Bono; "he looks pale and undone, and seems
scarcely able to stand.  'I shall die before long,' said he, 'for
that scoundrel Casanova has had me poisoned; but I will make him pay
dearly for his crime, and in this very town of Lyons, where I know he
will come, sooner or later.'

"In fact, in the course of half an hour, he made some terrible
accusations against you, speaking as if he were in a fury.  He wants
all the world to know that you are the greatest villain unhung, that
you are ruining Madame d'Urfe with your impious lies; that you are a
sorcerer, a forger, an utter of false moneys, a poisoner--in short,
the worst of men.  He does not intend to publish a libellous pamphlet
upon you, but to accuse you before the courts, alleging that he wants
reparation for the wrongs you have done his person, his honour, and
his life, for he says you are killing him by a slow poison.  He adds
that for every article he possesses the strongest proof.

"I will say nothing about the vague abuse he adds to these formal
accusations, but I have felt it my duty to warn you of his
treacherous designs that you may be able to defeat them.  It's no
good saying he is a miserable wretch, and that you despise him; you
know how strong a thing calumny is."

"Where does the fellow live?"

"I don't know in the least."

"How can I find out?"

"I can't say, for if he is hiding himself on purpose it would be hard
to get at him."

"Nevertheless, Lyons is not so vast a place."

"Lyons is a perfect maze, and there is no better hiding-place,
especially to a man with money, and Possano has money."

"But what can he do to me?"

"He can institute proceedings against you in the criminal court,
which would cause you immense anxiety and bring down your good name
to the dust, even though you be the most innocent, the most just of
men."

"It seems to me, then, that the best thing I can do will be to be
first in the field."

"So I think, but even then you cannot avoid publicity."

"Tell me frankly if you feel disposed to bear witness to what the
rascal has said in a court of justice."

"I will tell all I know with perfect truth."

"Be kind enough to tell me of a good advocate."

"I will give you the address of one of the best; but reflect before
you do anything.  The affair will make a noise."

"As I don't know where he lives, I have really no choice in the
matter."

If I had known where he lived I could have had Possano expelled from
Lyons through the influence of Madame d'Urfe, whose relative, M. de
la Rochebaron, was the governor; but as it was, I had no other course
than the one I took.

Although Possano was a liar and an ungrateful, treacherous hound, yet
I could not help being uneasy.  I went to my hotel, and proceeded to
ask for police protection against a man in hiding in Lyons, who had
designs against my life and honour.

The next day M. Bono came to dissuade me from the course I had taken.

"For," said he, "the police will begin to search for him, and as soon
as he hears of it he will take proceedings against you in the
criminal courts, and then your positions will be changed.  It seems
to me that if you have no important business at Lyons you had better
hasten your departure."

"Do you think I would do such a thing for a miserable fellow like
Possano ?  No!  I would despise myself if I did.  I would die rather
than hasten my departure on account of a rascal whom I loaded with
kindnesses, despite his unworthiness !  I would give a hundred louis
to know where he is now."

"I am delighted to say that I do not know anything about it, for if I
did I would tell you, and then God knows what would happen!  You
won't go any sooner; well, then, begin proceedings, and I will give
my evidence by word of mouth or writing whenever you please."

I went to the advocate whom M. Bono had recommended to me, and told
him my business.  When he heard what I wanted he said,----

"I can do nothing for you, sir, as I have undertaken the case of your
opponent.  You need not be alarmed, however, at having spoken to me,
for I assure you that I will make no use whatever of the information. 
Possano's plea or accusation will not be drawn up till the day after
to-morrow, but I will not tell him to make baste for fear of your
anticipating him, as I have only been informed of your intentions by
hazard.  However, you will find plenty of advocates at Lyons as
honest as I am, and more skilled."

"Could you give me the name of one?"

"That would not be etiquette, but M. Bono, who seems to have kindly
spoken of me with some esteem, will be able to serve you."

"Can you tell me where your client lives?"

"Since his chief aim is to remain hidden, and with good cause, you
will see that I could not think of doing such a thing."

In bidding him farewell I put a louis on the table, and though I did
it with the utmost delicacy he ran after me and made me take it back.

"For once in a way," I said to myself, "here's an honest advocate."  

As I walked along I thought of putting a spy on Possano and finding
out his abode, for I felt a strong desire to have him beaten to
death; but where was I to find a spy in a town of which I knew
nothing?  M. Bono gave me the name of another advocate, and advised
me to make haste.

"'Tis in criminal matters" said he, "and in such cases the first
comer always has the advantage."

I asked him to find me a trusty fellow to track out the rascally
Possano, but the worthy man would not hear of it.  He shewed me that
it would be dishonourable to set a spy on the actions of Possano's
advocate.  I knew it myself; but what man is there who has not
yielded to the voice of vengeance, the most violent and least
reasonable of all the passions.

I went to the second advocate, whom I found to be a man venerable not
only in years but in wisdom.  I told him all the circumstances of the
affair, which he agreed to take up, saying he would present my plea
in the course of the day.

"That's just what I want you to do," said I, "for his own advocate
told me that his pleas would be presented the day after to-morrow."

"That, sir," said her "would not induce me to act with any greater
promptness, as I could not consent to your abusing the confidence of
my colleague."

"But there is nothing dishonourable in making use of information
which one has acquired by chance."

"That may be a tenable position in some cases, but in the present
instance the nature of the affair justifies prompt action.  'Prior in
tempore, Potior in jure'.  Prudence bids us attack our enemy.  Be so
kind, if you please, to call here at three o'clock in the afternoon."

"I will not fail to do so, and in the meanwhile here are six louis."

"I will keep account of my expenditure on your behalf."

"I want you not to spare money."

"Sir, I shall spend only what is absolutely necessary."

I almost believed that probity had chosen a home for herself amongst
the Lyons advocates, and here I may say, to the honour of the French
bar, that I have never known a more honest body of men than the
advocates of France.

At three o'clock, having seen that the plan was properly drawn up, I
went to Madame d'Urfe's, and for four hours I worked the oracle in a
manner that filled her with delight, and in spite of my vexation I
could not help laughing at her insane fancies on the subject of her
pregnancy.  She was certain of it; she felt all the symptoms.  Then
she said how sorry she felt that she would not be alive to laugh at
all the hypotheses of the Paris doctors as to her being delivered of
a child, which would be thought very extraordinary in a woman of her
age.

When I got back to the inn I found Marcoline very melancholy.  She
said she had been waiting for me to take her to the play, according
to my promise, and that I should not have made her wait in vain.

"You are right, dearest, but an affair of importance has kept me with
the marchioness.  Don't be put out."

I had need of some such advice myself, for the legal affair worried
me, and I slept very ill.  Early the next morning I saw my counsel,
who told me that my plea had been laid before the criminal
lieutenant.

"For the present," said he, "there is nothing more to be done, for as
we don't know where he is we can't cite him to appear."

"Could I not set the police on his track?"

"You might, but I don't advise you to do so.  Let us consider what
the result would be.  The accuser finding himself accused would have
to defend himself and prove the accusation he has made against you. 
But in the present state of things, if he does not put in an
appearance we will get judgment against him for contempt of court and
also for libel.  Even his counsel will leave him in the lurch if he
persistently refuses to shew himself."

This quieted my fears a little, and I spent the rest of the day with
Madame d'Urfe, who was going to Paris on the morrow.  I promised to
be with her as soon as I had dealt with certain matters which
concerned the honour of the Fraternity R. C..

Her great maxim was always to respect my secrets, and never to
trouble me with her curiosity.  Marcoline, who had been pining by
herself all day, breathed again when I told her that henceforth I
should be all for her.

In the morning M. Bono came to me and begged me to go with him to
Possano's counsel, who wanted to speak to me.  The advocate said that
his client was a sort of madman who was ready to do anything, as he
believed himself to be dying from the effects of a slow poison.

"He says that even if you are first in the field he will have you
condemned to death.  He says he doesn't care if he is sent to prison,
as he is certain of coming out in triumph as he has the proof of all
his accusations.  He shews twenty-five louis which you gave him, all
of which are clipped, and he exhibits documents dated from Genoa
stating that you clipped a number of gold pieces, which were melted
by M. Grimaldi in order that the police might not find them in your
possession.  He has even a letter from your brother, the abbe,
deposing against you.  He is a madman, a victim to syphilis, who
wishes to send you to the other world before himself, if he can.  Now
my advice to you is to give him some money and get rid of him.  He
tells me that he is the father of a family, and that if M. Bono would
give him a thousand louis he would sacrifice vengeance to necessity. 
He told me to speak to M. Bono about it; and now, sir what do you
say?"

"That which my just indignation inspires me to say regarding a rascal
whom I rescued from poverty, and who nevertheless pursues me with
atrocious calumnies; he shall not have one single farthing of mine."

I then told the Genoa story, putting things in their true light, and
adding that I could call M. Grimaldi as a witness if necessary.

"I have delayed presenting the plea," said the counsel, "to see if
the scandal could be hushed up in any way, but I warn you that I
shall now present it."

"Do so; I shall be greatly obliged to you."

I immediately called on my advocate, and told him of the rascal's
proposal; and he said I was quite right to refuse to have any
dealings with such a fellow.  He added that as I had M. Bono as a
witness I ought to make Possano's advocate present his plea, and I
authorized him to take proceedings in my name.

A clerk was immediately sent to the criminal lieutenant, praying him
to command the advocate to bring before him, in three days, the plea
of one Anami, alias Pogomas, alias Possano, the said plea being
against Jacques Casanova, commonly called the Chevalier de Seingalt. 
This document, to which I affixed my signature, was laid before the
criminal lieutenant.

I did not care for the three days' delay, but my counsel told me it
was always given, and that I must make up my mind to submit to all
the vexation I should be obliged to undergo, even if we were wholly
successful.

As Madame d'Urfe had taken her departure in conformity with the
orders of Paralis, I dined with Marcoline at the inn, and tried to
raise my spirits by all the means in my power.  I took my mistress to
the best milliners and dressmakers in the town, and bought her
everything she took a fancy to; and then we went to the theatre,
where she must have been pleased to see all eyes fixed on her. 
Madame Pernon, who was in the next box to ours, made me introduce
Marcoline to her; and from the way they embraced each other when the
play was over I saw they were likely to become intimate, the only
obstacle to their friendship being that Madame Pernon did not know a
word of Italian, and that Marcoline did not dare to speak a word of
French for fear of making herself ridiculous.  When we got back to
the inn, Marcoline told me that her new friend had given her the
Florentine kiss: this is the shibboleth of the sect.

The pretty nick-nacks I had given her had made her happy; her ardour
was redoubled, and the night passed joyously.

I spent the next day in going from shop to shop, making fresh
purchases for Marcoline, and we supped merrily at Madame Pernon's.

The day after, M. Bono came to see me at an early hour with a smile
of content on his face.

"Let us go and breakfast at a coffee-house," said he; "we will have
some discussion together."

When we were breakfasting he shewed me a letter written by Possano,
in which the rascal said that he was ready to abandon proceedings
provided that M. de Seingalt gave him a hundred louis, on receipt of
which he promised to leave Lyons immediately.

"I should be a great fool," said I, "if I gave the knave more money
to escape from the hands of justice.  Let him go if he likes, I won't
prevent him; but he had better not expect me to give him anything. 
He will have a writ out against him to-morrow.  I should like to see
him branded by the hangman.  He has slandered me, his benefactor, too
grievously; let him prove what he says, or be dishonoured before all
men."

"His abandoning the proceedings," said M. Bono, "would in my opinion
amount to the same thing as his failing to prove his charges, and you
would do well to prefer it to a trial which would do your reputation
no good, even if you were completely successful.  And the hundred
louis is nothing in comparison with the costs of such a trial."

"M. Bono, I value your advice very highly, and still more highly the
kindly feelings which prompt you, but you must allow me to follow my
own opinion in this case."

I went to my counsel and told him of the fresh proposal that Possano
had made, and of my refusal to listen to it, begging him to take
measures for the arrest of the villain who had vowed my death.

The same evening I had Madame Pernon and M. Bono, who was her lover,
to sup with me; and as the latter had a good knowledge of Italian
Marcoline was able to take part in the merriment of the company.

The next day Bono wrote to tell me that Possano had left Lyons never
to return, and that he had signed a full and satisfactory retraction. 
I was not surprised to hear of his flight, but the other circumstance
I could not understand.  I therefore hastened to call on Bono, who
showed me the document, which was certainly plain enough.

"Will that do?" said he.

"So well that I forgive him, but I wonder he did not insist on the
hundred Louis."

"My dear sir, I gave him the money with pleasure, to prevent a
scandalous affair which would have done us all harm in becoming
public.  If I had told you nothing, you couldn't have taken any steps
in the matter, and I felt myself obliged to repair the mischief I had
done in this way.  You would have known nothing about it, if you had
said that you were not satisfied.  I am only too glad to have been
enabled to skew my friendship by this trifling service.  We will say
no more about it."

"Very good," said I, embracing him, "we will say no more, but please
to receive the assurance of my gratitude."

I confess I felt much relieved at being freed from this troublesome
business.