I went to St. Lawrence’s Fair with my friend Patu, who, taking it into his head to sup with a Flemish actress known by the name of Morphi, invited me to go with him. I felt no inclination1 for the girl, but what can we refuse to a friend? I did as he wished. After we had supped with the actress, Patu fancied a night devoted2 to a more agreeable occupation, and as I did not want to leave him I asked for a sofa on which I could sleep quietly during the night.
Morphi had a sister, a slovenly3 girl of thirteen, who told me that if I would give her a crown she would abandon her bed to me. I agreed to her proposal, and she took me to a small closet where I found a straw palliasse on four pieces of wood.
“Do you call this a bed, my child?”
“I have no other, sir.”
“Then I do not want it, and you shall not have the crown.”
“Did you intend undressing yourself?”
“Of course.”
“What an idea! There are no sheets.”
“Do you sleep with your clothes on?”
“Oh, no!”
“Well, then, go to bed as usual, and you shall have the crown.”
“Why?”
“I want to see you undressed.”
“But you won’t do anything to me?”
“Not the slightest thing.”
She undressed, laid herself on her miserable4 straw bed, and covered herself with an old curtain. In that state, the impression made by her dirty tatters disappeared, and I only saw a perfect beauty. But I wanted to see her entirely5. I tried to satisfy my wishes, she opposed some resistance, but a double crown of six francs made her obedient, and finding that her only fault was a complete absence of cleanliness, I began to wash her with my own hands.
You will allow me, dear reader, to suppose that you possess a simple and natural knowledge, namely, that admiration6 under such circumstances is inseparable from another kind of approbation7; luckily, I found the young Morphi disposed to let me do all I pleased, except the only thing for which I did not care! She told me candidly8 that she would not allow me to do that one thing, because in her sister’s estimation it was worth twenty-five louis. I answered that we would bargain on that capital point another time, but that we would not touch it for the present. Satisfied with what I said, all the rest was at my disposal, and I found in her a talent which had attained9 great perfection in spite of her precocity10.
The young Helene faithfully handed to her sister the six francs I had given her, and she told her the way in which she had earned them. Before I left the house she told me that, as she was in want of money, she felt disposed to make some abatement12 on the price of twenty-five louis. I answered with a laugh that I would see her about it the next day. I related the whole affair to Patu, who accused me of exaggeration; and wishing to prove to him that I was a real connoisseur13 of female beauty I insisted upon his seeing Helene as I had seen her. He agreed with me that the chisel14 of Praxiteles had never carved anything more perfect. As white as a lily, Helene possessed15 all the beauties which nature and the art of the painter can possibly combine. The loveliness of her features was so heavenly that it carried to the soul an indefinable sentiment of ecstacy, a delightful16 calm. She was fair, but her beautiful blue eyes equalled the finest black eyes in brilliance17.
I went to see her the next evening, and, not agreeing about the price, I made a bargain with her sister to give her twelve francs every time I paid her a visit, and it was agreed that we would occupy her room until I should make up my mind to pay six hundred francs. It was regular usury18, but the Morphi came from a Greek race, and was above prejudices. I had no idea of giving such a large sum, because I felt no wish to obtain what it would have procured19 me; what I obtained was all I cared for.
The elder sister thought I was duped, for in two months I had paid three hundred francs without having done anything, and she attributed my reserve to avarice20. Avarice, indeed! I took a fancy to possess a painting of that beautiful body, and a German artist painted it for me splendidly for six louis. The position in which he painted it was delightful. She was lying on her stomach, her arms and her bosom21 leaning on a pillow, and holding her head sideways as if she were partly on the back. The clever and tasteful artist had painted her nether22 parts with so much skill and truth that no one could have wished for anything more beautiful; I was delighted with that portrait; it was a speaking likeness23, and I wrote under it, “O-Morphi,” not a Homeric word, but a Greek one after all, and meaning beautiful.
But who can anticipate the wonderful and secret decrees of destiny! My friend Patu wished to have a copy of that portrait; one cannot refuse such a slight service to a friend, and I gave an order for it to the same painter. But the artist, having been summoned to Versailles, shewed that delightful painting with several others, and M. de St. Quentin found it so beautiful that he lost no time in shewing it the king. His Most Christian24 Majesty25, a great connoisseur in that line, wished to ascertain26 with his own eyes if the artist had made a faithful copy; and in case the original should prove as beautiful as the copy, the son of St. Louis knew very well what to do with it.
M. de St. Quentin, the king’s trusty friend, had the charge of that important affair; it was his province: He enquired27 from the painter whether the original could be brought to Versailles, and the artist, not supposing there would be any difficulty, promised to attend to it.
He therefore called on me to communicate the proposal; I thought it was delightful, and I immediately told the sister, who jumped for joy. She set to work cleaning, washing and clothing the young beauty, and two or three days after they went to Versailles with the painter to see what could be done. M. de St. Quentin’s valet, having received his instructions from his master, took the two females to a pavilion in the park, and the painter went to the hotel to await the result of his negotiation28. Half an hour afterwards the king entered the pavilion alone, asked the young O-Morphi if she was a Greek woman, took the portrait out of his pocket, and after a careful examination exclaimed,
“I have never seen a better likeness.”
His majesty then sat down, took the young girl on his knees, bestowed29 a few caresses30 on her, and having ascertained31 with his royal hand that the fruit had not yet been plucked, he gave her a kiss.
O-Morphi was looking attentively32 at her master, and smiled.
“What are you laughing at?” said the king.
“I laugh because you and a crown of six francs are as like as two peas.”
That naivete made the king laugh heartily33, and he asked her whether she would like to remain in Versailles.
“That depends upon my sister,” answered the child.
But the sister hastened to tell the king that she could not aspire34 to a greater honour. The king locked them up again in the pavilion and went away, but in less than a quarter of an hour St. Quentin came to fetch them, placed the young girl in an apartment under the care of a female attendant, and with the sister he went to meet at the hotel the German artist to whom he gave fifty Louis for the portrait, and nothing to Morphi. He only took her address, promising35 her that she would soon hear from him; the next day she received one thousand Louis. The worthy36 German gave me twenty-five louis for my portrait, with a promise to make a careful copy of the one I had given to Patu, and he offered to paint for me gratuitously37 the likeness of every girl of whom I might wish to keep a portrait.
I enjoyed heartily the pleasure of the good Fleeting38, when she found herself in possession of the thousand gold pieces which she had received. Seeing herself rich, and considering me as the author of her fortune, she did not know how to shew me her gratitude39.
The young and lovely O-Morphi — for the king always called her by that name — pleased the sovereign by her simplicity40 and her pretty ways more even than by her rare beauty — the most perfect, the most regular, I recollect41 to have ever seen. He placed her in one of the apartments of his Parc-dux-cerfs — the voluptuous42 monarch43’s harem, in which no one could get admittance except the ladies presented at the court. At the end of one year she gave birth to a son who went, like so many others, God knows where! for as long as Queen Mary lived no one ever knew what became of the natural children of Louis XV.
O-Morphi fell into disgrace at the end of three years, but the king, as he sent her away, ordered her to receive a sum of four hundred thousand francs which she brought as a dowry to an officer from Britanny. In 1783, happening to be in Fontainebleau, I made the acquaintance of a charming young man of twenty-five, the offspring of that marriage and the living portrait of his mother, of the history of whom he had not the slightest knowledge, and I thought it my duty not to enlighten him. I wrote my name on his tablets, and I begged him to present my compliments to his mother.
A wicked trick of Madame de Valentinois, sister-in-law of the Prince of Monaco, was the cause of O-Morphi’s disgrace. That lady, who was well known in Paris, told her one day that, if she wished to make the king very merry, she had only to ask him how he treated his old wife. Too simple to guess the snare44 thus laid out for her, O-Morphi actually asked that impertinent question; but Louis XV. gave her a look of fury, and exclaimed,
“Miserable wretch45! who taught you to address me that question?”
The poor O-Morphi, almost dead with fright, threw herself on her knees, and confessed the truth.
The king left her and never would see her again. The Countess de Valentinois was exiled for two years from the court. Louis XV., who knew how wrongly he was behaving towards his wife as a husband, would not deserve any reproach at her hands as a king, and woe46 to anyone who forgot the respect due to the queen!
The French are undoubtedly47 the most witty48 people in Europe, and perhaps in the whole world, but Paris is, all the same, the city for impostors and quacks49 to make a fortune. When their knavery50 is found out people turn it into a joke and laugh, but in the midst of the merriment another mountebank51 makes his appearance, who does something more wonderful than those who preceded him, and he makes his fortune, whilst the scoffing52 of the people is in abeyance53. It is the unquestionable effects of the power which fashion has over that amiable54, clever, and lively nation. If anything is astonishing, no matter how extravagant55 it may be, the crowd is sure to welcome it greedily, for anyone would be afraid of being taken for a fool if he should exclaim, “It is impossible!” Physicians are, perhaps, the only men in France who know that an infinite gulf56 yawns between the will and the deed, whilst in Italy it is an axiom known to everybody; but I do not mean to say that the Italians are superior to the French.
A certain painter met with great success for some time by announcing a thing which was an impossibility — namely, by pretending that he could take a portrait of a person without seeing the individual, and only from the description given. But he wanted the description to be thoroughly57 accurate. The result of it was that the portrait did greater honour to the person who gave the description than — to the painter himself, but at the same time the informer found himself under the obligation of finding the likeness very good; otherwise the artist alleged58 the most legitimate59 excuse, and said that if the likeness was not perfect the fault was to be ascribed to the person who had given an imperfect description.
One evening I was taking supper at Silvia’s when one of the guests spoke60 of that wonderful new artist, without laughing, and with every appearance of believing the whole affair.
“That painter,” added he, “has already painted more than one hundred portraits, and they are all perfect likenesses.”
Everybody was of the same opinion; it was splendid. I was the only one who, laughing heartily, took the liberty of saying it was absurd and impossible. The gentleman who had brought the wonderful news, feeling angry, proposed a wager61 of one hundred louis. I laughed all the more because his offer could not be accepted unless I exposed myself to being made a dupe.
“But the portraits are all admirable likenesses.”
“I do not believe it, or if they are then there must be cheating somewhere.”
But the gentleman, being bent62 upon convincing Silvia and me — for she had taken my part proposed to make us dine with the artist; and we accepted.
The next day we called upon the painter, where we saw a quantity of portraits, all of which the artist claimed to be speaking likenesses; as we did not know the persons whom they represented we could not deny his claim.
“Sir,” said Silvia to the artist, “could you paint the likeness of my daughter without seeing her?”
“Yes, madam, if you are certain of giving me an exact description of the expression of her features.”
We exchanged a glance, and no more was said about it. The painter told us that supper was his favourite meal, and that he would be delighted if we would often give him the pleasure of our company. Like all quacks, he possessed an immense quantity of letters and testimonials from Bordeaux, Toulouse, Lyons, Rouen, etc., which paid the highest compliments to the perfection of his portraits, or gave descriptions for new pictures ordered from him. His portraits, by the way, had to be paid for in advance.
Two or three days afterwards I met his pretty niece, who obligingly upbraided63 me for not having yet availed myself of her uncle’s invitation to supper; the niece was a dainty morsel64 worthy of a king, and, her reproaches being very flattering to my vanity I promised I would come the next day. In less than a week it turned out a serious engagement. I fell in love with the interesting niece, who, being full of wit and well disposed to enjoy herself, had no love for me, and granted me no favour. I hoped, and, feeling that I was caught, I felt it was the only thing I could do.
One day that I was alone in my room, drinking my coffee and thinking of her, the door was suddenly opened without anyone being announced, and a young man came in. I did not recollect him, but, without giving me time to ask any questions, he said to me,
“Sir, I have had the honour of meeting you at the supper-table of M. Samson, the painter.”
“Ah! yes; I beg you to excuse me, sir, I did not at first recollect you.”
“It is natural, for your eyes are always on Mdlle. Samson.”
“Very likely, but you must admit that she is a charming creature.”
“I have no difficulty whatever in agreeing with you; to my misery65, I know it but too well.”
“You are in love with her?”
“Alas66, yes! and I say, again, to my misery.”
“To your misery? But why, do not you gain her love?”
“That is the very thing I have been striving for since last year, and I was beginning to have some hope when your arrival has reduced me to despair.”
“I have reduced you to despair?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am very sorry, but I cannot help it.”
“You could easily help it; and, if you would allow me, I could suggest to you the way in which you could greatly oblige me.”
“Speak candidly.”
“You might never put your foot in the house again.”
“That is a rather singular proposal, but I agree that it is truly the only thing I can do if I have a real wish to oblige you. Do you think, however, that in that case you would succeed in gaining her affection?”
“Then it will be my business to succeed. Do not go there again, and I will take care of the rest.”
“I might render you that very great service; but you must confess that you must have a singular opinion of me to suppose that I am a man to do such a thing.”
“Yes, sir, I admit that it may appear singular; but I take you for a man of great sense and sound intellect, and after considering the subject deeply I have thought that you would put yourself in my place; that you would not wish to make me miserable, or to expose your own life for a young girl who can have inspired you with but a passing fancy, whilst my only wish is to secure the happiness or the misery of my life, whichever it may prove, by uniting her existence with mine.”
“But suppose that I should intend, like you, to ask her in marriage?”
“Then we should both be worthy of pity, and one of us would have ceased to exist before the other obtained her, for as long as I shall live Mdlle. Samson shall not be the wife of another.”
This young man, well-made, pale, grave, as cold as a piece of marble, madly in love, who, in his reason mixed with utter despair, came to speak to me in such a manner with the most surprising calm, made me pause and consider. Undoubtedly I was not afraid, but although in love with Mdlle. Samson I did not feel my passion sufficiently67 strong to cut the throat of a man for the sake of her beautiful eyes, or to lose my own life to defend my budding affection. Without answering the young man, I began to pace up and down my room, and for a quarter of an hour I weighed the following question which I put to myself: Which decision will appear more manly68 in the eyes of my rival and will win my own esteem69 to the deeper degree, namely-to accept coolly his offer to cut one another’s throats, or to allay70 his anxiety by withdrawing from the field with dignity?
Pride whispered, Fight; Reason said, Compel thy rival to acknowledge thee a wiser man than he is.
“What would you think of me, sir,” I said to him, with an air of decision, “if I consented to give up my visits to Mdlle. Samson?”
“I would think that you had pity on a miserable man, and I say that in that case you will ever find me ready to shed the last drop of my blood to prove my deep gratitude.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Garnier, I am the only son of M. Garnier, wine merchant in the Rue71 de Seine.”
“Well, M. Gamier, I will never again call on Mdlle. Samson. Let us be friends.”
“Until death. Farewell, sir.”
“Adieu, be happy!”
Patu came in five minutes after Garnier had left me: I related the adventure to him, and he thought I was a hero.
“I would have acted as you have done,” he observed, “but I would not have acted like Garnier.”
It was about that time that the Count de Melfort, colonel of the Orleans regiment72, entreated73 me through Camille, Coraline’s sister, to answer two questions by means of my cabalism. I gave two answers very vague, yet meaning a great deal; I put them under a sealed envelope and gave them to Camille, who asked me the next day to accompany her to a place which she said she could not name to me. I followed her; she took me to the Palais-Royal, and then, through a narrow staircase, to the apartments of the Duchess de Chartres. I waited about a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the duchess came in and loaded Camille with caresses for having brought me. Then addressing herself to me, she told me, with dignity yet very graciously, the difficulty she experienced in understanding the answers I had sent and which she was holding in her hand. At first I expressed some perplexity at the questions having emanated74 from her royal highness, and I told her afterwards that I understood cabalism, but that I could not interpret the meaning of the answers obtained through it, and that her highness must ask new questions likely to render the answers easier to be understood. She wrote down all she could not make out and all she wanted to know.
“Madam, you must be kind enough to divide the questions, for the cabalistic oracle75 never answers two questions at the same time.”
“Well, then, prepare the questions yourself.”
“Your highness will excuse me, but every word must be written with your own hand. Recollect, madam, that you will address yourself to a superior intelligence knowing all your secrets”
She began to write, and asked seven or eight questions. She read them over carefully, and said, with a face beaming with noble confidence,
“Sir, I wish to be certain that no one shall ever know what I have just written.”
“Your highness may rely on my honour.”
I read attentively, and I saw that her wish for secrecy76 was reasonable, and that if I put the questions in my pocket I should run the risk of losing them and implicating77 myself.
“I only require three hours to complete my task,” I said to the duchess, “and I wish your highness to feel no anxiety. If you have any other engagement you can leave me here alone, provided I am not disturbed by anybody. When it is completed, I will put it all in a sealed envelope; I only want your highness to tell me to whom I must deliver the parcel.”
“Either to me or to Madame de Polignac, if you know her.”
“Yes, madam, I have the honour to know her.”
The duchess handed me a small tinder-box to enable me to light a wax- candle, and she went away with Camille. I remained alone locked up in the room, and at the end of three hours, just as I had completed my task, Madame de Polignac came for the parcel and I left the palace.
The Duchess de Chartres, daughter of the Prince of Conti, was twenty- six years of age. She was endowed with that particular sort of wit which renders a woman adorable. She was lively, above the prejudices of rank, cheerful, full of jest, a lover of pleasure, which she preferred to a long life. “Short and sweet,” were the words she had constantly on her lips. She was pretty but she stood badly, and used to laugh at Marcel, the teacher of graceful78 deportment, who wanted to correct her awkward bearing. She kept her head bent forward and her feet turned inside when dancing; yet she was a charming dancer. Unfortunately her face was covered with pimples79, which injured her beauty very greatly. Her physicians thought that they were caused by a disease of the liver, but they came from impurity80 of the blood, which at last killed her, and from which she suffered throughout her life.
The questions she had asked from my oracle related to affairs connected with her heart, and she wished likewise to know how she could get rid of the blotches81 which disfigured her. My answers were rather obscure in such matters as I was not specially82 acquainted with, but they were very clear concerning her disease, and my oracle became precious and necessary to her highness.
The next day, after dinner, Camille wrote me a note, as I expected, requesting me to give up all other engagements in order to present myself at five o’clock at the Palais-Royal, in the same room in which the duchess had already received me the day before. I was punctual.
An elderly valet de chambre, who was waiting for me, immediately went to give notice of my arrival, and five minutes after the charming princess made her appearance. After addressing me in a very complimentary83 manner, she drew all my answers from her pocket, and enquired whether I had any pressing engagements.
“Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important business than to attend to your wishes.”
“Very well; I do not intend to go out, and we can work.”
She then shewed me all the questions which she had already prepared on different subjects, and particularly those relating to the cure of her pimples. One circumstance had contributed to render my oracle precious to her, because nobody could possibly know it, and I had guessed it. Had I not done so, I daresay it would have been all the same. I had laboured myself under the same disease, and I was enough of a physician to be aware that to attempt the cure of a cutaneous disease by active remedies might kill the patient.
I had already answered that she could not get rid of the pimples on her face in less than a week, but that a year of diet would be necessary to effect a radical84 cure.
We spent three hours in ascertaining85 what she was to do, and, believing implicitly86 in the power and in the science of the oracle, she undertook to follow faithfully everything ordered. Within one week all the ugly pimples had entirely disappeared.
I took care to purge87 her slightly; I prescribed every day what she was to eat, and forbade the use of all cosmetics88; I only advised her to wash herself morning and evening with plantain water. The modest oracle told the princess to make use of the same water for her ablutions of every part of her body where she desired to obtain the same result, and she obeyed the prescription89 religiously.
I went to the opera on purpose on the day when the duchess shewed herself there with a smooth and rosy90 shin. After the opera, she took a walk in the great alley91 of the Palais-Royal, followed by the ladies of her suite92 and flattered by everybody. She saw me, and honoured me with a smile. I was truly happy. Camille, Madame de Polignac, and M. de Melfort were the only persons who knew that I was the oracle of the duchess, and I enjoyed my success. But the next day a few pimples reappeared on her beautiful complexion93, and I received an order to repair at once to the Palais-Royal.
The valet, who did not know me, shewed me into a delightful boudoir near a closet in which there was a bath. The duchess came in; she looked sad, for she had several small pimples on the forehead and the chin. She held in her hand a question for the oracle, and as it was only a short one I thought it would give her the pleasure of finding the answer by herself. The numbers translated by the princess reproached her with having transgressed94 the regimen prescribed; she confessed to having drunk some liquors and eaten some ham; but she was astounded95 at having found that answer herself, and she could not understand how such an answer could result from an agglomeration96 of numbers. At that moment, one of her women came in to whisper a few words to her; she told her to wait outside, and turning towards me, she said,
“Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who is as delicate as discreet97?”
With these words, she hastily concealed98 in her pocket all the papers which did not relate to her disease; then she called out.
A man entered the room, whom I took for a stableboy; it was M. de Melfort.
“See,” said the princess to him, “M. Casanova has taught me the cabalistic science.”
And she shewed him the answer she had obtained herself. The count could not believe it.
“Well,” said the duchess to me, “we must convince him. What shall I ask?”
“Anything your highness chooses.”
She considered for one instant, and, drawing from her pocket a small ivory box, she wrote, “Tell me why this pomatum has no longer any effect”
She formed the pyramid, the columns, and the key, as I had taught her, and as she was ready to get the answer, I told her how to make the additions and subtractions which seem to come from the numbers, but which in reality are only arbitrary; then I told her to interpret the numbers in letters, and I left the room under some pretext99. I came back when I thought that she had completed her translation, and I found her wrapped in amazement100.
“Ah, sir!” she exclaimed, “what an answer!”
“Perhaps it is not the right one; but that will sometimes happen, madam.”
“Not the right one, sir? It is divine! Here it is: That pomatum has no effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother.”
“I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madam.”
“Very likely, sir, but it is because you do not know that the pomatum in question was given to me five years ago by the Abbe de Brosses; it cured me at that time, but it was ten months before the birth of the Duke de Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly acquainted with that sublime101 cabalistic science.”
“What!” said the count, “is it the pomatum the history of which I know?”
“Precisely.”
“It is astonishing.”
“I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman the name of whom I would rather not give.”
“Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts.”
She then asked this question: “What disease is that woman suffering from?” She made the calculation, and the answer which I made her bring forth102 was this: “She wants to deceive her husband.” This time the duchess fairly screamed with astonishment103.
It was getting very late, and I was preparing to take leave, when M. de Melfort, who was speaking to her highness, told me that we might go together. When we were out, he told me that the cabalistic answer concerning the pomatum was truly wonderful. This was the history of it:
“The duchess, pretty as you see her now, had her face so fearfully covered with pimples that the duke, thoroughly disgusted, had not the courage to come near her to enjoy his rights as a husband, and the poor princess was pining with useless longing104 to become a mother. The Abbe de Brosses cured her with that pomatum, and her beautiful face having entirely recovered it original bloom she made her appearance at the Theatre Francais, in the queen’s box. The Duke de Chartres, not knowing that his wife had gone to the theatre, where she went but very seldom, was in the king’s box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her very handsome he enquired who she was, and when he was told he would not believe it; he left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her, and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the Duke of Montpensier, who is now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her pregnancy105 the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the pomatum remained without any effect.”
As he concluded his explanation, the count offered me a tortoise- shell box with a very good likeness of her royal highness, and said,
“The duchess begs your acceptance of this portrait, and, in case you would like to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that purpose.”
It was a purse of one hundred Louis. I accepted both, and entreated the count to offer the expressions of my profound gratitude to her highness. I never had the portrait mounted, for I was then in want of money for some other purpose.
After that, the duchess did me the honour of sending for me several times; but her cure remained altogether out of the question; she could not make up her mind to follow a regular diet. She would sometimes keep me at work for five or six hours, now in one corner, now in another, going in and out herself all the time, and having either dinner or supper brought to me by the old valet, who never uttered a word.
Her questions to the oracle alluded107 only to secret affairs which she was curious to know, and she often found truths with which I was not myself acquainted, through the answers. She wished me to teach her the cabalistic science, but she never pressed her wish upon me. She, however, commissioned M. de Melfort to tell me that, if I would teach her, she would get me an appointment with an income of twenty-five thousand francs. Alas! it was impossible! I was madly in love with her, but I would not for the world have allowed her to guess my feelings. My pride was the corrective of my love. I was afraid of her haughtiness108 humiliating me, and perhaps I was wrong. All I know is that I even now repent109 of having listened to a foolish pride. It is true that I enjoyed certain privileges which she might have refused me if she had known my love.
One day she wished my oracle to tell her whether it was possible to cure a cancer which Madame de la Popeliniere had in the breast; I took it in my head to answer that the lady alluded to had no cancer, and was enjoying excellent health.
“How is that?” said the duchess; “everyone in Paris believes her to be suffering from a cancer, and she has consultation110 upon consultation. Yet I have faith in the oracle.”
Soon afterwards, seeing the Duke de Richelieu at the court, she told him she was certain that Madame de la Popeliniere was not ill. The marshal, who knew the secret, told her that she was mistaken; but she proposed a wager of a hundred thousand francs. I trembled when the duchess related the conversation to me.
“Has he accepted your wages?” I enquired, anxiously.
“No; he seemed surprised; you are aware that he ought to know the truth.”
Three or four days after that conversation, the duchess told me triumphantly111 that M. de Richelieu had confessed to her that the cancer was only a ruse112 to excite the pity of her husband, with whom Madame de la Popeliniere wanted to live again on good terms; she added that the marshal had expressed his willingness to pay one thousand Louis to know how she had discovered the truth.
“If you wish to earn that sum,” said the duchess to me, “I will tell him all about it.”
But I was afraid of a snare; I knew the temper of the marshal, and the story of the hole in the wall through which he introduced himself into that lady’s apartment, was the talk of all Paris. M. de la Popeliniere himself had made the adventure more public by refusing to live with his wife, to whom he paid an income of twelve thousand francs.
The Duchess de Chartres had written some charming poetry on that amusing affair; but out of her own coterie113 no one knew it except the king, who was fond of the princess, although she was in the habit of scoffing at him. One day, for instance, she asked him whether it was true that the king of Prussia was expected in Paris. Louis XV. having answered that it was an idle rumour114,
“I am very sorry,” she said, “for I am longing to see a king.”
My brother had completed several pictures and having decided115 on presenting one to M. de Marigny, we repaired one morning to the apartment of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in the habit of paying their court to him. We were shewn into a hall adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early we waited for M. de Marigny. My brother’s picture was exposed there; it was a battle piece in the style of Bourguignon.
The first person who passed through the room stopped before the picture, examined it attentively, and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a poor painting; a moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at the picture, smiled, and said,
“That’s the work of a beginner.”
I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me; he was in a fever. In less than a quarter of an hour the room was full of people, and the unfortunate picture was the butt116 of everybody’s laughter. My poor brother felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally.
The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitied him; I rose with the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him that M. de Marigny would soon come, and that his approbation of the picture would avenge117 him for the insults of the crowd. Fortunately, this was not my brother’s opinion; we left the room hurriedly, took a coach, went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting. As soon as it had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces. He made up his mind to settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to study an art which he loved to idolatry; we resolved on going to Dresden together.
Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris I dined alone at the house of the gate-keeper of the Tuileries; his name was Conde. After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the bill, on which every item was reckoned at double its value. I pointed118 it out to her, but she answered very curtly119 that she could not abate11 one sou. I paid, and as the bill was receipted with the words ‘femme Conde’, I took the pen and to the word ‘Conde’ I added ‘labre’, and I went away leaving the bill on the table.
I was taking a walk in the Tuileries, not thinking any more of my female extortioner, when a small man, with his hat cocked on one side of his head and a large nosegay in his button-hole, and sporting a long sword, swaggered up to me and informed me, without any further explanation, that he had a fancy to cut my throat.
“But, my small specimen120 of humanity,” I said, “you would require to jump on a chair to reach my throat. I will cut your ears.”
“Sacre bleu, monsieur!”
“No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied.”
I walked rapidly towards the Porte de l’Etoile, where, seeing that the place was deserted121, I abruptly122 asked the fellow what he wanted, and why he had attacked me.
“I am the Chevalier de Talvis,” he answered. “You have insulted an honest woman who is under my protection; unsheath!”
With these words he drew his long sword; I unsheathed mine; after a minute or two I lunged rapidly, and wounded him in the breast. He jumped backward, exclaiming that I had wounded him treacherously123.
“You lie, you rascally124 mannikin! acknowledge it, or I thrust my sword through your miserable body.”
“You will not do it, for I am wounded; but I insist upon having my revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges.”
“Miserable wrangler125, wretched fighter, if you are not satisfied, I will cut off your ears!”
I left him there, satisfied that I had acted according to the laws of the duello, for he had drawn126 his sword before me, and if he had not been skilful127 enough to cover himself in good time, it was not, of course, my business to teach him. Towards the middle of August I left Paris with my brother. I had made a stay of two years in that city, the best in the world. I had enjoyed myself greatly, and had met with no unpleasantness except that I had been now and then short of money. We went through Metz, Mayence, and Frankfort, and arrived in Dresden at the end of the same month. My mother offered us the most affectionate welcome, and was delighted to see us again. My brother remained four years in that pleasant city, constantly engaged in the study of his art, and copying all the fine paintings of battles by the great masters in the celebrated128 Electoral Gallery.
He went back to Paris only when he felt certain that he could set criticism at defiance129; I shall say hereafter how it was that we both reached that city about the same time. But before that period, dear, reader, you will see what good and adverse130 fortune did for or against me.
My life in Dresden until the end of the carnival131 in 1753 does not offer any extraordinary adventure. To please the actors, and especially my mother, I wrote a kind of melodrama132, in which I brought out two harlequins. It was a parody133 of the ‘Freres Ennemis’, by Racine. The king was highly amused at the comic fancies which filled my play, and he made me a beautiful present. The king was grand and generous, and these qualities found a ready echo in the breast of the famous Count de Bruhl. I left Dresden soon after that, bidding adieu to my mother, to my brother Francois, and to my sister, then the wife of Pierre Auguste, chief player of the harpsichord134 at the Court, who died two years ago, leaving his widow and family in comfortable circumstances.
My stay in Dresden was marked by an amorous135 souvenir of which I got rid, as in previous similar circumstances, by a diet of six weeks. I have often remarked that the greatest part of my life was spent in trying to make myself ill, and when I had succeeded, in trying to recover my health. I have met with equal success in both things; and now that I enjoy excellent health in that line, I am very sorry to be physically136 unable to make myself ill again; but age, that cruel and unavoidable disease, compels me to be in good health in spite of myself. The illness I allude106 to, which the Italians call ‘mal francais’, although we might claim the honour of its first importation, does not shorten life, but it leaves indelible marks on the face. Those scars, less honourable137 perhaps than those which are won in the service of Mars, being obtained through pleasure, ought not to leave any regret behind.
In Dresden I had frequent opportunities of seeing the king, who was very fond of the Count de Bruhl, his minister, because that favourite possessed the double secret of shewing himself more extravagant even than his master, and of indulging all his whims138.
Never was a monarch a greater enemy to economy; he laughed heartily when he was plundered139 and he spent a great deal in order to have occasion to laugh often. As he had not sufficient wit to amuse himself with the follies140 of other kings and with the absurdities141 of humankind, he kept four buffoons142, who are called fools in Germany, although these degraded beings are generally more witty than their masters. The province of those jesters is to make their owner laugh by all sorts of jokes which are usually nothing but disgusting tricks, or low, impertinent jests.
Yet these professional buffoons sometimes captivate the mind of their master to such an extent that they obtain from him very important favours in behalf of the persons they protect, and the consequence is that they are often courted by the highest families. Where is the man who will not debase himself if he be in want? Does not Agamemnon say, in Homer, that in such a case man must necessarily be guilty of meanness? And Agamemnon and Homer lived long before our time! It evidently proves that men are at all times moved by the same motive- namely, self-interest.
It is wrong to say that the Count de Bruhl was the ruin of Saxony, for he was only the faithful minister of his royal master’s inclinations143. His children are poor, and justify144 their father’s conduct.
The court at Dresden was at that time the most brilliant in Europe; the fine arts flourished, but there was no gallantry, for King Augustus had no inclination for the fair sex, and the Saxons were not of a nature to be thus inclined unless the example was set by their sovereign.
At my arrival in Prague, where I did not intend to stop, I delivered a letter I had for Locatelli, manager of the opera, and went to pay a visit to Madame Morelli, an old acquaintance, for whom I had great affection, and for two or three days she supplied all the wants of my heart.
As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend Fabris, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with him. After ‘embracing him, I represented to him, but in vain, that I had made all my arrangements to go away immediately.
“You will go this evening,” he said, “with a friend of mine, and you will catch the coach.”
I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder of the day passed in the most agreeable manner. Fabris was longing for war, and his wishes were gratified two years afterwards; he covered himself with glory.
I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well worthy to be known. He took his meals every day at a table laid out for thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of both sexes, and a few friends. He did the honours of his well-supplied board nobly, and his real passion was good living. I shall have occasion to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety.
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1
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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precocity
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| n.早熟，早成 | |
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abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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gratuitously
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| 平白 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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40
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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41
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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42
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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43
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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44
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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45
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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46
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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47
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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48
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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49
quacks
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| abbr.quacksalvers 庸医，骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 )；江湖郎中；（鸭子的）呱呱声v.（鸭子）发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
knavery
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| n.恶行，欺诈的行为 | |
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51
mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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52
scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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53
abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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54
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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56
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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57
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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58
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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60
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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61
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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62
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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66
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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67
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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68
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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69
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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70
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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71
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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72
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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73
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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75
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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76
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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77
implicating
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| vt.牵涉，涉及（implicate的现在分词形式） | |
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78
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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79
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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80
impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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81
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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82
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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83
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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84
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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85
ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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86
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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87
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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88
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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89
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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92
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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94
transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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95
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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96
agglomeration
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| n.结聚，一堆 | |
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97
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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99
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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100
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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101
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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102
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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103
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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104
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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106
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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107
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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109
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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111
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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112
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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113
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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114
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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116
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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117
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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118
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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119
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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120
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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121
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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122
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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123
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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126
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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127
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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128
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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129
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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130
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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131
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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132
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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133
parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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134
harpsichord
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| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
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135
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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136
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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137
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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138
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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139
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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141
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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142
buffoons
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| n.愚蠢的人( buffoon的名词复数 )；傻瓜；逗乐小丑；滑稽的人 | |
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143
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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144
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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