I reached an elevation1 from which I could look over a vast stretch of country watered by a little river, and noticing a path leading to a kind of stair, the fancy took me to follow it. I went down about a hundred steps, and found forty small closets which I concluded were bathing machines. While I was looking at the place an honest-looking fellow came up to me, and asked me if I would like a bath. I said I would, and he opened one of the closets, and before long I surrounded by a crowd of young girls.
“Sir,” said the man, “they all aspire2 to the honour of attending you while you bathe; you have only to choose which it shall be. Half-a- crown will pay for the bath, the girl, and your coffee.”
As if I were the Grand Turk, I examined the swarm3 of rustic4 beauties, and threw my handkerchief at the one I liked the best. We went into a closet, and shutting the door with the most serious air, without even looking at me, she undressed me, and put a cotton cap on my head, and as soon as she saw me in the water she undressed herself as coolly as possible, and without a word came into the bath. Then she rubbed me all over, except in a certain quarter, which I had covered with my hands. When I thought I had been manipulated sufficiently5, I asked for coffee. She got out of the bath, opened the door, and after asking for what I wanted got in again without the slightest consciousness.
When the coffee came she got out again to take it, shut the door, and returned to the bath, and held the tray while I was drinking, and when I had finished she remained beside me.
Although I had taken no great notice of her, I could see that she possessed6 all the qualifications a man could desire in a woman: fine features, lively eyes, a pretty mouth, and an excellent row of teeth, a healthy complexion7, a well-rounded bosom8 a curved back, and all else in the same sort. I certainly thought her hands might have been softer, but their hardness was probably due to hard work. Furthermore, she was only eighteen, and yet I remained cold to all her charms. How was that? That was the question I asked myself; and I think the reason probably was that she was too natural, too devoid9 of those assumed graces and coquettish airs which women employ with so much art for the seduction of men. We only care for artifice10 and false show. Perhaps, too, our senses, to be irritated, require woman’s charms to be veiled by modesty11. But if, accustomed as we are to clothe ourselves, the face is the smallest factor in our perfect happiness, how is it that the face plays the principal part in rendering12 a man amorous13? Why do we take the face as an index of a woman’s beauty, and why do we forgive her when the covered parts are not in harmony with her features? Would it not be much more reasonable and sensible to veil the face, and to have the rest of the body naked? Thus when we fall in love with a woman, we should only want, as the crown of our bliss14, to see a face answerable to those other charms which had taken our fancy. There can be no doubt that that would be the better plan, as in that case we should only be seduced15 by a perfect beauty, and we should grant an easy pardon if at the lifting of the mask we found ugliness instead of loveliness. Under those circumstances an ugly woman, happy in exercising the seductive power of her other charms, would never consent to unveil herself; while the pretty ones would not have to be asked. The plain women would not make us sigh for long; they would be easily subdued16 on the condition of remaining veiled, and if they did consent to unmask, it would be only after they had practically convinced one that enjoyment17 is possible without facial beauty. And it is evident and undeniable that inconstancy only proceeds from the variety of features. If a man did not see the face, he would always be constant and always in love with the first woman who had taken his fancy. I know that in the opinion of the foolish all this will seem folly18, but I shall not be on the earth to answer their objections.
When I had left the bath, she wiped me with towels, put on my shirt, and then in the same state — that is, quite naked, she did my hair.
While I was dressing19 she dressed herself too, and having soon finished she came to buckle20 my shoes. I then gave her half-a-crown for the bath and six francs for herself; she kept the half-crown, but gave me back the six francs with silent contempt. I was mortified21; I saw that I had offended her, and that she considered her behaviour entitled her to respect. I went away in a bad enough humour.
After supper I could not help telling my dear Dubois of the adventure I had had in the afternoon, and she made her own comments on the details. “She can’t have been pretty,” said she, “for if she had been, you would certainly have given way. I should like to see her.”
“If you like I will take you there.”
“I should be delighted.”
“But you will have to dress like a man:”
She rose, went out without a word, and in a quarter of an hour returned in a suit of Le Duc’s, but minus the trousers, as she had certain protuberances which would have stood out too much I told her to take a pair of my breeches, and we settled to go to the bath next morning.
She came to wake at six o’clock. She was dressed like a man, and wore a blue overcoat which disguised her shape admirably. I rose and went to La Mata, as the place is called.
Animated22 by the pleasure the expedition gave her, my dear Dubois looked radiant. Those who saw her must have seen through her disguise, she was so evidently a woman; so she wrapped herself up in her overcoat as well as she could.
As soon as we arrived we saw the master of the baths, who asked me if I wanted a closet for four, and I replied in the affirmative. We were soon surrounded by the girls, and I shewed my housekeeper23 the one who had not seduced me; she made choice of her, and I having fixed24 upon a big, determined25-looking wench, we shut ourselves up in the bath.
As soon as I was undressed I went into the water with my big attendant. My housekeeper was not so quick; the novelty of the thing astonished her, and her expression told me that she repented26 of having come; but putting a good face on it, she began to laugh at seeing me rubbed by the feminine grenadier. She had some trouble before she could take off her chemise, but as it is only the first step that costs, she let it fall off, and though she held her two hands before her she dazzled me, in spite of myself, by the beauty of her form. Her attendant prepared to treat her as she had treated me, but she begged to be left alone; and on my following her example she felt obliged to let me look after her.
The two Swiss girls, who had no doubt often been present at a similar situation, began to give us a spectacle which was well known to me, but which was quite strange to my dear Dubois.
These two Bacchantes began to imitate the caresses27 I lavished28 on my housekeeper, who was quite astonished at the amorous fury with which my attendant played the part of a man with the other girl. I confess I was a little surprised myself, in spite of the transports which my fair Venetian nun29 had shewn me six years before in conjunction with C—— C——.
I could not have imagined that anything of the kind could have distracted my attention, holding, as I did, the woman I loved, whose charms were sufficient to captivate all the senses; but the strange strife30 of the two young Menads took up her attention as well as mine.
“Your attendant,” said she, “must be a boy, not a girl.”
“But,” said I, “you saw her breasts.”
“Yes, but she may be a boy all the same.”
The big Swiss girl who had heard what we had said turned round and shewed me what I should not have credited. There could be no mistake, however. It was a feminine membrane31, but much longer than my little finger, and stiff enough to penetrate32. I explained to my dear Dubois what it was, but to convince her I had to make her touch it. The impudent33 creature pushed her shamelessness so far as to offer to try it on her, and she insisted so passionately34 that I was obliged to push her away. She then turned to her companion and satiated on her body her fury of lust35. In spite of its disgusting nature, the sight irritated us to such a degree that my housekeeper yielded to nature and granted me all I could desire.
This entertainment lasted for two hours, and we returned to the town well pleased with one another. On leaving the bath I gave a Louis to each of the two Bacchantes, and we went away determined to go there no more. It will be understood that after what had happened there could be no further obstacle to the free progress of our love; and accordingly my dear Dubois became my mistress, and we made each other happy during all the time we spent at Berne. I was quite cured of my misadventure with the horrible widow, and I found that if love’s pleasures are fleeting36 so are its pains. I will go farther and maintain that the pleasures are of much longer duration, as they leave memories which can be enjoyed in old age, whereas, if a man does happen to remember the pains, it is so slightly as to have no influence upon his happiness.
At ten o’clock the Mayor of Thun was announced. He was dressed in the French fashion, in black, and had a manner at once graceful37 and polite that pleased me. He was middle-aged38, and enjoyed a considerable position in the Government. He insisted on my reading the letter that M. de Chavigni had written to him on my account. It was so flattering that I told him that if it had not been sealed I should not have had the face to deliver it. He asked me for the next day to a supper composed of men only, and for the day after that, to a supper at which women as well as men would be present. I went with him to the library where we saw M. Felix, an unfrocked monk39, more of a scribbler than a scholar, and a young man named Schmidt, who gave good promise, and was already known to advantage in the literary world. I also had the misfortune of meeting here a very learned man of a very wearisome kind; he knew the names of ten thousand shells by heart, and I was obliged to listen to him for two hours, although I was totally ignorant of his science. Amongst other things he told me that the Aar contained gold. I replied that all great rivers contained gold, but he shrugged40 his shoulders and did not seem convinced.
I dined with M. de Muralt in company with four or five of the most distinguished41 women in Berne. I liked them very well, and above all Madame de Saconai struck me as particularly amiable42 and well- educated. I should have paid my addresses to her if I had been staying long in the so-called capital of Switzerland.
The ladies of Berne are well though not extravagantly43 dressed, as luxury is forbidden by the laws. Their manners are good and they speak French with perfect ease. They enjoy the greatest liberty without abusing it, for in spite of gallantry decency44 reigns45 everywhere. The husbands are not jealous, but they require their wives to be home by supper-time.
I spent three weeks in the town, my time being divided between my dear Dubois and an old lady of eighty-five who interested me greatly by her knowledge of chemistry. She had been intimately connected with the celebrated46 Boerhaave, and she shewed me a plate of gold he had transmuted47 in her presence from copper48. I believed as much as I liked of this, but she assured me that Boerhaave possessed the philosopher’s stone, but that he had not discovered the secret of prolonging life many years beyond the century. Boerhaave, however, was not able to apply this knowledge to himself, as he died of a polypus on the heart before he had attained49 the age of perfect maturity50, which Hypocrates fixes at between sixty and seventy years. The four millions he left to his daughter, if they do not prove that he could make gold, certainly prove that he could save it. The worthy51 old woman told me he had given her a manuscript in which the whole process was explained, but that she found it very obscure.
“You should publish it,” said I.
“God forbid!”
“Burn it, then.”
“I can’t make up my mind to do so.”
M. de Muralt took me to see the military evolutions gone through by the citizens of Berne, who are all soldiers, and I asked him the meaning of the bear to be seen above the gate of the town. The German for bear is ‘bar’, ‘bern’, and the animal has given its name to the town and canton which rank second in the Republic, although it is in the first place for its wealth and culture. It is a peninsula formed by the Aar, which rises near the Rhine. The mayor spoke52 to me of the power of the canton, its lordships and bailiwicks, and explained his own powers; he then described the public policy, and told me of the different systems of government which compose the Helvetic union.
“I understand perfectly53 well,” I said, “that each of the thirteen cantons has its own government.”
“I daresay you do,” he replied, “but what you don’t understand any more than I do is, that there is a canton which has four separate governments.”
I had an excellent supper with fourteen or fifteen senators. There were no jokes, no frivolous54 conversation, and no literature; but law, the commonweal, commerce, political economy, speculation55, love of country, and the duty of preferring liberty to life, in abundance.
I felt as if I were in a new element, but I enjoyed the privilege of being a man amidst men who were all in honour to our common humanity. But as the supper went on, these rigid56 republicans began to expand, the discourse57 became less measured, there were even some bursts of laughter, owing to the wine. I excited their pity, and though they praised sobriety they thought mine excessive. However, they respected my liberty, and did not oblige me to drink, as the Russians, Swedes, Poles, and most northern peoples do.
We parted at midnight — a very late hour in Switzerland, and as they wished me a good night, each of them made me a sincere offer of his friendship. One of the company at an early period of the supper, before he had begun to get mellow58, had condemned59 the Venetian Republic for banishing60 the Grisons, but on his intellect being enlightened by Bacchus he made his apologies.
“Every government,” said he, “ought to know its own interests better than strangers, and everybody should be allowed to do what he wills with his own.”
When I got home I found my housekeeper lying in my bed. I gave her a hundred caresses in witness of my joy, and I assured her practically of my love and gratitude61. I considered her as my wife, we cherished each other, and did not allow the thought of separating to enter our minds. When two lovers love each other in all freedom, the idea of parting seems impossible.
Next morning I got a letter from the worthy Madame d’Urfe, who begged me to call on Madame de la Saone, wife of a friend of hers — a lieutenant-general. This lady had come to Berne in the hope of getting cured of a disease which had disfigured her in an incredible manner. Madame de la Saone was immediately introduced to all the best society in the place. She gave a supper every day, only asking men; she had an excellent cook. She had given notice that she would pay no calls, and she was quite right. I hastened to make my bow to her; but, good Heavens! what a terrible and melancholy62 sight did I behold63!
I saw a woman dressed with the utmost elegance64, reclining voluptuously65 upon a couch. As soon as she saw me she arose, gave me a most gracious reception, and going back to her couch invited me to sit beside her. She doubtless noticed my surprise, but being probably accustomed to the impression which the first sight of her created, she talked on in the most friendly manner, and by so doing diminished my aversion.
Her appearance was as follows: Madame de Saone was beautifully dressed, and had the whitest hands and the roundest arms that can be imagined. Her dress, which was cut very low, allowed me to see an exquisite67 breast of dazzling whiteness, heightened by two rosy68 buds; her figure was good, and her feet the smallest I have ever seen. All about her inspired love, but when one’s eyes turned to her face every other feeling gave way to those of horror and pity. She was fearful. Instead of a face, one saw a blackened and disgusting scab. No feature was distinguishable, and her ugliness was made more conspicuous69 and dreadful by two fine eyes full of fire, and by a lipless mouth which she kept parted, as if to disclose two rows of teeth of dazzling whiteness. She could not laugh, for the pain caused by the contraction70 of the muscles would doubtless have drawn71 tears to her eyes; nevertheless she appeared contented72, her conversation was delightful73, full of wit and humour, and permeated74 with the tone of good society. She might be thirty at the most, and she had left three beautiful young children behind in Paris. Her husband was a fine, well-made man, who loved her tenderly, and had never slept apart from her. It is probable that few soldiers have shewn such courage as this, but it is to be supposed that he did not carry his bravery so far as to kiss her, as the very thought made one shudder75. A disorder76 contracted after her first child-bed had left the poor woman in this sad state, and she had borne it for ten years. All the best doctors in France had tried in vain to cure her, and she had come to Berne to put herself into the hands of two well-known physicians who had promised to do so. Every quack77 makes promises of this sort; their patients are cured or not cured as it happens, and provided that they pay heavily the doctor is ready enough to lay the fault, not on his ignorance, but at the door of his poor deluded78 patient.
The doctor came while I was with her, and just as her intelligent conversation was making me forget her face. She had already began to take his remedies, which were partly composed of mercury.
“It seems to me,” said she, “that the itching79 has increased since I have taken your medicines.”
“It will last,” said the son of AEsculapius, “till the end of the cure, and that will take about three months.”
“As long as I scratch myself,” said she, “I shall be in the same state, and the cure will never be completed.”
The doctor replied in an evasive manner. I rose to take my leave, and holding my hand she asked me to supper once for all. I went the same evening; the poor woman took everything and drank some wine, as the doctor had not put her on any diet. I saw that she would never be cured.
Her good temper and her charming conversational80 powers kept all the company amused. I conceived that it would be possible to get used to her face, and to live with her without being disgusted. In the evening I talked about her to my housekeeper, who said that the beauty of her body and her mental endowments might be sufficient to attract people to her. I agreed, though I felt that I could never become one of her lovers.
Three or four days after, I went to a bookseller’s to read the newspaper, and was politely accosted81 by a fine young man of twenty, who said that Madame de la Saone was sorry not to have seen me again at supper.
“You know the lady?”
“I had the honour to sup at her house with you.”
“True; I remember you.”
“I get her the books she likes, as I am a bookseller, and not only do I sup with her every evening, but we breakfast together every morning before she gets up.”
“I congratulate you. I bet you are in love with her.”
“You are pleased to jest, but she is pleasanter than you think.”
“I do not jest at all, but I would wager82 she would not have the courage to push things to an extremity83.”
“Perhaps you would lose.”
“Really? I should be very glad to.”
“Let us make a bet.”
“How will you convince me I have lost?”
“Let us bet a louis, and you must promise to be discreet84.”
“Very good.”
“Come and sup at her house this evening, and I will tell you something.”
“You shall see me there.”
When I got home I told my housekeeper what I had heard.
“I am curious to know,” said she, “how he will convince you.” I promised to tell her, which pleased her very much.
I was exact to my appointment. Madame de la Saone reproached me pleasantly for my absence, and gave me a delicious supper. The young bookseller was there, but as his sweetheart did not speak a word to him he said nothing and passed unnoticed.
After supper we went out together, and he told me on the way that if I liked he would satisfy me the next morning at eight o’clock. “Call here, and the lady’s maid will tell you her mistress is not visible, but you have only to say that you will wait, and that you will go into the ante-chamber. This room has a glass door commanding a view of madame’s bed, and I will take care to draw back the curtains over the door so that you will be able to see at your ease all that passes between us. When the affair is over I shall go out by another door, she will call her maid, and you will be shewn in. At noon, if you will allow me, I will bring you some books to the ‘Falcon,’ and if you find that you have lost you shall pay me my louis.” I promised to carry out his directions, and we parted.
I was curious to see what would happen, though I by no means regarded it as an impossibility; and on my presenting myself at eight o’clock, the maid let me in as soon as I said that I could wait. I found a corner of the glass door before which there was no curtain, and on applying my eye to the place I saw my young adventurer holding his conquest in his arms on the bed. An enormous nightcap entirely85 concealed86 her face — an excellent precaution which favoured the bookseller’s enterprise.
When the rascal88 saw that I had taken up my position, he did not keep me waiting, for, getting up, he presented to my dazzled gaze, not only the secret treasures of his sweetheart, but his own also. He was a small man, but where the lady was most concerned he was a Hercules, and the rogue89 seemed to make a parade of his proportions as if to excite my jealousy90. He turned his victim round so that I should see her under all aspects, and treated her manfully, while she appeared to respond to his ardour with all her might. Phidias could not have modelled his Venus on a finer body; her form was rounded and voluptuous66, and as white as Parian marble. I was affected91 in a lively manner by the spectacle, and re-entered my lodging92 so inflamed93 that if my dear Dubois had not been at hand to quench94 my fire I should have been obliged to have extinguished it in the baths of La Mata.
When I had told her my tale she wanted to know the hero of it, and at noon she had that pleasure. The young bookseller brought me some books I had ordered, and while paying him for them I gave him our bet and a Louis over and above as a mark of my satisfaction at his prowess. He took it with a smile which seemed to shew that he thought I ought to think myself lucky to have lost. My housekeeper looked at him for some time, and asked if he knew her; he said he did not.
“I saw you when you were a child,” said she. “You are the son of M. Mignard, minister of the Gospel. You must have been ten when I saw you.”
“Possibly, madam.”
“You did not care to follow your father’s profession, then?”
“No madam, I feel much more inclined to the worship of the creature than to that of the Creator, and I did not think my father’s profession would suit me.”
“You are right, for a minister of the Gospel ought to be discreet, and discretion95 is a restraint.”
This stroke made him blush, but we did not give him time to lose courage. I asked him to dine with me, and without mentioning the name of Madame de la Saone he told his amorous adventures and numerous anecdotes96 about the pretty women of Berne.
After he had gone, my housekeeper said that once was quite enough to see a young man of his complexion. I agreed with her, and had no more to do with him; but I heard that Madame de Saone took him to Paris and made his fortune. Many fortunes are made in this manner, and there are some which originated still more nobly. I only returned to Madame de la Saone to take my leave, as I shall shortly relate.
I was happy with my charmer, who told me again and again that with me she lived in bliss. No fears or doubts as to the future troubled her mind; she was certain, as I was, that we should never leave each other; and she told me she would pardon all the infidelities I might be guilty of, provided I made full confession97. Hers, indeed, was a disposition98 with which to live in peace and content, but I was not born to enjoy such happiness.
After we had been a fortnight at Berne, my housekeeper received a letter from Soleure. It came from Lebel. As I saw she read it with great attention, I asked her what it was about.
“Take it and read it,” said she; and she sat down in front of me to read my soul by the play of my features.
Lebel asked her, in concise99 terms, if she would become his wife.
“I have only put off the proposition,” said he, “to set my affairs in order, and to see if I could afford to marry you, even if the consent of the ambassador were denied us. I find I am rich enough to live well in Berne or elsewhere without the necessity of my working; however I shall not have to face the alternative, for at the first hint of the matter M. de Chavigni gave his consent with the best grace imaginable.”
He went on begging her not to keep him long waiting for a reply, and to tell him in the first place if she consented; in the second, whether she would like to live at Berne and be mistress in her own house, or whether she would prefer to return to Soleure and live with the ambassador, which latter plan might bring them some profit. He ended by declaring that whatever she had would be for her sole use, and that he would give her a dower of a hundred thousand francs. He did not say a word about me.
“Dearest,” said I, “you are at perfect liberty to choose your own course, but I cannot contemplate100 your leaving me without considering myself as the most unhappy of men.”
“And if I lose you I should be the most unhappy of women; for if you love me I care not whether we are married or no.”
“Very good; but what answer are you going to make.”
“You shall see my letter to-morrow. I shall tell him politely but plainly that I love you, that I am yours, that I am happy, and that it is thus impossible for me to accept his flattering propositions. I shall also say that I appreciate his generosity101, and that if I were wise I should accept him, but that being the slave of my love for you I can only follow my inclination102.”
“I think you give an excellent turn to your letter. In refusing such an offer you could not have better reasons than those you give, and it would be absurd to try and persuade him that we are not lovers, as the thing is self-evident. Nevertheless, my darling, the letter saddens me.”
“Why, dearest?”
“Because I have not a hundred thousand francs to offer you.”
“I despise them; and if you were to offer me such a sum, I should only accept it to lay it at your feet. You are certainly not destined103 to become miserable104, but if that should come to pass, be sure that I should be only too happy to share your misery105.”
We fell into one another’s arms, and love made us taste all its pleasures. Nevertheless, in the midst of bliss, some tinge106 of sadness gained upon our souls. Languishing107 love seems to redouble its strength, but it is only in appearance; sadness exhausts love more than enjoyment. Love is a madcap who must be fed on laughter and mirth, otherwise he dies of inanition.
Next day my sweetheart wrote to Lebel in the sense she had decided108 on, and I felt obliged to write M. de Chavigni a letter in which love, sentiment, and philosophy were mingled109. I did not conceal87 from him that I loved the woman whom Lebel coveted110 to distraction111, but I said that as a man of honour I would rather die than deprive my sweetheart of such solid advantages.
My letter delighted the housekeeper, for she was anxious to know what the ambassador thought of the affair, which needed much reflection.
I got on the same day the letters of introduction I had asked Madame d’Urfe to give me, and I determined, to the joy of my dear Dubois, to set out for Lausanne. But we must hark back a little.
When one is sincerely in love, one thinks the beloved object full of deserts, and the mind, the dupe of the feelings, thinks all the world jealous of its bliss.
A. M. de F— — member of the Council of the Two Hundred, whom I had met at Madame de la Saone’s, had become my friend. He came to see me and I introduced him to my dear Dubois, whom he treated with the same distinction he would have used towards my wife. He had presented us to his wife, and had come several times to see us with her and her daughter Sara. Sara was only thirteen, but she was extremely precocious112, dark complexioned113, and full of wit; she was continually uttering naivetes, of which she understood the whole force, although looking at her face one would have thought her perfectly innocent. She excelled in the art of making her father and mother believe in her innocence114, and thus she enjoyed plenty of liberty.
Sara had declared that she was in love with my housekeeper, and as her parents laughed at her she lavished her caresses on my dear Dubois. She often came to breakfast with us, and when she found us in bed she would embrace my sweetheart, whom she called her wife, passing her hand over the coverlet to tickle115 her, telling her that she was her wife, and that she wanted to have a child. My sweetheart laughed and let her go on.
One day I told her jokingly that she would make me jealous, that I thought she really was a man, and that I was going to make sure. The sly little puss told me that I was making a mistake, but her hand seemed rather to guide mine than to oppose it. That made me curious, and my mind was soon set at rest as to her sex. Perceiving that she had taken me in and got exactly what she wanted, I drew back my hand, and imparted my suspicions to my housekeeper, who said I was right. However, as the little girl had no part in my affections, I did not push the thing any farther.
Two or three days after, this girl came in as I was getting up, and said in her usual simple way,
“Now that you know I am not really a man you can not be jealous or have objection to my taking your place beside my little wife, if she will let me.”
My housekeeper, who looked inclined to laugh, said,
“Come along.”
In the twinkling of an eye she was undressed and in the arms of her little wife, whom she proceeded to treat as an amorous husband. My sweetheart laughed, and Sara, having contrived116 in the combat to rid herself of her chemise and the coverlet, displayed herself to me without any veil, while at the same time she shewed me all the beauties of my sweetheart. This sight inflamed me. I shut the door, and made the little hussy witness of my ardour with my sweetheart. Sara looked on attentively117, playing the part of astonishment118 to perfection, and when I had finished she said, with the utmost simplicity119,
“Do it again:”
“I can’t, my dear; don’t you see I am a dead man?”
“That’s very funny,” she cried; and with the most perfect innocence she came over, and tried to effect my resurrection.
When she had succeeded in placing me in the wished-for condition, she said, “Now go in;” and I should doubtless have obeyed, but my housekeeper said, “No, dearest, since you have effected its resurrection, you must make it die again.”
“I should like to,” said she, “but I am afraid I have not got enough room;” and so saying she placed herself in a position to shew me that she was speaking the truth, and that if she did not make me die it was not her fault.
Imitating her simplicity I approached her, as if I wished to oblige her, but not to go too far; but not finding any resistance I accomplished120 the act in all its forms, without her giving the slightest evidence of pain, without any of the accidents of a first trial, but, on the contrary, with all the marks of the utmost enjoyment.
Although I was sure of the contrary, I kept my self-possession enough to tell my housekeeper that Sara had given me what can only be given once, and she pretended to believe me.
When the operation was finished, we had another amusing scene. Sara begged us not to say a word about it to her papa or mamma, as they would be sure to scold her as they had scolded her when she got her ears pierced without asking their leave.
Sara knew that we saw through her feigned121 simplicity, but she pretended not to do so as it was to her own advantage. Who could have instructed her in the arts of deceit? Nobody; only her natural wit, less rare in childhood than in youth, but always rare and astonishing. Her mother said her simplicities122 shewed that she would one day be very intelligent, and her father maintained that they were signs of her stupidity. But if Sara had been stupid, our bursts of laughter would have disconcerted her; and she would have died for shame, instead of appearing all the better pleased when her father deplored123 her stupidity. She would affect astonishment, and by way of curing one sort of stupidity she corroborated124 it by displaying another. She asked us questions to which we could not reply, and laughed at her instead, although it was evident that before putting such questions she must have reasoned over them. She might have rejoined that the stupidity was on our side, but by so doing she would have betrayed herself.
Lebel did not reply to his sweetheart, but M. de Chavigni wrote me a letter of four pages. He spoke like a philosopher and an experienced man of the world.
He shewed me that if I were an old man like him, and able to insure a happy and independent existence to my sweetheart after my death, I should do well to keep her from all men, especially as there was so perfect a sympathy between us; but that as I was a young man, and did not intend to bind125 myself to her by the ties of marriage, I should not only consent to a union which seemed for her happiness, but that as a man of honour it was my duty to use my influence with her in favour of the match. “With your experience,” said the kind old gentleman, “you ought to know that a time would come when you would regret both having lost this opportunity, for your love is sure to become friendship, and then another love will replace that which you now think as firm as the god Terminus.
“Lebel,” he added, “has told me his plans, and far from disapproving126, I have encouraged him, for your charming friend won my entire esteem127 in the five or six times I had the pleasure of seeing her with you. I shall be delighted, therefore, to have her in my house, where I can enjoy her conversation without transgressing128 the laws of propriety129. Nevertheless, you will understand that at my age I have formed no desires, for I could not satisfy them even if their object were propitious130.” He ended by telling me that Lebel had not fallen in love in a young man’s style, that he had reflected on what he was doing, and that he would consequently not hurry her, as she would see in the letter he was going to send her. A marriage ought always to be undertaken in cold blood.
I gave the letter to my housekeeper, who read it attentively, and gave it back to me quite coolly.
“What do you think of his advice, dearest?”
“I think I had better follow it: he says there is no hurry, and delay is all we want. Let us love each other and think only of that. This letter is written with great wisdom, but I cannot imagine our becoming indifferent to each other, though I know such a thing is possible.”
“Never indifferent; you make a mistake there.”
“Well, friends, then; and that is not much better after being lovers.”
“But friendship, dearest, is never indifferent. Love, it is true, may be in its composition. We know it, as it has been thus from the beginning of the world.”
“Then the ambassador was right. Repentance131 might come and torment132 us when love had been replaced by calmer friendship.”
“If you think so, let us marry each other to-morrow, and punish thereby133 the vices134 of our human nature.”
“Yes, we will marry, but there is no hurry; fearing lest hymen should quicken the departure of love, let us enjoy our happiness while we can.”
“You speak admirably, my angel, and deserve the greatest good fortune.”
“I wish for no greater than what you procure135 me.”
We went to bed, continuing our discussions, and when we were in each other’s arms we made an arrangement which suited us very well.
“Lausanne,” said she, “is a little town where you would meet with the warmest hospitality, and during your fortnight’s stay you will have nothing to do but to make visits and to go to suppers. I am known to all the nobility, and the Duke of Rosebury, who wearied me with his love-making, is still there. My appearance with you will make everybody talk, and it will be as annoying for you as for me. My mother lives there, too. She would say nothing, but in her heart she would be ill-pleased to see me as the housekeeper of a man like you, for common sense would inform everyone that I was your mistress.”
I thought she was right, and that it would be well to respect the rules of society. We decided that she should go to Lausanne by herself and stay with her mother, that in two or three days I should follow her, and should live by myself, as long as I liked, having full liberty to see her at her mother’s.
“When you leave Lausanne,” said she, “I will rejoin you at Geneva, and then we will travel together where you please and as long as our love lasts.”
In two days she started early in the morning, sure of my constancy, and congratulating herself on her discretion. I was sad at her leaving me, but my calls to take leave served to rouse me from my grief. I wished to make M. Haller’s acquaintance before I left Switzerland, and the mayor, M. de Muralt, gave me a letter of introduction to him very handsomely expressed. M. de Haller was the bailiff of Roche.
When I called to take leave of Madame de la Saone I found her in bed, and I was obliged to remain by her bedside for a quarter of an hour. She spoke of her disease, and gave the conversation such a turn that she was able with perfect propriety to let me see that the ravages136 of the disease had not impaired137 the beauty of her body. The sight convinced me that Mignard had need of less courage than I thought, and I was within an inch of doing her the same service. It was easy enough to look only at her body, and it would have been difficult to behold anything more beautiful.
I know well that prudes and hypocrites, if they ever read these Memoirs138, will be scandalized at the poor lady, but in shewing her person so readily she avenged139 herself on the malady140 which had disfigured her. Perhaps, too, her goodness of heart and politeness told her what a trial it was to look at her face, and she wished to indemnify the man who disguised his feelings of repugnance141 by shewing him what gifts nature had given her. I am sure, ladies, that the most prudish142 — nay143, the most virtuous144, amongst you, if you were unfortunate enough to be so monstrously145 deformed146 in the face, would introduce some fashion which would conceal your ugliness, and display those beauties which custom hides from view. And doubtless Madame de la Saone would have been more chary147 of her person if she had been able to enchant148 with her face like you.
The day I left I dined with M—— I— — and was severely149 taken to task by pretty Sara for having sent her little wife away before me. The reader will see how I met her again at London three years later. Le Duc was still in the doctor’s hands, and very weak; but I made him go with me, as I had a good deal of property, and I could not trust it to anybody else.
I left Berne feeling naturally very sad. I had been happy there, and to this day the thought of it is a pleasant one.
I had to consult Dr. Herrenschwand about Madame d’Urfe, so I stopped at Morat, where he lived, and which is only four leagues from Berne. The doctor made me dine with him that I might try the fish of the lake, which I found delicious. I had intended to go on directly after dinner, but I was delayed by a curiosity of which I shall inform the reader.
After I had given the doctor a fee of two Louis for his advice, in writing, on a case of tapeworm, he made me walk with him by the Avanches road, and we went as far as the famous mortuary of Morat.
“This mortuary,” said the doctor, “was constructed with part of the bones of the Burgundians, who perished here at the well-known battle lost by Charles the Bold.”
The Latin inscription150 made me laugh.
“This inscription,” said I, “contains an insulting jest; it is almost burlesque151, for the gravity of an inscription should not allow of laughter.”
The doctor, like a patriotic152 Swiss, would not allow it, but I think it was false shame on his part. The inscription ran as follows, and the impartial153 reader can judge of its nature:
“Deo. opt154. Max. Caroli inclyti et fortisimi Burgundie duds
exercitus Muratum obsidens, ab Helvetiis cesus, hoc sui
monumentum reliquit anno MCDLXXVI.”
Till then I had had a great idea of Morat. Its fame of seven centuries, three sieges sustained and repulsed155, all had given me a sublime156 notion of it; I expected to see something and saw nothing.
“Then Morat has been razed157 to the ground?” said I to the doctor.
“Not at all, it is as it always has been, or nearly so.”
I concluded that a man who wants to be well informed should read first and then correct his knowledge by travel. To know ill is worse than not to know at all, and Montaigne says that we ought to know things well.
But it was the following comic adventure which made me spend the night at Morat:
I found at the inn a young maid who spoke a sort of rustic Italian. She struck me by her great likeness158 to my fair stocking-seller at Paris. She was called Raton, a name which my memory has happily preserved. I offered her six francs for her favours, but she refused the money with a sort of pride, telling me that I had made a mistake and that she was an honest girl.
“It may be so,” said I, and I ordered my horses to be put in. When the honest Raton saw me on the point of leaving, she said, with an air that was at once gay and timid, that she wanted two louis, and if I liked to give her them and pass the night with her I should be well content.
“I will stay, but remember to be kind.”
“I will.”
When everybody had gone to bed, she came into my room with a little frightened manner, calculated to redouble my ardour, but by great good luck, feeling I had a necessity, I took the light and ran to the place where I could satisfy it. While there I amused myself by reading innumerable follies159 one finds written in such places, and suddenly my eyes lighted on these words:—
“This tenth day of August, 1760, the wretched Raton gave me the what- d’-you-call-it: reader, beware.”
I was almost tempted160 to believe in miracles, for I could not think there were two Ratons in the same house. I returned gaily161 to my room and found my sweetheart in bed without her chemise. I went to the place beside the bed where she had thrown it down, and as soon as she saw me touching162 it she begged me in a fright not to do so, as it was not clean. She was right, for it bore numerous marks of the disease which infected her. It may be imagined that my passion cooled, and that I sent her away in a moment; but I felt at the same time the greatest gratitude to what is called chance, for I should have never thought of examining a girl whose face was all lilies and roses, and who could not be more than eighteen.
Next day I went to Roche to see the celebrated Haller.
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1
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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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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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent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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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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membrane
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| n.薄膜，膜皮，羊皮纸 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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45
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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49
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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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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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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52
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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53
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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54
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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55
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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56
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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57
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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58
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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60
banishing
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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61
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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63
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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64
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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voluptuously
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| adv.风骚地，体态丰满地 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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67
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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70
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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71
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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72
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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74
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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75
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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76
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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77
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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78
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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80
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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81
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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82
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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83
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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84
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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85
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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86
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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87
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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88
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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89
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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90
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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91
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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92
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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93
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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95
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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96
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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97
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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98
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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99
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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100
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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101
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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102
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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103
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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104
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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105
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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106
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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107
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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108
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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109
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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110
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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111
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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112
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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113
complexioned
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| 脸色…的 | |
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114
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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115
tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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116
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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117
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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118
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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119
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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120
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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121
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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122
simplicities
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| n.简单，朴素，率直( simplicity的名词复数 ) | |
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123
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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125
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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126
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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127
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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128
transgressing
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| v.超越( transgress的现在分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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129
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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130
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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131
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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132
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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133
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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134
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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135
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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136
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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137
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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139
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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140
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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141
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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142
prudish
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| adj.装淑女样子的，装规矩的，过分规矩的；adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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143
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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144
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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145
monstrously
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146
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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147
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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148
enchant
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| vt.使陶醉，使入迷；使着魔，用妖术迷惑 | |
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149
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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150
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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151
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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152
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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153
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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154
opt
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| vi.选择，决定做某事 | |
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155
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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156
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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157
razed
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| v.彻底摧毁，将…夷为平地( raze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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159
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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160
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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161
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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162
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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