“You are curious, are you?”“I confess I am in this instance, for all this mystery seems designed to excite curiosity.”“Dearest, you shall know all; but how cold it is.”“My aunt has told me to make a good fire, she has become liberal or rather lavish all of a sudden; look at the wax candles.”“That’s a new thing, is it?”“Oh, quite new.”As soon as we were seated in front of the fire I began to tell her the story, to which she listened with all the attention a young girl can give to such a matter; but as I had thought it well to pass over some of the details, she could not properly understand what crime it was that Tiretta had committed. I was not sorry to be obliged to tell her the story in plain language, and to give more expression I employed the language of gesture, which made her blush and laugh at the same time. I then told her that, having taken up the question of the reparation that was due to her aunt, I had so arranged matters that I was certain of being alone with her all the time my friend was engaged. Thereupon I began to cover her pretty face with kisses, and as I allowed myself no other liberties she received my caresses as a proof of the greatness of my love and the purity of my feelings.“Dearest,” she said, “what you say puzzles me; there are two things which I can’t understand. How could Tiretta succeed in committing this crime with my aunt, which I think would only be possible with the consent of the party attacked, but quite impossible without it; and this makes me believe that if the thing was done it was done with her hearty good will.”“Very true, for if she did not like it she had only to change her position.”“Not so much as that; she need only have kept the door shut.”“There, sweetheart, you are wrong, for a properly-made man only asks you to keep still and he will overcome all obstacles. Moreover, I don’t expect that your aunt’s door is so well shut as yours.”“I believe that I could defy all the Tirettas in the world.“There’s another thing I don’t understand, and that is how my blessed aunt came to tell you all about it; for if she had any sense she might have known that it would only make you laugh. And what satisfaction does she expect to get from a brute like that, who possibly thinks the affair a matter of no consequence. I should think he would do the same to any woman who occupied the same position as my aunt.”“You are right, for he told me he went in like a blind man, not knowing where he was going.”“Your friend is a queer fellow, and if other men are like him I am sure I should have no feeling but contempt for them.”“She has told me nothing about the satisfaction she is thinking of, and which she possibly feels quite sure of attaining; but I think I can guess what it will be namely, a formal declaration of love; and I suppose he will expiate his crime by becoming her lover, and doubtless this will be their wedding night.”“The affair is getting amusing. I can’t believe it. My dear aunt is too anxious about her salvation; and how do you imagine the young man can ever fall in love with her, or play the part with such a face as hers before his eyes. Have you ever seen a countenance as disgusting as my aunt’s? Her skin is covered with pimples, her eyes distil humours, and her teeth and breath are enough to discourage any man. She’s hideous.”“All that is nothing to a young spark of twenty-five; one is always ready for an assault at that age; not like me who only feel myself a man in presence of charms like yours, of which I long to be the lawful possessor.”“You will find me the most affectionate of wives, and I feel quite sure that I shall have your heart in such good keeping that I shall never be afraid of losing it.”We had talked thus pleasantly for an hour, and Tiretta was still with the aunt. I thought things pointed towards a reconciliation, and judged the matter was getting serious. I told my sweetheart my opinion, and asked her to give me something to eat.“I can only give you,” said she, “some bread and cheese, a slice of ham, and some wine which my aunt pronounces excellent.”“Bring them quick, then; I am fainting with hunger.”She soon laid the table for two, and put on it all the food she had. The cheese was Roquefort, and the ham had been covered with jelly. About ten persons with reasonable appetites should have been able to sup on what there was; but (how I know not) the whole disappeared, and also two bottles of Chambertin, which I seem to taste now. My sweetheart’s eyes gleamed with pleasure: truly Chambertin and Roquefort are excellent things to restore an old love and to ripen a young one.“Don’t you want to know what your aunt has been doing the last two hours with M. Sixtimes?”“They are playing, perhaps; but there is a small hole in the wall, and I will look and see. I can only see the two candles, and the wicks are an inch long.”“Didn’t I say so? Give me a coverlet and I will sleep on the sofa here, and do you go to bed. But let me look at it first.”She made me come into her little room, where I saw a pretty bed, a prayer desk, and a large crucifix.“Your bed is too small for you, dear heart.”“Oh, not at all! I am very comfortable”; and so saying she laid down at full length.“What a beautiful wife I shall have! Nay, don’t move, let me look at you so.” My hand began to press the bosom of her dress, where were imprisoned two spheres which seemed to lament their captivity. I went farther, I began to untie strings . . . for where does desire stop short?“Sweetheart, I cannot resist, but you will not love me afterwards.”“I will always love you.”Soon her beautiful breasts were exposed to my burning kisses. The flame of my love lit another in her heart, and forgetting her former self she opened her arms to me, making me promise not to despise her, and what would one not promise! The modesty inherent in the sex, the fear of results, perhaps a kind of instinct which reveals to them the natural faithlessness of men make women ask for such promises, but what mistress, if really amorous, would even think of asking her lover to respect her in the moment of delirious ecstacy, when all one’s being is centred on the fulfilment of desire?After we had passed an hour in these amorous toyings, which set my sweetheart on fire, her charms having never before been exposed to the burning lips or the free caresses of a man, I said to her,“I grieve to leave you without having rendered to your beauty the greatest homage which it deserves so well.”A sigh was her only answer.It was cold, the fire was out, and I had to spend the night on the sofa.“Give me a coverlet, dearest, that I may go away from you, for I should die here between love and cold if you made me abstain.”“Lie where I have been, sweetheart. I will get up and rekindle the fire.”She got up in all her naked charms, and as she put a stick to the fire the flame leapt up; I rose, I found her standing so as to display all her beauties, and I could refrain no longer. I pressed her to my heart, she returned my caresses, and till day-break we gave ourselves up to an ecstacy of pleasure.We had spent four or five delicious hours on the sofa. She then left me, and after making a good fire she went to her room, and I remained on the sofa and slept till noon. I was awakened by Madame, who wore a graceful undress.“Still asleep, M. Casanova?”“Ah! good morning, madam, good morning. And what has become of my friend?”“He has become mine, I have forgiven him.”“What has he done to be worthy of so generous a pardon?”“He proved to me that he made a mistake.”“I am delighted to hear it; where is he?”“He has gone home, where you will find him; but don’t say anything about your spending the night here, or he will think it was spent with my niece. I am very much obliged to you for what you have done, and I have only to ask you to be discreet.”“You can count on me entirely, for I am grateful to you for having forgiven my friend.”“Who would not do so? The dear young man is something more than mortal. If you knew how he loved me! I am grateful to him, and I have taken him to board for a year; he will be well lodged, well fed, and so on.”“What a delightful plan! You have arranged the terms, I suppose.”“All that will be settled in a friendly way, and we shall not need to have recourse to arbitration. We shall set out to-day for Villette, where I have a nice little house; for you know that it is necessary, at first, to act in such a way as to give no opportunity to slanderers. My lover will have all he wants, and whenever you, sir, honour us with your presence you will find a pretty room and a good bed at your disposal. All I am sorry for is that you will find it tedious; my poor niece is so dull.”“Madam, your niece is delightful; she gave me yesterday evening an excellent supper and kept me company till three o’clock this morning.”“Really? I can’t make it out how she gave you anything, as there was nothing in the house.”“At any rate, madam, she gave me an excellent supper, of which there are no remains, and after keeping me company she went to bed, and I have had a good night on this comfortable sofa.”“I am glad that you, like myself, were pleased with everything, but I did not think my niece so clever.”“She is very clever, madam—in my eyes, at all events.”“Oh, sir! you are a judge of wit, let us go and see her. She has locked her door. Come open the door, why have you shut yourself up, you little prude? what are you afraid of. My Casanova is incapable of hurting you.”The niece opened her door and apologized for the disorder of her dress, but what costume could have suited her better? Her costume was dazzling.”“There she is,” said the aunt, “and she is not so bad looking after all, but it is a pity she is so stupid. You were very right to give this gentleman a supper. I am much obliged to you for doing so. I have been playing all night, and when one is playing one only thinks of the game. I have determined on taking young Tiretta to board with us. He is an excellent and clever young man, and I am sure he will learn to speak French before long. Get dressed, my dear, as we must begin to pack. We shall set out this afternoon for Villette, and shall spend there the whole of the spring. There is no need, you know, to say anything about this to my sister.”“I, aunt? Certainly not. Did I ever tell her anything on the other occasions?”“Other occasions! You see what a silly girl it is. Do you mean by ‘other occasions,’ that I have been circumstanced like this before?”“No, aunt. I only meant to say that I had never told her anything of what you did.”“That’s right, my dear, but you must learn to express yourself properly. We dine at two, and I hope to have the pleasure of M. Casanova’s company at dinner; we will start immediately after the meal. Tiretta promised to bring his small portmanteau with him, and it will go with our luggage.”After promising to dine with them, I bade the ladies good-bye; and I went home as fast as I could walk, for I was as curious as a woman to know what arrangements had been made.“Well,” said I to Tiretta, “I find you have got a place. Tell me all about it.”“My dear fellow, I have sold myself for a year. My pay is to be twenty-five louis a month, a good table, good lodging, etc., etc.”“I congratulate you.”“Do you think it is worth the trouble?”“There’s no rose without a thorn. She told me you were something more than mortal.”“I worked hard all night to prove it to her; but I am quite sure your time was better employed than mine.”“I slept like a king. Dress yourself, as I am coming to dinner, and I want to see you set out for Villette. I shall come and see you there now and then, as your sweetheart has told me that a room shall be set apart for my convenience.”We arrived at two o’clock. Madame dressed in a girlish style presented a singular appearance, but Mdlle. de la Meure’s beauty shone like a star. Love and pleasure had given her a new life, a new being. We had a capital dinner, as the good lady had made the repast dainty like herself; but in the dishes there was nothing absurd, while her whole appearance was comic in the highest degree. At four they all set out, and I spent my evening at the Italian comedy.I was in love with Mdlle. de la Meure, but Silvia’s daughter, whose company at supper was all I had of her, weakened a love which now left nothing more to desire.We complain of women who, though loving us and sure of our love, refuse us their favours; but we are wrong in doing so, for if they love they have good reason to fear lest they lose us in the moment of satisfying our desires. Naturally they should do all in their power to retain our hearts, and the best way to do so is to cherish our desire of possessing them; but desire is only kept alive by being denied: enjoyment kills it, since one cannot desire what one has got. I am, therefore, of opinion that women are quite right to refuse us. But if it be granted that the passions of the two sexes are of equal strength, how comes it that a man never refuses to gratify a woman who loves him and entreats him to be kind?We cannot receive the argument founded on the fear of results, as that is a particular and not a general consideration. Our conclusion, then, will be that the reason lies in the fact that a man thinks more of the pleasure he imparts than that which he receives, and is therefore eager to impart his bliss to another. We know, also, that, as a general rule, women, when once enjoyed, double their love and affection. On the other hand, women think more of the pleasure they receive than of that which they impart, and therefore put off enjoyment as long as possible, since they fear that in giving themselves up they lose their chief good—their own pleasure. This feeling is peculiar to the sex, and is the only cause of coquetry, pardonable in a woman, detestable in a man.Silvia’s daughter loved me, and she knew I loved her, although I had never said so, but women’s wit is keen. At the same time she endeavoured not to let me know her feelings, as she was afraid of encouraging me to ask favours of her, and she did not feel sure of her strength to refuse them; and she knew my inconstant nature. Her relations intended her for Clement, who had been teaching her the clavichord for the last three years. She knew of the arrangement and had no objection, for though she did not love him she liked him very well. Most girls are wedded without love, and they are not sorry for it afterwards. They know that by marriage they become of some consequence in the world, and they marry to have a house of their own and a good position in society. They seem to know that a husband and a lover need not be synonymous terms. At Paris men are actuated by the same views, and most marriages are matters of convenience. The French are jealous of their mistresses, but never of their wives.There could be no doubt that M. Clement was very much in love, and Mdlle. Baletti was delighted that I noticed it, as she thought this would bring me to a declaration, and she was quite right. The departure of Mdlle. de la Meure had a good deal to do with my determination to declare myself; and I was very sorry to have done so afterwards, for after I had told her I loved her Clement was dismissed, and my position was worse than before. The man who declares his love for a woman in words wants to be sent to school again.Three days after the departure of Tiretta, I took him what small belongings he had, and Madame seemed very glad to see me. The Abbé des Forges arrived just as we were sitting down to dinner, and though he had been very friendly to me at Paris he did not so much as look at me all through the meal, and treated Tiretta in the same way. I, for my part, took no notice of him, but Tiretta, not so patient as I, at last lost his temper and got up, begging Madame to tell him when she was going to have that fellow to dine with her. We rose from table without saying a word, and the silent abbé went with madam into another room.Tiretta took me to see his room, which was handsomely furnished, and, as was right, adjoined his sweetheart’s. Whilst he was putting his things in order, Mdlle. de la Meure made me come and see my apartment. It was a very nice room on the ground floor, and facing hers. I took care to point out to her how easily I could pay her a visit after everyone was in bed, but she said we should not be comfortable in her room, and that she would consequently save me the trouble of getting out of bed. It will be guessed that I had no objections to make to this arrangement.She then told me of her aunt’s folly about Tiretta.“She believes,” said she, “that we do not know he sleeps with her.”“Believes, or pretends to believe.”“Possibly. She rang for me at eleven o’clock this morning and told me to go and ask him what kind of night he had passed. I did so, but seeing his bed had not been slept in I asked him if he had not been to sleep.“‘No,’ said he, ‘I have been writing all night, but please don’t say anything about it to your aunt: I promised with all my heart to be as silent as the grave.’”“Does he make sheep’s eyes at you?”“No, but if he did it would be all the same. Though he is not over sharp he knows, I think, what I think of him.”“Why have you such a poor opinion of him?”“Why? My aunt pays him. I think selling one’s self is a dreadful idea.”“But you pay me.”“Yes, but in the same coin as you give me.”The old aunt was always calling her niece stupid, but on the contrary I thought her very clever, and as virtuous as clever. I should never have seduced her if she had not been brought up in a convent.I went back to Tiretta, and had some pleasant conversation with him. I asked him how he liked his place.“I don’t like it much, but as it costs me nothing I am not absolutely wretched.”“But her face!”“I don’t look at it, and there’s one thing I like about her—she is so clean.”“Does she take good care of you?”“O yes, she is full of feeling for me. This morning she refused the greeting I offered her. ‘I am sure,’ said she, ‘that my refusal will pain you, but your health is so dear to me that I feel bound to look after it.’”As soon as the gloomy Abbé des Forges was gone and Madame was alone, we rejoined her. She treated me as her gossip, and played the timid child for Tiretta’s benefit, and he played up to her admirably, much to my admiration.“I shall see no more of that foolish priest,” said she; “for after telling me that I was lost both in this world and the next he threatened to abandon me, and I took him at his word.”An actress named Quinault, who had left the stage and lived close by, came to call, and soon after Madame Favart and the Abbé de Voisenon arrived, followed by Madame Amelin with a handsome lad named Calabre, whom she called her nephew. He was as like her as two peas, but she did not seem to think that a sufficient reason for confessing she was his mother. M. Patron, a Piedmontese, who also came with her, made a bank at faro and in a couple of hours won everybody’s money with the exception of mine, as I knew better than to play. My time was better occupied in the company of my sweet mistress. I saw through the Piedmontese, and had put him down as a knave; but Tiretta was not so sharp, and consequently lost all the money he had in his pockets and a hundred louis besides. The banker having reaped a good harvest put down the cards, and Tiretta told him in good Italian that he was a cheat, to which the Piedmontese replied with the greatest coolness that he lied. Thinking that the quarrel might have an unpleasant ending, I told him that Tiretta was only jesting, and I made my friend say so, too. He then left the company and went to his room.Eight years afterwards I saw this Patron at St. Petersburg, and in the year 1767 he was assassinated in Poland.The same evening I preached Tiretta a severe yet friendly sermon. I pointed out to him that when he played he was at the mercy of the banker, who might be a rogue but a man of courage too, and so in calling him a cheat he was risking his life.“Am I to let myself be robbed, then?”“Yes, you have a free choice in the matter; nobody will make you play.”“I certainly will not pay him that hundred louis.”“I advise you to do so, and to do so before you are asked.”“You have a knack of persuading one to do what you will, even though one be disposed to take no notice of your advice.”“That’s because I speak from heart and head at once, and have some experience in these affairs as well.”Three quarters of an hour afterwards I went to bed and my mistress came to me before long. We spent a sweeter night than before, for it is often a matter of some difficulty to pluck the first flower; and the price which most men put on this little trifle is founded more on egotism than any feeling of pleasure.Next day, after dining with the family and admiring the roses on my sweetheart’s cheeks, I returned to Paris. Three or four days later Tiretta came to tell me that the Dunkirk merchant had arrived, that he was coming to dine at Madame’s, and that she requested me to make one of the party. I was prepared for the news, but the blood rushed into my face. Tiretta saw it, and to a certain extent divined my feelings. “You are in love with the niece,” said he.“Why do you think so?”“By the mystery you make about her; but love betrays itself even by its silence.”“You are a knowing fellow, Tiretta. I will come to dinner, but don’t say a word to anybody.”My heart was rent in twain. Possibly if the merchant had put off his arrival for a month I should have welcomed it; but to have only just lifted the nectar to my lips, and to see the precious vessel escape from my hands! To this day I can recall my feelings, and the very recollection is not devoid of bitterness.I was in a fearful state of perplexity, as I always was whenever it was necessary for me to resolve, and I felt that I could not do so. If the reader has been placed in the same position he will understand my feelings. I could not make up my mind to consent to her marrying, nor could I resolve to wed her myself and gain certain happiness.I went to Villette and was a little surprised to find Mdlle. de la Meure more elaborately dressed than usual.“Your intended,” I said, “would have pronounced you charming without all that.”“My aunt doesn’t think so”“You have not seen him yet?”“No, but I should like to, although I trust with your help never to become his wife.”Soon after, she arrived with Corneman, the banker, who had been the agent in this business transaction. The merchant was a fine man, about forty, with a frank and open face. His dress was good though not elaborate. He introduced himself simply but in a polite manner to Madame, and he did not look at his future wife till the aunt presented her to him. His manner immediately became more pleasing; and without making use of flowers of speech he said in a very feeling way that he trusted the impression he had made on her was equal to that which she had made on him. Her only answer was a low curtsy, but she studied him carefully.Dinner was served, and in the course of the meal we talked of almost everything—except marriage. The happy pair only caught each other’s eyes by chance, and did not speak to one another. After dinner Mdlle. de la Meure went to her room, and the aunt went into her closet with the banker and the merchant, and they were in close conversation for two hours. At the end of that time the gentlemen were obliged to return to Paris, and Madame, after summoning her niece, told the merchant she would expect him to dinner on the day following, and that she was sure that her niece would be glad to see him again.“Won’t you, my dear?”“Yes, aunt, I shall be very glad to see the gentleman again.”If she had not answered thus, the merchant would have gone away without hearing his future bride speak.“Well,” said the aunt, “what do you think of your husband?”“Allow me to put off my answer till to-morrow; but be good enough, when we are at table, to draw me into the conversation, for it is very possible that my face has not repelled him, but so far he knows nothing of my mental powers; possibly my want of wit may destroy any slight impression my face may have made.”“Yes, I am afraid you will begin to talk nonsense, and make him lose the good opinion he seems to have formed of you.”“It is not right to deceive anybody. If he is disabused of his fictitious ideas by the appearance of the truth, so much the better for him; and so much the worse for both of us, if we decide on marrying without the slightest knowledge of each other’s habits and ways of thought.”“What do you think of him?”“I think he is rather nice-looking, and his manners are kind and polite; but let us wait till to-morrow.”“Perhaps he will have nothing more to say to me; I am so stupid.”“I know very well that you think yourself very clever, and that’s where your fault lies; it’s your self-conceit which makes you stupid, although M. Casanova takes you for a wit.”“Perhaps he may know what he is talking about.”“My poor dear, he is only laughing at you.”“I have good reasons for thinking otherwise, aunt.”“There you go; you will never get any sense.”“Pardon me, madam, if I cannot be of your opinion. Mademoiselle is quite right in saying that I do not laugh at her. I dare to say that to-morrow she will shine in the conversation.”“You think so? I am glad to hear it. Now let us have a game at piquet, and I will play against you and my niece, for she must learn the game.”Tiretta asked leave of his darling to go to the play, and we played on till supper-time. On his return, Tiretta made us almost die of laughing with his attempts to tell us in his broken French the plot of the play he had seen.I had been in my bedroom for a quarter of an hour, expecting to see my sweetheart in some pretty kind of undress, when all of a sudden I saw her come in with all her clothes on. I was surprised at this circumstance, and it seemed to me of evil omen.“You are astonished to see me thus,” said she, “but I want to speak to you for a moment, and then I will take off my clothes. Tell me plainly whether I am to consent to this marriage or no?”“How do you like him?”“Fairly well.”“Consent, then!”“Very good; farewell! From this moment our love ends, and our friendship begins. Get you to bed, and I will go and do the same. Farewell!”“No, stay, and let our friendship begin to-morrow.”“Not so, were my refusal to cost the lives of both of us. You know what it must cost me to speak thus, but it is my irrevocable determination. If I am to become another’s wife, I must take care to be worthy of him; perhaps I may be happy. Do not hold me, let me go. You know how well I love you.”“At least, let us have one final embrace.”“Alas! no.”“You are weeping.”“No, I am not. In God’s name let me go.”“Dear heart, you go but to weep in your chamber; stay here. I will marry you.”“Nay, no more of that.”With these words she made an effort, escaped from my hands, and fled from the room. I was covered with shame and regret, and could not sleep. I hated myself, for I knew not whether I had sinned most grievously in seducing her or in abandoning her to another.I stayed to dinner next day in spite of my heartbreak and my sadness. Mdlle. de la Meure talked so brilliantly and sensibly to her intended that one could easily see he was enchanted with her. As for me, feeling that I had nothing pleasant to say, I pretended to have the toothache as an excuse for not talking. Sick at heart, absent-minded, and feeling the effects of a sleepless night, I was well-nigh mad with love, jealousy, and despair. Mdlle. de la Meure did not speak to me once, did not so much as look at me. She was quite right, but I did not think so then. I thought the dinner would never come to an end, and I do not think I was ever present at so painful a meal.As we rose from the table, Madame went into her closet with her niece and nephew that was to be, and the niece came out in the course of an hour and bade us congratulate her, as she was to be married in a week, and after the wedding she would accompany her husband to Dunkirk. “To-morrow,” she added, “we are all to dine with M. Corneman, where the deed of settlement will be signed.”I cannot imagine how it was I did not fall dead on the spot. My anguish cannot be expressed.Before long it was proposed that we should go to the play, but excusing myself on the plea of business I returned to Paris. As I got to my door I seemed to be in a fever, and I lay down on my bed, but instead of the rest I needed I experienced only remorse and fruitless repentance—the torments of the damned. I began to think it was my duty to stop the marriage or die. I was sure that Mdlle. de la Meure loved me, and I fancied she would not say no if I told her that her refusal to marry me would cost me my life. Full of that idea I rose and wrote her a letter, strong with all the strength of tumultuous passion. This was some relief, and getting into bed I slept till morning. As soon as I was awake I summoned a messenger and promised him twelve francs if he would deliver my letter, and report its receipt in an hour and a half. My letter was under cover of a note addressed to Tiretta, in which I told him that I should not leave the house till I had got an answer. I had my answer four hours after; it ran as follows: “Dearest, it is too late; you have decided on my destiny, and I cannot go back from my word. Come to dinner at M. Corneman’s, and be sure that in a few weeks we shall be congratulating ourselves on having won a great victory. Our love, crowned all too soon, will soon live only in our memories. I beg of you to write to me no more.”Such was my fate. Her refusal, with the still more cruel charge not to write to her again, made me furious. In it I only saw inconstancy. I thought she had fallen in love with the merchant. My state of mind may be judged from the fact that I determined to kill my rival. The most savage plans, the most cruel designs, ran a race through my bewildered brain. I was jealous, in love, a different being from my ordinary self; anger, vanity, and shame had destroyed my powers of reasoning. The charming girl whom I was forced to admire, whom I should have esteemed all the more for the course she had taken, whom I had regarded as an angel, became in my eyes a hateful monster, a meet object for punishment. At last I determined on a sure method of revenge, which I knew to be both dishonourable and cowardly, but in my blind passion I did not hesitate for a moment. I resolved to go to the merchant at M. Corneman’s, where he was staying, to tell him all that had passed between the lady and myself, and if that did not make him renounce the idea of marrying her I would tell him that one of us must die, and if he refused my challenge I determined to assassinate him.With this terrible plan in my brain, which makes me shudder now when I think of it, I ate with the appetite of a wild beast, lay down and slept till day. I was in the same mind when I awoke, and dressed myself hastily yet carefully, put two good pistols in my pocket and went to M. Corneman’s. My rival was still asleep; I waited for him, and for a quarter of an hour my thoughts only grew more bitter and my determination more fixed. All at once he came into the room, in his dressing-gown, and received me with open arms, telling me in the kindest of voices that he had been expecting me to call, as he could guess what feelings I, a friend of his future wife’s, could have for him, and saying that his friendship for me should always be as warm as hers. His honest open face, his straightforward words, overwhelmed me, and I was silent for a few minutes—in fact I did not know what to say. Luckily he gave me enough time to recollect myself, as he talked on for a quarter of an hour without noticing that I did not open my lips.M. Corneman then came in; coffee was served, and my speech returned to me; but I am happy to say I refrained from playing the dishonourable part I had intended; the crisis was passed.It may be remarked that the fiercest spirits are like a cord stretched too tight, which either breaks or relaxes. I have known several persons of that temperament—the Chevalier L——, amongst others, who in a fit of passion used to feel his soul escaping by every pore. If at the moment when his anger burst forth he was able to break something and make a great noise, he calmed down in a moment; reason resumed her sway, and the raging lion became as mild as a lamb.After I had taken a cup of coffee, I felt myself calmed but yet dizzy in the head, so I bade them good morning and went out. I was astonished but delighted that I had not carried my detestable scheme into effect. I was humbled by being forced to confess to myself that chance and chance alone had saved me from becoming a villain. As I was reflecting on what had happened I met my brother, and he completed my cure. I took him to dine at Silvia’s and stayed there till midnight. I saw that Mdlle. Baletti would make me forget the fair inconstant, whom I wisely determined not to see again before the wedding. To make sure I set out the next day for Versailles, to look after my interests with the Government.
“You are curious, are you?”
“I confess I am in this instance, for all this mystery seems designed to excite curiosity.”
“Dearest, you shall know all; but how cold it is.”
“My aunt has told me to make a good fire, she has become liberal or rather lavish all of a sudden; look at the wax candles.”
“That’s a new thing, is it?”
“Oh, quite new.”
As soon as we were seated in front of the fire I began to tell her the story, to which she listened with all the attention a young girl can give to such a matter; but as I had thought it well to pass over some of the details, she could not properly understand what crime it was that Tiretta had committed. I was not sorry to be obliged to tell her the story in plain language, and to give more expression I employed the language of gesture, which made her blush and laugh at the same time. I then told her that, having taken up the question of the reparation that was due to her aunt, I had so arranged matters that I was certain of being alone with her all the time my friend was engaged. Thereupon I began to cover her pretty face with kisses, and as I allowed myself no other liberties she received my caresses as a proof of the greatness of my love and the purity of my feelings.
“Dearest,” she said, “what you say puzzles me; there are two things which I can’t understand. How could Tiretta succeed in committing this crime with my aunt, which I think would only be possible with the consent of the party attacked, but quite impossible without it; and this makes me believe that if the thing was done it was done with her hearty good will.”
“Very true, for if she did not like it she had only to change her position.”
“Not so much as that; she need only have kept the door shut.”
“There, sweetheart, you are wrong, for a properly-made man only asks you to keep still and he will overcome all obstacles. Moreover, I don’t expect that your aunt’s door is so well shut as yours.”
“I believe that I could defy all the Tirettas in the world.
“There’s another thing I don’t understand, and that is how my blessed aunt came to tell you all about it; for if she had any sense she might have known that it would only make you laugh. And what satisfaction does she expect to get from a brute like that, who possibly thinks the affair a matter of no consequence. I should think he would do the same to any woman who occupied the same position as my aunt.”
“You are right, for he told me he went in like a blind man, not knowing where he was going.”
“Your friend is a queer fellow, and if other men are like him I am sure I should have no feeling but contempt for them.”
“She has told me nothing about the satisfaction she is thinking of, and which she possibly feels quite sure of attaining; but I think I can guess what it will be namely, a formal declaration of love; and I suppose he will expiate his crime by becoming her lover, and doubtless this will be their wedding night.”
“The affair is getting amusing. I can’t believe it. My dear aunt is too anxious about her salvation; and how do you imagine the young man can ever fall in love with her, or play the part with such a face as hers before his eyes. Have you ever seen a countenance as disgusting as my aunt’s? Her skin is covered with pimples, her eyes distil humours, and her teeth and breath are enough to discourage any man. She’s hideous.”
“All that is nothing to a young spark of twenty-five; one is always ready for an assault at that age; not like me who only feel myself a man in presence of charms like yours, of which I long to be the lawful possessor.”
“You will find me the most affectionate of wives, and I feel quite sure that I shall have your heart in such good keeping that I shall never be afraid of losing it.”
We had talked thus pleasantly for an hour, and Tiretta was still with the aunt. I thought things pointed towards a reconciliation, and judged the matter was getting serious. I told my sweetheart my opinion, and asked her to give me something to eat.
“I can only give you,” said she, “some bread and cheese, a slice of ham, and some wine which my aunt pronounces excellent.”
“Bring them quick, then; I am fainting with hunger.”
She soon laid the table for two, and put on it all the food she had. The cheese was Roquefort, and the ham had been covered with jelly. About ten persons with reasonable appetites should have been able to sup on what there was; but (how I know not) the whole disappeared, and also two bottles of Chambertin, which I seem to taste now. My sweetheart’s eyes gleamed with pleasure: truly Chambertin and Roquefort are excellent things to restore an old love and to ripen a young one.
“Don’t you want to know what your aunt has been doing the last two hours with M. Sixtimes?”
“They are playing, perhaps; but there is a small hole in the wall, and I will look and see. I can only see the two candles, and the wicks are an inch long.”
“Didn’t I say so? Give me a coverlet and I will sleep on the sofa here, and do you go to bed. But let me look at it first.”
She made me come into her little room, where I saw a pretty bed, a prayer desk, and a large crucifix.
“Your bed is too small for you, dear heart.”
“Oh, not at all! I am very comfortable”; and so saying she laid down at full length.
“What a beautiful wife I shall have! Nay, don’t move, let me look at you so.” My hand began to press the bosom of her dress, where were imprisoned two spheres which seemed to lament their captivity. I went farther, I began to untie strings . . . for where does desire stop short?
“Sweetheart, I cannot resist, but you will not love me afterwards.”
“I will always love you.”
Soon her beautiful breasts were exposed to my burning kisses. The flame of my love lit another in her heart, and forgetting her former self she opened her arms to me, making me promise not to despise her, and what would one not promise! The modesty inherent in the sex, the fear of results, perhaps a kind of instinct which reveals to them the natural faithlessness of men make women ask for such promises, but what mistress, if really amorous, would even think of asking her lover to respect her in the moment of delirious ecstacy, when all one’s being is centred on the fulfilment of desire?
After we had passed an hour in these amorous toyings, which set my sweetheart on fire, her charms having never before been exposed to the burning lips or the free caresses of a man, I said to her,
“I grieve to leave you without having rendered to your beauty the greatest homage which it deserves so well.”
A sigh was her only answer.
It was cold, the fire was out, and I had to spend the night on the sofa.
“Give me a coverlet, dearest, that I may go away from you, for I should die here between love and cold if you made me abstain.”
“Lie where I have been, sweetheart. I will get up and rekindle the fire.”
She got up in all her naked charms, and as she put a stick to the fire the flame leapt up; I rose, I found her standing so as to display all her beauties, and I could refrain no longer. I pressed her to my heart, she returned my caresses, and till day-break we gave ourselves up to an ecstacy of pleasure.
We had spent four or five delicious hours on the sofa. She then left me, and after making a good fire she went to her room, and I remained on the sofa and slept till noon. I was awakened by Madame, who wore a graceful undress.
“Still asleep, M. Casanova?”
“Ah! good morning, madam, good morning. And what has become of my friend?”
“He has become mine, I have forgiven him.”
“What has he done to be worthy of so generous a pardon?”
“He proved to me that he made a mistake.”
“I am delighted to hear it; where is he?”
“He has gone home, where you will find him; but don’t say anything about your spending the night here, or he will think it was spent with my niece. I am very much obliged to you for what you have done, and I have only to ask you to be discreet.”
“You can count on me entirely, for I am grateful to you for having forgiven my friend.”
“Who would not do so? The dear young man is something more than mortal. If you knew how he loved me! I am grateful to him, and I have taken him to board for a year; he will be well lodged, well fed, and so on.”
“What a delightful plan! You have arranged the terms, I suppose.”
“All that will be settled in a friendly way, and we shall not need to have recourse to arbitration. We shall set out to-day for Villette, where I have a nice little house; for you know that it is necessary, at first, to act in such a way as to give no opportunity to slanderers. My lover will have all he wants, and whenever you, sir, honour us with your presence you will find a pretty room and a good bed at your disposal. All I am sorry for is that you will find it tedious; my poor niece is so dull.”
“Madam, your niece is delightful; she gave me yesterday evening an excellent supper and kept me company till three o’clock this morning.”
“Really? I can’t make it out how she gave you anything, as there was nothing in the house.”
“At any rate, madam, she gave me an excellent supper, of which there are no remains, and after keeping me company she went to bed, and I have had a good night on this comfortable sofa.”
“I am glad that you, like myself, were pleased with everything, but I did not think my niece so clever.”
“She is very clever, madam—in my eyes, at all events.”
“Oh, sir! you are a judge of wit, let us go and see her. She has locked her door. Come open the door, why have you shut yourself up, you little prude? what are you afraid of. My Casanova is incapable of hurting you.”
The niece opened her door and apologized for the disorder of her dress, but what costume could have suited her better? Her costume was dazzling.”
“There she is,” said the aunt, “and she is not so bad looking after all, but it is a pity she is so stupid. You were very right to give this gentleman a supper. I am much obliged to you for doing so. I have been playing all night, and when one is playing one only thinks of the game. I have determined on taking young Tiretta to board with us. He is an excellent and clever young man, and I am sure he will learn to speak French before long. Get dressed, my dear, as we must begin to pack. We shall set out this afternoon for Villette, and shall spend there the whole of the spring. There is no need, you know, to say anything about this to my sister.”
“I, aunt? Certainly not. Did I ever tell her anything on the other occasions?”
“Other occasions! You see what a silly girl it is. Do you mean by ‘other occasions,’ that I have been circumstanced like this before?”
“No, aunt. I only meant to say that I had never told her anything of what you did.”
“That’s right, my dear, but you must learn to express yourself properly. We dine at two, and I hope to have the pleasure of M. Casanova’s company at dinner; we will start immediately after the meal. Tiretta promised to bring his small portmanteau with him, and it will go with our luggage.”
After promising to dine with them, I bade the ladies good-bye; and I went home as fast as I could walk, for I was as curious as a woman to know what arrangements had been made.
“Well,” said I to Tiretta, “I find you have got a place. Tell me all about it.”
“My dear fellow, I have sold myself for a year. My pay is to be twenty-five louis a month, a good table, good lodging, etc., etc.”
“I congratulate you.”
“Do you think it is worth the trouble?”
“There’s no rose without a thorn. She told me you were something more than mortal.”
“I worked hard all night to prove it to her; but I am quite sure your time was better employed than mine.”
“I slept like a king. Dress yourself, as I am coming to dinner, and I want to see you set out for Villette. I shall come and see you there now and then, as your sweetheart has told me that a room shall be set apart for my convenience.”
We arrived at two o’clock. Madame dressed in a girlish style presented a singular appearance, but Mdlle. de la Meure’s beauty shone like a star. Love and pleasure had given her a new life, a new being. We had a capital dinner, as the good lady had made the repast dainty like herself; but in the dishes there was nothing absurd, while her whole appearance was comic in the highest degree. At four they all set out, and I spent my evening at the Italian comedy.
I was in love with Mdlle. de la Meure, but Silvia’s daughter, whose company at supper was all I had of her, weakened a love which now left nothing more to desire.
We complain of women who, though loving us and sure of our love, refuse us their favours; but we are wrong in doing so, for if they love they have good reason to fear lest they lose us in the moment of satisfying our desires. Naturally they should do all in their power to retain our hearts, and the best way to do so is to cherish our desire of possessing them; but desire is only kept alive by being denied: enjoyment kills it, since one cannot desire what one has got. I am, therefore, of opinion that women are quite right to refuse us. But if it be granted that the passions of the two sexes are of equal strength, how comes it that a man never refuses to gratify a woman who loves him and entreats him to be kind?
We cannot receive the argument founded on the fear of results, as that is a particular and not a general consideration. Our conclusion, then, will be that the reason lies in the fact that a man thinks more of the pleasure he imparts than that which he receives, and is therefore eager to impart his bliss to another. We know, also, that, as a general rule, women, when once enjoyed, double their love and affection. On the other hand, women think more of the pleasure they receive than of that which they impart, and therefore put off enjoyment as long as possible, since they fear that in giving themselves up they lose their chief good—their own pleasure. This feeling is peculiar to the sex, and is the only cause of coquetry, pardonable in a woman, detestable in a man.
Silvia’s daughter loved me, and she knew I loved her, although I had never said so, but women’s wit is keen. At the same time she endeavoured not to let me know her feelings, as she was afraid of encouraging me to ask favours of her, and she did not feel sure of her strength to refuse them; and she knew my inconstant nature. Her relations intended her for Clement, who had been teaching her the clavichord for the last three years. She knew of the arrangement and had no objection, for though she did not love him she liked him very well. Most girls are wedded without love, and they are not sorry for it afterwards. They know that by marriage they become of some consequence in the world, and they marry to have a house of their own and a good position in society. They seem to know that a husband and a lover need not be synonymous terms. At Paris men are actuated by the same views, and most marriages are matters of convenience. The French are jealous of their mistresses, but never of their wives.
There could be no doubt that M. Clement was very much in love, and Mdlle. Baletti was delighted that I noticed it, as she thought this would bring me to a declaration, and she was quite right. The departure of Mdlle. de la Meure had a good deal to do with my determination to declare myself; and I was very sorry to have done so afterwards, for after I had told her I loved her Clement was dismissed, and my position was worse than before. The man who declares his love for a woman in words wants to be sent to school again.
Three days after the departure of Tiretta, I took him what small belongings he had, and Madame seemed very glad to see me. The Abbé des Forges arrived just as we were sitting down to dinner, and though he had been very friendly to me at Paris he did not so much as look at me all through the meal, and treated Tiretta in the same way. I, for my part, took no notice of him, but Tiretta, not so patient as I, at last lost his temper and got up, begging Madame to tell him when she was going to have that fellow to dine with her. We rose from table without saying a word, and the silent abbé went with madam into another room.
Tiretta took me to see his room, which was handsomely furnished, and, as was right, adjoined his sweetheart’s. Whilst he was putting his things in order, Mdlle. de la Meure made me come and see my apartment. It was a very nice room on the ground floor, and facing hers. I took care to point out to her how easily I could pay her a visit after everyone was in bed, but she said we should not be comfortable in her room, and that she would consequently save me the trouble of getting out of bed. It will be guessed that I had no objections to make to this arrangement.
She then told me of her aunt’s folly about Tiretta.
“She believes,” said she, “that we do not know he sleeps with her.”
“Believes, or pretends to believe.”
“Possibly. She rang for me at eleven o’clock this morning and told me to go and ask him what kind of night he had passed. I did so, but seeing his bed had not been slept in I asked him if he had not been to sleep.
“‘No,’ said he, ‘I have been writing all night, but please don’t say anything about it to your aunt: I promised with all my heart to be as silent as the grave.’”
“Does he make sheep’s eyes at you?”
“No, but if he did it would be all the same. Though he is not over sharp he knows, I think, what I think of him.”
“Why have you such a poor opinion of him?”
“Why? My aunt pays him. I think selling one’s self is a dreadful idea.”
“But you pay me.”
“Yes, but in the same coin as you give me.”
The old aunt was always calling her niece stupid, but on the contrary I thought her very clever, and as virtuous as clever. I should never have seduced her if she had not been brought up in a convent.
I went back to Tiretta, and had some pleasant conversation with him. I asked him how he liked his place.
“I don’t like it much, but as it costs me nothing I am not absolutely wretched.”
“But her face!”
“I don’t look at it, and there’s one thing I like about her—she is so clean.”
“Does she take good care of you?”
“O yes, she is full of feeling for me. This morning she refused the greeting I offered her. ‘I am sure,’ said she, ‘that my refusal will pain you, but your health is so dear to me that I feel bound to look after it.’”
As soon as the gloomy Abbé des Forges was gone and Madame was alone, we rejoined her. She treated me as her gossip, and played the timid child for Tiretta’s benefit, and he played up to her admirably, much to my admiration.
“I shall see no more of that foolish priest,” said she; “for after telling me that I was lost both in this world and the next he threatened to abandon me, and I took him at his word.”
An actress named Quinault, who had left the stage and lived close by, came to call, and soon after Madame Favart and the Abbé de Voisenon arrived, followed by Madame Amelin with a handsome lad named Calabre, whom she called her nephew. He was as like her as two peas, but she did not seem to think that a sufficient reason for confessing she was his mother. M. Patron, a Piedmontese, who also came with her, made a bank at faro and in a couple of hours won everybody’s money with the exception of mine, as I knew better than to play. My time was better occupied in the company of my sweet mistress. I saw through the Piedmontese, and had put him down as a knave; but Tiretta was not so sharp, and consequently lost all the money he had in his pockets and a hundred louis besides. The banker having reaped a good harvest put down the cards, and Tiretta told him in good Italian that he was a cheat, to which the Piedmontese replied with the greatest coolness that he lied. Thinking that the quarrel might have an unpleasant ending, I told him that Tiretta was only jesting, and I made my friend say so, too. He then left the company and went to his room.
Eight years afterwards I saw this Patron at St. Petersburg, and in the year 1767 he was assassinated in Poland.
The same evening I preached Tiretta a severe yet friendly sermon. I pointed out to him that when he played he was at the mercy of the banker, who might be a rogue but a man of courage too, and so in calling him a cheat he was risking his life.
“Am I to let myself be robbed, then?”
“Yes, you have a free choice in the matter; nobody will make you play.”
“I certainly will not pay him that hundred louis.”
“I advise you to do so, and to do so before you are asked.”
“You have a knack of persuading one to do what you will, even though one be disposed to take no notice of your advice.”
“That’s because I speak from heart and head at once, and have some experience in these affairs as well.”
Three quarters of an hour afterwards I went to bed and my mistress came to me before long. We spent a sweeter night than before, for it is often a matter of some difficulty to pluck the first flower; and the price which most men put on this little trifle is founded more on egotism than any feeling of pleasure.
Next day, after dining with the family and admiring the roses on my sweetheart’s cheeks, I returned to Paris. Three or four days later Tiretta came to tell me that the Dunkirk merchant had arrived, that he was coming to dine at Madame’s, and that she requested me to make one of the party. I was prepared for the news, but the blood rushed into my face. Tiretta saw it, and to a certain extent divined my feelings. “You are in love with the niece,” said he.
“Why do you think so?”
“By the mystery you make about her; but love betrays itself even by its silence.”
“You are a knowing fellow, Tiretta. I will come to dinner, but don’t say a word to anybody.”
My heart was rent in twain. Possibly if the merchant had put off his arrival for a month I should have welcomed it; but to have only just lifted the nectar to my lips, and to see the precious vessel escape from my hands! To this day I can recall my feelings, and the very recollection is not devoid of bitterness.
I was in a fearful state of perplexity, as I always was whenever it was necessary for me to resolve, and I felt that I could not do so. If the reader has been placed in the same position he will understand my feelings. I could not make up my mind to consent to her marrying, nor could I resolve to wed her myself and gain certain happiness.
I went to Villette and was a little surprised to find Mdlle. de la Meure more elaborately dressed than usual.
“Your intended,” I said, “would have pronounced you charming without all that.”
“My aunt doesn’t think so”
“You have not seen him yet?”
“No, but I should like to, although I trust with your help never to become his wife.”
Soon after, she arrived with Corneman, the banker, who had been the agent in this business transaction. The merchant was a fine man, about forty, with a frank and open face. His dress was good though not elaborate. He introduced himself simply but in a polite manner to Madame, and he did not look at his future wife till the aunt presented her to him. His manner immediately became more pleasing; and without making use of flowers of speech he said in a very feeling way that he trusted the impression he had made on her was equal to that which she had made on him. Her only answer was a low curtsy, but she studied him carefully.
Dinner was served, and in the course of the meal we talked of almost everything—except marriage. The happy pair only caught each other’s eyes by chance, and did not speak to one another. After dinner Mdlle. de la Meure went to her room, and the aunt went into her closet with the banker and the merchant, and they were in close conversation for two hours. At the end of that time the gentlemen were obliged to return to Paris, and Madame, after summoning her niece, told the merchant she would expect him to dinner on the day following, and that she was sure that her niece would be glad to see him again.
“Won’t you, my dear?”
“Yes, aunt, I shall be very glad to see the gentleman again.”
If she had not answered thus, the merchant would have gone away without hearing his future bride speak.
“Well,” said the aunt, “what do you think of your husband?”
“Allow me to put off my answer till to-morrow; but be good enough, when we are at table, to draw me into the conversation, for it is very possible that my face has not repelled him, but so far he knows nothing of my mental powers; possibly my want of wit may destroy any slight impression my face may have made.”
“Yes, I am afraid you will begin to talk nonsense, and make him lose the good opinion he seems to have formed of you.”
“It is not right to deceive anybody. If he is disabused of his fictitious ideas by the appearance of the truth, so much the better for him; and so much the worse for both of us, if we decide on marrying without the slightest knowledge of each other’s habits and ways of thought.”
“What do you think of him?”
“I think he is rather nice-looking, and his manners are kind and polite; but let us wait till to-morrow.”
“Perhaps he will have nothing more to say to me; I am so stupid.”
“I know very well that you think yourself very clever, and that’s where your fault lies; it’s your self-conceit which makes you stupid, although M. Casanova takes you for a wit.”
“Perhaps he may know what he is talking about.”
“My poor dear, he is only laughing at you.”
“I have good reasons for thinking otherwise, aunt.”
“There you go; you will never get any sense.”
“Pardon me, madam, if I cannot be of your opinion. Mademoiselle is quite right in saying that I do not laugh at her. I dare to say that to-morrow she will shine in the conversation.”
“You think so? I am glad to hear it. Now let us have a game at piquet, and I will play against you and my niece, for she must learn the game.”
Tiretta asked leave of his darling to go to the play, and we played on till supper-time. On his return, Tiretta made us almost die of laughing with his attempts to tell us in his broken French the plot of the play he had seen.
I had been in my bedroom for a quarter of an hour, expecting to see my sweetheart in some pretty kind of undress, when all of a sudden I saw her come in with all her clothes on. I was surprised at this circumstance, and it seemed to me of evil omen.
“You are astonished to see me thus,” said she, “but I want to speak to you for a moment, and then I will take off my clothes. Tell me plainly whether I am to consent to this marriage or no?”
“How do you like him?”
“Fairly well.”
“Consent, then!”
“Very good; farewell! From this moment our love ends, and our friendship begins. Get you to bed, and I will go and do the same. Farewell!”
“No, stay, and let our friendship begin to-morrow.”
“Not so, were my refusal to cost the lives of both of us. You know what it must cost me to speak thus, but it is my irrevocable determination. If I am to become another’s wife, I must take care to be worthy of him; perhaps I may be happy. Do not hold me, let me go. You know how well I love you.”
“At least, let us have one final embrace.”
“Alas! no.”
“You are weeping.”
“No, I am not. In God’s name let me go.”
“Dear heart, you go but to weep in your chamber; stay here. I will marry you.”
“Nay, no more of that.”
With these words she made an effort, escaped from my hands, and fled from the room. I was covered with shame and regret, and could not sleep. I hated myself, for I knew not whether I had sinned most grievously in seducing her or in abandoning her to another.
I stayed to dinner next day in spite of my heartbreak and my sadness. Mdlle. de la Meure talked so brilliantly and sensibly to her intended that one could easily see he was enchanted with her. As for me, feeling that I had nothing pleasant to say, I pretended to have the toothache as an excuse for not talking. Sick at heart, absent-minded, and feeling the effects of a sleepless night, I was well-nigh mad with love, jealousy, and despair. Mdlle. de la Meure did not speak to me once, did not so much as look at me. She was quite right, but I did not think so then. I thought the dinner would never come to an end, and I do not think I was ever present at so painful a meal.
As we rose from the table, Madame went into her closet with her niece and nephew that was to be, and the niece came out in the course of an hour and bade us congratulate her, as she was to be married in a week, and after the wedding she would accompany her husband to Dunkirk. “To-morrow,” she added, “we are all to dine with M. Corneman, where the deed of settlement will be signed.”
I cannot imagine how it was I did not fall dead on the spot. My anguish cannot be expressed.
Before long it was proposed that we should go to the play, but excusing myself on the plea of business I returned to Paris. As I got to my door I seemed to be in a fever, and I lay down on my bed, but instead of the rest I needed I experienced only remorse and fruitless repentance—the torments of the damned. I began to think it was my duty to stop the marriage or die. I was sure that Mdlle. de la Meure loved me, and I fancied she would not say no if I told her that her refusal to marry me would cost me my life. Full of that idea I rose and wrote her a letter, strong with all the strength of tumultuous passion. This was some relief, and getting into bed I slept till morning. As soon as I was awake I summoned a messenger and promised him twelve francs if he would deliver my letter, and report its receipt in an hour and a half. My letter was under cover of a note addressed to Tiretta, in which I told him that I should not leave the house till I had got an answer. I had my answer four hours after; it ran as follows: “Dearest, it is too late; you have decided on my destiny, and I cannot go back from my word. Come to dinner at M. Corneman’s, and be sure that in a few weeks we shall be congratulating ourselves on having won a great victory. Our love, crowned all too soon, will soon live only in our memories. I beg of you to write to me no more.”
Such was my fate. Her refusal, with the still more cruel charge not to write to her again, made me furious. In it I only saw inconstancy. I thought she had fallen in love with the merchant. My state of mind may be judged from the fact that I determined to kill my rival. The most savage plans, the most cruel designs, ran a race through my bewildered brain. I was jealous, in love, a different being from my ordinary self; anger, vanity, and shame had destroyed my powers of reasoning. The charming girl whom I was forced to admire, whom I should have esteemed all the more for the course she had taken, whom I had regarded as an angel, became in my eyes a hateful monster, a meet object for punishment. At last I determined on a sure method of revenge, which I knew to be both dishonourable and cowardly, but in my blind passion I did not hesitate for a moment. I resolved to go to the merchant at M. Corneman’s, where he was staying, to tell him all that had passed between the lady and myself, and if that did not make him renounce the idea of marrying her I would tell him that one of us must die, and if he refused my challenge I determined to assassinate him.
With this terrible plan in my brain, which makes me shudder now when I think of it, I ate with the appetite of a wild beast, lay down and slept till day. I was in the same mind when I awoke, and dressed myself hastily yet carefully, put two good pistols in my pocket and went to M. Corneman’s. My rival was still asleep; I waited for him, and for a quarter of an hour my thoughts only grew more bitter and my determination more fixed. All at once he came into the room, in his dressing-gown, and received me with open arms, telling me in the kindest of voices that he had been expecting me to call, as he could guess what feelings I, a friend of his future wife’s, could have for him, and saying that his friendship for me should always be as warm as hers. His honest open face, his straightforward words, overwhelmed me, and I was silent for a few minutes—in fact I did not know what to say. Luckily he gave me enough time to recollect myself, as he talked on for a quarter of an hour without noticing that I did not open my lips.
M. Corneman then came in; coffee was served, and my speech returned to me; but I am happy to say I refrained from playing the dishonourable part I had intended; the crisis was passed.
It may be remarked that the fiercest spirits are like a cord stretched too tight, which either breaks or relaxes. I have known several persons of that temperament—the Chevalier L——, amongst others, who in a fit of passion used to feel his soul escaping by every pore. If at the moment when his anger burst forth he was able to break something and make a great noise, he calmed down in a moment; reason resumed her sway, and the raging lion became as mild as a lamb.
After I had taken a cup of coffee, I felt myself calmed but yet dizzy in the head, so I bade them good morning and went out. I was astonished but delighted that I had not carried my detestable scheme into effect. I was humbled by being forced to confess to myself that chance and chance alone had saved me from becoming a villain. As I was reflecting on what had happened I met my brother, and he completed my cure. I took him to dine at Silvia’s and stayed there till midnight. I saw that Mdlle. Baletti would make me forget the fair inconstant, whom I wisely determined not to see again before the wedding. To make sure I set out the next day for Versailles, to look after my interests with the Government.