Wait a moment, sir. My husband was the Count of----, and you see that my daughters are of respectable birth. Have you not pity for our situation?


I pity you extremely, and I would relieve you in an instant if your daughters were ugly, but as it is they are pretty, and that alters the case.


What an argument!


It is a very strong one with me, and I think I am the best judge of arguments which apply to myself. You want twenty guineas; well, you shall have them after one of your five countesses has spent a joyous night with me.


What language to a woman of my station! Nobody has ever dared to speak to me in such a way before.


Pardon me, but what use is rank without a halfpenny? Allow me to retire.


To-day we have only bread to eat.


Well, certainly that is rather hard on countesses.


You are laughing at the title, apparently.


Yes, I am; but I don’t want to offend you. If you like, I will stop to dinner, and pay for all, yourself included.


You are an eccentric individual. My girls are sad, for I am going to prison. You will find their company wearisome.


That is my affair.


You had much better give them the money you would spend on the dinner.


No, madam. I must have at least the pleasures of sight and sound for my money. I will stay your arrest till to-morrow, and afterwards Providence may possibly intervene on your behalf.


The landlord will not wait.


Leave me to deal with him.


But this is all I can do for you,


Your daughters are charming, and I have obtained a day’s respite for you all without asking for anything in return; I shall dine, sup, and pass the night with them without asking so much as a single kiss, but if your ideas have not changed by to-morrow you will be in exactly the same position as you were a few minutes ago, and I shall not trouble you any more with my attentions.


What do you mean my ‘changing my ideas’?


I need not tell you, for you know perfectly well what I mean.


My daughters shall never become prostitutes.


I will proclaim their spotless chastity all over London--but I shall spend my guineas elsewhere.


You are a cruel man.


I confess I can be very cruel, but it is only when I don’t meet with kindness.


Am I to withdraw my bail, countess?


You can do what you like, but I do not think you capable of such an action.


You are mistaken. You have doubtless made a deep study of the human heart; but you either know little of the human mind, or else you think you have a larger share than any other person. All your daughters have inspired me with love, but were it a matter of life and death I would not do a single thing for them or you before you have done me the only favour that is in your power. I leave you to your reflections, and more especially to your virtues.


They came whining to me yesterday, and I not only would not give them anything, but I laughed them to scorn. They have got about twelve guineas out of me on false pretences; they are as cunning sluts as the Charpillon. I had the same idea myself, but I cried off, and I don’t think you’ll succeed, as Lord Baltimore offered them forty apiece; that is two hundred guineas in all, and the bargain has fallen through because they want the money to be paid in advance. They paid him a visit yesterday, but found him pitiless, for he has been taken in several times by them.


We shall see what will happen when the mother is under lock and key; I’ll bet we shall have them cheaply.


You will find me insensible,


unless you are willing to adopt my plan. If you wish to hear it, kindly follow me into the next room.


These are yours; but you know on what terms?


You shall have rooms, beds, and good fires,


but first let me see you eat.


Your melancholy and your abstinence displeases me,


go upstairs and you will find everything necessary for your comfort, but take care to be gone at seven in the morning and not to let me see your faces again.


What will you do for us, if I consent to share your couch?


I will give you twenty guineas, and I will lodge and board you as long as you give me satisfaction.


You must all leave my house to-morrow,


for I am ill pleased with you. Instead of giving yourself up for love you have prostituted yourself. I blush for you.


What do you want?


coldly.


I want you to take pity on us, and shelter us in your house for a few days longer. I will be very grateful. My sister has told me all, you are displeased with her, but you must forgive her, for her heart is not her own. She is in love with an Italian who is in prison for debt.


And I suppose you are in love with someone else?


No, I am not.


Could you love me?


You have conquered. My name is Victoire.


I like it, and I will prove the omen a true one.


Dearest Victoire, I am wholly throe. Let your mother be brought here as soon as she is free. Here are twenty guineas for you.


How much does the marquis owe?


Twenty guineas.


And the Neapolitan ambassador allows him to languish in prison for such a beggarly sum? I can’t believe it.


The ambassador won’t have anything to do with him, because he left Naples without the leave of the Government.


Tell your sister that if the ambassador assures me that her lover’s name is really the Marquis de Petina, I will get him out of prison immediately.


The young man is really what he professes to me, but I will neither receive him nor give him any money till I hear from my Government that he has received leave to travel.


I had done a wise thing, as he felt sure the time would come when he would repay me a hundredfold.


My lady, allow me to kiss your delightful daughter.


Mademoiselle, it is true that your lover is really a marquis, but he is very poor and will never have any money; and if he goes back to Naples he will be imprisoned, and if he is released from the State prison his creditors will put him in the Vittoria.


That’s amusing, make her come down. Certainly; but have you a man’s riding suit or a woman’s costume?


No.


Then we must put off the excursion till to-morrow.


Because I can ride on horseback as well as my sister.


Very good, then you shall ride the day after to-morrow.


Why, because I never learnt anywhere; my only masters were courage and some natural skill.


And has your sister learnt?


No, but I can ride just as well.


Very good, may I come and see you?


Certainly,


How easy it is, to be happy when one is rich, and how sad it is to see happiness out of one’s reach for lack of a little money. Yesterday I was the happiest of beings, and why should I not be as happy all my days? I would gladly agree that my life should be short provided that it should be a happy one.


As I feel sure that you have all the love of a father for my daughters, I wish you to become their father in reality! I offer you my hand and heart; become my husband, you will be their father, their lord and mine. What do you say to this?


He will easily obtain the royal pardon. You, and you alone, can help us in the matter, and I commend myself to your kindness.


I can’t give you any counsel, in a matter which only concerns your own heart and your own interests.


I was the wisest and most virtuous of men. she was perfectly certain of it, as otherwise she could not have given her consent, as her daughters were countesses, and too good to be any man’s mistresses.


It is important that I should be informed on that point, for the persons who are going to discount the bill want me to put my signature to it.


Sir. I certainly am acquainted with the marquis, but I know nothing about his fortune. However, the Neapolitan ambassador assured me that he was the Marquis Petina.


If the persons who have the matter in hand should drop it, would you discount the bill? You shall have it cheap.


I never meddle with these speculations. Good day, Sir Frederick. Who is M. du Claude?


The famous Jesuit Lavalette, who was concerned in the great bankruptcy case which ruined the Society in France. He fled to England under a false name. I advise you to listen to him, for he must have plenty of money.


A Jesuit and a bankrupt; that does not sound very well.


Well, I have met him in good houses, and knowing that I was acquainted with you he addressed himself to me. After all, you run no risk in listening to what he has to say.


Well, well, you can take me to him; it will be easier to avoid any entanglement than if he came to see me.


The young man wants me to discount it, and says you can give me the necessary information.


Not to-night, this terrible news would keep her awake.


When does she intend to leave?


In three or four days.


And is she going without telling me, as if she were leaving an inn after paying her bill?


On the contrary, she wishes to have a private talk with you.


I thank you from my heart, for all the kindness you have shewn my girls, and I am going to take the three I have left away, lest I lose them as I have lost the two eldest. If you like, you may come too and stay with us as long as you like in my pretty country house near the capital.


I thank you, for the solitary man grows weary of his company.


Let us have a wager of a guinea, and spend it on oysters and champagne.


I don’t want to win your money, and I will give you your revenge up to a hundred guineas.


Let us go on,


My dear baron, the luck’s against you; you might lose a large sum of money. I really think we have had enough.


I will pay you when I come back.


I am sure you have been regarding me as your partner at play.


If you have guessed that, you will also have guessed that I think you charming.


Yes, I think I have.


Are you angry with me?


Not in the least.


You shall have the fifty guineas as soon as he has paid me.


Very good, but the baron must know nothing about it.


Of course not.


I have been to a merchant to discount this bill of exchange, and though it is drawn on one of the best house in Cadiz, and made out by a good house in London, he would not have anything to do with it.


If the signatures are known. I don’t understand why the man won’t discount it. Why don’t you take it to your banker?


I haven’t got one. I came to England with a thousand gold pieces in my pocket, and I have spent them all. As I have not got any letters of credit I cannot pay you unless the bill is discounted. If you have got any friends on the Exchange, however, you could get it done.


If the names prove good ones I will let you have the money to-morrow morning.


Then I will make it payable to your order.


Are you in love with her?


No; I have plenty of others, and if you like her you can have her for ten guineas.


as a reward for the way in which I kept my promise I could sup with her whenever I liked to spend six guineas.


If you will listen to me. I can set you right; my mother has told me the story a hundred times.


Go on,


I will listen;


The bill of exchange I discounted for you is a forgery, so please to send me at your earliest convenience the five hundred and twenty guineas; and if the man who has cheated you will not reimburse the money, have him arrested. For Heaven’s sake do not force me to have you arrested to-morrow, and whatever you do make haste, for this may prove a hanging matter.


Sir. I should like to remain in your service, and I will rejoin you wherever you please. When are you leaving?


In an hour’s time; but say not a word, or it will cost me my life.


Why can’t you take me with you?


Because I want you to bring my linen which is at the wash, and my clothes which the tailor is making. I will give you sufficient money for the journey.


I don’t want anything. You shall pay me what I have spent when I rejoin you. Wait a moment. Wait a moment; Take this, sir, I entreat you, my credit is good for as much more in case of need.


I thank you, my good fellow, but I will not take your money, but be sure I will not forget your fidelity.


She is wonderfully well, and I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you to dinner tomorrow.


To the Comte de St. Germain, the adept, who has been here a month, and never goes out. Everybody who passes through the place wants to see him; but he is invisible.


The gravity of my occupation compels me to exclude everyone, but you are an exception. Come whenever you like, you will be shewn in. You need not mention my name nor your own. I do not ask you to share my repast, for my food is not suitable to others--to you least of all, if your appetite is what it used to be. She poisoned herself, by taking too strong a dose of the Universal Medicine, and her will shews that she thought herself to be with child. If she had come to me, I could have really made her so, though it is a difficult process, and science has not advanced far enough for us to be able to guarantee the sex of the child.


It is very fine,


but what good is all this?


I cannot tell you; that is my secret. Wait a moment, let it get cool; Take it; it is yours,


It is really very wonderful, but another time you should warn me what you are going to do, so that the operation might be attentively watched, and the piece of money noted before being placed on the burning coal.


Those that are capable of entertaining doubts of my art, are not worthy to speak to me.


Good Heavens! how thin you have become!


I have just recovered from a dangerous illness, and I am starting for Brunswick at day-break tomorrow.


So are we,


Hardly, I think, unless the lady-mother has changed her principles since I knew her.


I am always the same,


Really, chevalier, this maxim of yours is anti-social; you must play. Take your revenge, there are four hundred pounds here.


I don’t want to lose as much as that, but I will risk fifty pounds to amuse you.


Why, there’s the Chevalier Seingalt all alone in a most comfortable carriage,


How many people will your carriage hold?


Only two.


Then it’s out of the question, for I never let my daughter travel alone with anybody.


I have laughed, and laugh still, when I think of what my mother will say at this freak of mine. I had no intentions in getting into the carriage, and I am sure you cannot have told the postillion to drive on.


You may be quite sure of that.


All the same my mother will believe it to be a deeply-laid plan, and that strikes me as amusing.


So it is; I am quite satisfied, certainly. Now you are here you had better come on with me to Brunswick; you will be more comfortable than in a villainous stage coach.


I should be delighted, but that would be pushing matters too far. No, we will stop at the first stage and wait for the coach.


You may do so if you please, but you will excuse my waiting.


What! you would leave me all alone?


You know, dear Redegonde, that I have always loved you, and I am ready to take you with me to Brunswick; what more can I say?


If you love me you will wait with me and restore me to my mother, who must be in despair.


In spite of my devotion I am afraid I cannot do so.


That’s all very well; but you can’t deny, you little slut, that you have been sleeping with him.


Oh, there’s no harm in that, for you know, dear mamma, nobody does anything asleep.


I must either have the money or the surety, and if you refuse I will have you arrested; your character is well known.


You are leaving Brunswick, chevalier?


In two or three days, your highness.


I heard this morning that a Jew has brought a complaint against you for beating him because he asked you to give him security for a bill of exchange which he was afraid of.


My lord, I cannot answer for the effects of my indignation against a rascal who dared to come and insult me in my own house, but I do know that if I had given him security I should have impugned my own honour. The impertinent scoundrel threatened to have me arrested, but I know that a just Government rules here, and not arbitrary power.


You are right; it would be unjust to have you arrested, but he is afraid for his ducats.


He need not be afraid, my lord, for the bill is drawn by a person of honour and of high station in society.


I am delighted to hear it. The Jew said he would never have discounted the bill if you had not mentioned my name.


That’s a lie! Your highness’ name never passed, my lips.


He also says that you endorsed the bill with a false name.


Then he lies again, for I signed myself Seingalt, and that name is mine.


In short, it is a case of a Jew who has been beaten, and is afraid of being duped. I pity such an animal, and I must see what I can do to prevent his keeping you here till he learns the fate of the bill at Amsterdam. As I have not the slightest doubt as to the goodness of the bill, I will take it up myself, and this very morning: thus you will be able to leave when you like. Farewell, chevalier! I wish you a pleasant journey.


Perhaps, indeed, this is exactly what the prince does think. Is it the Jew or me that he pities? If the latter, I think I must give him a lesson, though I do not wish to cause him any humiliation.


If I stay,


the Jew will be adjudged to be in the right; and if I go the duke will think I have profited by his favour, and so to speak, by his present of fifty louis if the bill were protested. I will not let anyone enjoy a satisfaction which is no one due.


I am ordered to come here, sir, to apologize for suspecting the authenticity of the bill of exchange you gave me. I have been punished by being fined the amount of my commission.


I wish that had been your only punishment,


I shall not be in my mother’s company, but in that of a young lady of your acquaintance, whom, I am sure, you will be glad to see once more.


This arrangement,


may suit you, but for the present it will not suit me. I want to dine in my own room, but I don’t want to pay double; I will therefore pay as if I were in the public room, but if you like you need only send me up half the number of dishes.


I agree, on the condition that you sup with me; we will not put it in the accounts, and you will only meet friends at my little suppers.


'Tis a good omen, and without any superstition I believe that the good genius of the lottery has brought me to Berlin just now.


His real wife is still alive, so I have not the misfortune of occupying that position, but everyone in Berlin thinks I am his lawful wife. Three years ago I was deprived of my mother and the means of livelihood at one stroke, for my mother had an annuity. None of my relations were rich enough to help me, and wishing to live virtuously above all things I subsisted for two years on the sale of my mother’s furniture, boarding with a worthy woman who made her living by embroidery. I learnt her art, and only went out to mass on Sundays. I was a prey to melancholy, and when I had spent all I had I went to M. Brea, a Genoese, on whom I thought I could rely. I begged him to get me a place as a mere waiting-maid, thinking that I was tolerably competent for such a position. He promised to do what he could for me, and five or six days afterwards he made me the following proposal: He read me a letter from Calsabigi, of whom I had never heard, in which he charged him to send a virtuous young lady to Berlin. She must be of good birth, good education, and pleasant appearance, as when his aged and infirm wife died he intended to marry her.


With such fine promises did Brea persuade me to leave my native country to come and dishonour myself here, for though everybody treats me as if I were his wife, it is probably known that I am only his mistress. I have been here for six months, and I have never had an instant’s happiness.


Has he not kept the conditions you have mentioned?


Conditions! Calsabigi’s state of health will kill him long before his wife, and in that case I shall have nothing, for he is loaded with debt, and his creditors would have the first claim on the estate. Besides, I do not like him; and the reason is that he loves me too much. You can understand that; his devotion worries me.


At all events, you can return to Paris in six months’ time, or, in fact, do anything you like when the term stipulated has expired. You will get your hundred louis, and can lay in a pretty stock of linen.


If I go to Paris I shall be dishonoured, and if I remain here I shall be dishonoured. In fact, I am very unhappy, and Brea is the cause of my woe. Nevertheless, I can’t blame him, as he could not have been aware that his friend’s property only consisted of debts. And now the king has withdrawn his countenance, the lottery will fail, and Calsabigi will inevitably become a bankrupt. I have thought it over, but to do that I have need of a friend; of course, I do not expect to dispose of it save at a great loss.


I knew it would be so, and I am only too happy to have got quit of it so cheaply.


When you speak to him, you may say that you know me, and the king will doubtless address me on the subject, and you may be sure what I say shall not be to your disadvantage.


But, my lord, how can I write to a monarch of whom I know nothing, and who knows nothing of me? I should not have thought of such a step.


I daresay, but don’t you wish to speak to him?


Certainly.


That is enough. Your letter will make him aware of your desire and nothing more.


But will he reply?


Undoubtedly; he replies to everybody. He will tell you when and where he will see you. His Majesty is now at Sans-Souci. I am curious to know the nature of your interview with the monarch who, as you can see, is not afraid of being imposed on.


I have not come to admire these masterpieces, but to see the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the garden.


He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after dinner. Did he name any time?


Yes, four o’clock, but he will have forgotten that.


The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you will do well to go into the garden and await him.


Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?


Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should not be awed by the majesty of a king, but I was mistaken. My lord-marshal should have warned me.


Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you think of my garden? But, the gardens of Versailles are much finer.


Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains.


True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully.


Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all at once, the fountains should be here.


Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics.


Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.


What are the land forces?


Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic, and assessing each village at one man.


That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these fables. Give me your opinions on taxation. That’s what I want, for the practice is no business of yours.


There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably beneficial.


Good! Go on.


The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and the beneficial is the popular. The royal tax, sire, is that which deplenishes the purses of the subject to fill the coffers of the king.


And that kind of tax is always ruinous, you think.


Always, sire; it prevents the circulation of money--the soul of commerce and the mainstay of the state.


But if the tax be levied to keep up the strength of the army, you say it is a necessary evil.


Yes, it is necessary and yet evil, for war is an evil.


Quite so; and now about the popular tax.


This is always a benefit, for the monarch takes with one hand and gives with the other; he improves towns and roads, founds schools, protects the sciences, cherishes the arts; in fine, he directs this tax towards improving the condition and increasing the happiness of his people.


There is a good deal of truth in that. I suppose you know Calsabigi?


I ought to, your majesty, as he and I established the Genoa Lottery at Paris seven years ago.


In what class would you put this taxation, for you will agree that it is taxation of a kind?


Certainly, sire, and not the least important. It is beneficial when the monarch spends his profits for the good of the people.


But the monarch may lose?


Once in fifty.


Is that conclusion the result of a mathematical calculation?


Yes, sire.


Such calculations often prove deceptive.


Not so, may it please your majesty, when God remains neutral.


What has God got to do with it?


Well, sire, we will call it destiny or chance.


Good! I may possibly be of your opinion as to the calculation, but I don’t like your Genoese Lottery. It seems to me an elaborate swindle, and I would have nothing more to do with it, even if it were positively certain that I should never lose.


Your majesty is right, for the confidence which makes the people risk their money in a lottery is perfectly fallacious.


Do you know that you are a fine man?


Is it possible that, after the scientific conversation we have had, your majesty should select the least of the qualities which adorn your life guardsmen for remark?


As you know Marshal Keith, I will speak to him of you.


You could not be more,


for I was only ten; and nevertheless, I fell in love with you, and never have I forgotten the kiss you gave me by your father’s order in return for some trifling present I made you.


Be quiet; you gave me a beautiful ring, and I kissed you of my own free will. You wore the cassock then. I have never forgotten you. But can it really be you?


It is indeed.


I am delighted to see you again. But I could never have recognized you, and I suppose you would not have recognized me.


No, I should not have known you, unless I had heard your name mentioned.


One alters in twenty years, you know.


Yes, one cannot expect to have the same face as at six.


You can bear witness that I am not more than twenty-six, though some evil speakers give me ten years more.


You should not take any notice of such calumnies, my dear. You are in the flower of your age, and made for the service of love. For my part, I congratulate myself on being able to tell you that you are the first woman that inspired me with a real passion.


But you deserve to have a real lover; I cannot conceive how you can do without one.


I assure you I don’t trouble myself about it. I am subject to convulsions, which are the plague of my life. I want to try the Teplitz waters, which are said to be excellent for all nervous affections; but the king has refused his permission, which I, nevertheless, hope to obtain next year.


Will you be annoyed,


if I call upon you frequently?


If you don’t mind I will call myself your niece, or your cousin, and then we can see each other.


Do you know that that may possibly be true? I would not swear that you were not my sister.


We knew each other at Padua, at Dr. Gozzi’s, my name is Joseph da Loglio.


I remember you,


in those days you were violoncello at the Russian chapel.


Exactly; and now I am returning to my native land to leave it no more. I have the honour to introduce you to my wife, who was born at St. Petersburg, but is a daughter of Modonis the violinist, whose reputation is European. In a week I shall be at Dresden, where I hope to have the honour of seeing Madame Casanova, your mother.


Fortunately, this was a contingency I had long provided against, and I am in a position to spend the rest of my days in comfort in Italy.


A week ago a Piedmontese, named Audar, was introduced to me. He had been a chief mover in the conspiracy, and the empress gave him a present of a hundred thousand roubles and an order to leave Russia immediately.


The king is riding up.


Whose bed is this?


Mine, sire,


Good! but it is not you I am angry with; where is your governor?


Madam, my name is Lambert, I come from Lorraine, and I wish to lodge here.


Very good, sir, but you must pay for your board and lodging every day.


That, madam, is out of the question, for I have not got a farthing, but I shall have some money when I discover who I am.


I am afraid I cannot put you up on those conditions, sir.


Stay,


I will pay for you to-day.


What have you got in that little bundle?


Two shirts, a score of mathematical books, and some other trifles.


I come from Strasburg,


and a cadet of a regiment stationed there having given me a blow in a coffee-house I paid him a visit the next day in his own room and stabbed him there.


After this I went home, made up my bundle, and left the town. I walked all the way and lived soberly, so that my money lasted till this morning. To-morrow I shall write to my mother, who lives at Luneville, and I am sure she will send me some money.


And what do you think of doing?


I want to become a military engineer, but if needs must I am ready to enlist as a private soldier.


I can give you board and lodging till you hear from your mother.


Heaven has sent you in my way,


It would be a piece of good fortune for me,


and to shew my gratitude I will gladly wait on you as a servant during the journey.


Poverty, is a rascally teacher, that gives a man some bad lessons. I am not a liar by disposition, but I have nevertheless told you a lie on another and a more important matter. I don’t expect any money whatever from my poor mother, who rather needs that I should send money to her. So forgive me, and be sure I shall be a faithful servant to you.


In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection. I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?


What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign.


Have you got an introduction to the empress?


No, but I have an introduction to a banker.


Ah! that’s much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia.


Farewell, sire.


I am no merchant,


and you will get nothing out of me.


I have the right to examine your effects, and I mean to make use of it.


You are a madman,


You can easily get one from the Jews,


I am sorry to have caused so much trouble,


Not at all,


the masked ball will be much more relished by the people.


I have only ducats, and therefore I cannot profit by your offer. I know it sir, and you give them away very cheaply.


From a philosopher like your highness,


I am not afraid to take money, for it may be more useful to me than jewels.


I cannot offer you a lodging, because I have hardly enough room for myself, but I will see that you get a comfortable apartment somewhere.


I have lived for ten years, with that woman. Betty, whom you admired so much, is not my daughter, the others are my children by my Englishwoman. I have left St. Petersburg for two years, and I live here well enough, and have pupils who do me credit. I play with the prince, sometimes winning and sometimes losing, but I never win enough to enable me to satisfy a wretched creditor I left at St. Petersburg, who persecutes me on account of a bill of exchange. He may put me in prison any day, and I am always expecting him to do so.


Is the bill for a large sum?


Five hundred roubles.


That is only two thousand francs.


Yes, but unfortunately I have not got it.


You ought to annul the debt by paying small sums on account.


The rascal won’t let me.


Then what do you propose doing?


Win a heavy sum, if I can, and escape into Poland. The Baron de St. Heleine will run away, too if he can, for he only lives on credit. The prince is very useful to us, as we are able to play at his house; but if we get into difficulty he could not extricate us, as he is heavily in debt himself. He always loses at play. His mistress is expensive, and gives him a great deal of trouble by her ill-humour.


Why is she so sour?


She wants him to keep his word, for he promised to get her married at the end of two years; and on the strength of this promise she let him give her two children. The two years have passed by and the children are there, and she will no longer allow him to have anything to do with her for fear of having a third child.


Can’t the prince find her a husband?


He did find her a lieutenant, but she won’t hear of anybody under the rank of major.


Very good, but now it is your turn; and if you don’t do your best I will drive you from St. Petersburg.


My lord, your highness shall be obeyed. I shall not allow you to touch me once, but I hope you will deign to take me under your protection.


With the naked sword I fence in quite another style, and you are quite right not to fear anyone, for you fence very well.


Nevertheless, if your excellency wills it I will turn back; but I shall complain to Marshal Braun, who gave me the passport for posting, knowing that I had not the political passport.


There’s the czarina.


One would think you were a Venetian,


So I am.


Like myself.


I am not jesting.


No more am I.


Then let us speak in Venetian.


Do you begin, and I will reply. Quite so,


I thought Bernadi was the only Venetian besides myself in St. Petersburg.


You see you are mistaken.


My name is Count Volpati di Treviso.


Give me your address, and I will come and tell you who I am, for I cannot do so here.


Here it is.


I am your friend of the ‘Hotel d’Elbeuf.’ Gilbert Baret, Rue des Prouveres. I was your lover, and a fortunate one, too, but before I tell you my name, with whom are you, and how are you?


Very well; but pray do not divulge what I tell you. I left Paris with M. d’Anglade, counsellor in the Court of Rouen. I lived happily enough for some time with him, and then left him to go with a theatrical manager, who brought me here as an actress under the name of de l’Anglade, and now I am kept by Count Rzewuski, the Polish ambassador. And now tell me who you are? My good angel has brought you to St. Petersburg.


How do you mean?


Rzewuski is obliged to go back to Poland, and now I count on you to get me out of the country, for I can no longer continue in a station for which I was not intended, since I can neither sing nor act.


But sir, the first Sunday was yesterday; we are at Monday now.


What! Monday?


Yes, sir.


The Venetian would have kept his promise, if he had not had a long sleep of twenty-seven hours. I am the Venetian, and am delighted to continue our acquaintance.


How about his honour?


It is not affected by the non-payment of gaming debts. It is an understood thing in Russia that one who plays on credit and loses may pay or not pay as he wishes, and the winner only makes himself ridiculous by reminding the loser of his debt.


Then the holder of the bank has the right to refuse to accept bets which are not backed by ready money.


Certainly; and nobody has a right to be offended with him for doing so. Gaming is in a very bad state in Russia. I know young men of the highest rank whose chief boast is that they know how to conquer fortune; that is, to cheat. One of the Matuschkins goes so far as to challenge all foreign cheats to master him. He has just received permission to travel for three years, and it is an open secret that he wishes to travel that he may exercise his skill. He intends returning to Russia laden with the spoils of the dupes he has made.


Drugoi!


I am astonished that you have not met the fair Madame Prote at the chief huntsman’s, for she is the darling of his heart. Come and take coffee with me to-morrow, and you shall see a wonder.


Prote.


I am glad to hear it, madam,


for you thereby promise to be mine.


How so?


So you see, the matter is quite simple.


How simple?


Why, yes; only a hundred roubles.


And supposing me to be inclined to give that sum?


Then she would be your servant, and you could do anything you liked with her, except kill her.


And supposing she is not willing?


That never happens, but if it did you could have beaten her.


Well, if she is satisfied and I enjoy her, can I still continue to keep her?


You will be her master, I tell you, and can have her arrested if she attempts to escape, unless she can return the hundred roubles you gave for her.


What must I give her per month?


Nothing, except enough to eat and drink. You must also let her go to the baths on Saturday and to the church on Sunday.


Can I make her come with me when I leave St. Petersburg?


No, unless you obtain permission and find a surety, for though the girl would be your slave she would still be a slave to the empress.


Very good; then will you arrange this matter for me? I will give the hundred roubles, and I promise you I will not treat her as a slave. But I hope you will care for my interests, as I do not wish to be duped.


I promise you you shall not be duped; I will see to everything. Would you like her now?


No, to-morrow.


Very good; then to-morrow it shall be.


No,


one is enough.


You must tell me,


in what way I can be of use to you.


By admitting us to your company, and introducing us to your friends.


Well, I am a stranger here, and I will come and see you, and you can come and see me, and I shall be delighted; but I never dine at home. As to my friends, you must feel that, being a stranger, I could not introduce you and the lady. Is she your wife? People will ask me who you are, and what you are doing at St. Petersburg. What am I to say? I wonder Prince Charles did not send you to someone else.


I am a gentleman of Lorraine, and Madame la Riviere is my mistress, and my object in coming to St. Petersburg is to amuse myself.


Then I don’t know to whom I could introduce you under the circumstances; but I should think you will be able to find plenty of amusement without knowing anyone. The theatres, the streets, and even the Court entertainments, are open to everyone. I suppose you have plenty of money?


That’s exactly what I haven’t got, and I don’t expect any either.


Well, I have not much more, but you really astonish me. How could you have been so foolish as to come here without money?


Well, my mistress said we could do with what money we got from day to day. She induced me to leave Paris without a farthing, and up to now it seems to me that she is right. We have managed to get on somehow.


Then she has the purse?


My purse, is in the pockets of my friends.


I understand, and I am sure you have no difficulty in finding the wherewithal to live. If I had such a purse, it should be opened for you, but I am not a rich man.


My master has not sent me away, but beaten me; therefore he loves me, and I ought to be attached to him.


If you do not beat him, he will end by beating you;


You mean that she issued a ukase to the effect that she had done it, and if she had liked she could have travelled more quickly still; it was only a question of the wording of the ukase.


Taci!


The music of that opera has given the greatest pleasure to everyone, so of course I am delighted with it; but it wearies me, nevertheless. Music is a fine thing, but I cannot understand how anyone who is seriously occupied can love it passionately. I will have Buranello here, and I wonder whether he will interest me in music, but I am afraid nature did not constitute me to feel all its charms.


We have had dinner; you have come too late.


If you said pneuma agion, then you would cross yourself like us, and if we said sancti spiritus we should cross ourselves like you.


The adjective, should always precede the substantive, for we should never utter the name of God without first giving Him some honourable epithet.


No emblem at all, only the name of God in large letters.


I will put a triangle.


No triangle at all; but only the name of God in whatever language you like, and nothing more.


May you die when you become rich.


May you never die till I slay you!


This is news indeed. The Emperor of the Romans has died suddenly. Full court mourning, which your highness will observe for three months longer than the empress.


Why so?


Because, as Duke of Holstein, your highness has a right to attend the diet of the empire, a privilege, which Peter the Great desired in vain.


I should be sorry to do so, but as I can’t find anyone to present me to her, I must be resigned.


From what I can make out, the secret of the matter is that my worthy aunt was imposed on, and indeed she did not trouble herself much about such trifles. But I hope you have seen other things in Russia less ridiculous than these statues?


Yes, in your country it is eleven days older.


Would it not be worthy of your majesty to put Russia on an equality with the rest of the world in this respect, by adopting the Gregorian calendar? All the Protestants have done so, and England, who adopted it fourteen years ago, has already gained several millions. All Europe is astonished that the old style should be suffered to exist in a country where the sovereign is the head of the Church, and whose capital contains an academy of science. It is thought that Peter the Great, who made the year begin in January, would have also abolished the old style if he had not been afraid of offending England, which then kept trade and commerce alive throughout your vast empire.


You know, that Peter the Great was not exactly a learned man.


He was more than a man of learning, the immortal Peter was a genius of the first order. Instinct supplied the place of science with him; his judgment was always in the right. His vast genius, his firm resolve, prevented him from making mistakes, and helped him to destroy all those abuses which threatened to oppose his great designs.


I shall be delighted to reply to you at another time. All the letters sent to foreign countries and all the important State records are marked with both dates.


But I must point out to your majesty that by the end of the century the difference will be of twelve days, not eleven.


Not at all; we have seen to that. The last year of this century will not be counted as a leap year. It is fortunate that the difference is one of eleven days, for as that is the number which is added every year to the epact. Our epacts are almost the same. As to the celebration of Easter, that is a different question. Your equinox is on March the 21st, ours on the 10th, and the astronomers say we are both wrong; sometimes it is we who are wrong and sometimes you, as the equinox varies. You know you are not even in agreement with the Jews, whose calculation is said to be perfectly accurate; and, in fine, this difference in the time of celebrating Easter does not disturb in any way public order or the progress of the Government.


Your majesty’s words fill me with admiration, but the Festival of Christmas----


I suppose you are going to say that we do not celebrate Christmas in the winter solstice as should properly be done. We know it, but it seems to me a matter of no account. I would rather bear with this small mistake than grievously afflict vast numbers of my subjects by depriving them of their birthdays. If I did so, there would be no open complaints uttered, as that is not the fashion in Russia; but they would say in secret that I was an Atheist, and that I disputed the infallibility of the Council of Nice. You may think such complaints matter for laughter, but I do not, for I have much more agreeable motives for amusement.


Are you well pleased to have died suddenly?


What a foolish question! Such might be the wish of one driven to despair, or of someone suffering from a long and grievous malady. Such was not my position, for I enjoyed the blessings of happiness and good health; no worse fate could have happened to me. My sudden death prevented me from concluding several designs which I might have brought to a successful issue if God had granted me the warning of a slight illness. But it was not so; I had to set out on the long journey at a moment’s notice, without the time to make any preparations. Is my death any the happier from my not foreseeing it? Do you think me such a coward as to dread the approach of what is common to all? I tell you that I should have accounted myself happy if I had had a respite of but a day. Then I should not complain of the Divine justice.


Does your highness accuse God of injustice, then?


What boots it, since I am a lost soul? Do you expect the damned to acknowledge the justice of the decree which has consigned them to eternal woe?


No doubt it is a difficult matter, but I should have thought that a sense of the justice of your doom would have mitigated the pains of it.


Perhaps so, but a damned soul must be without consolation for ever.


In spite of that there are some philosophers who call you happy in your death by virtue of its suddenness.


Not philosophers, but fools, for in its suddenness was the pain and woe.


Well said; but may I ask your highness if you admit the possibility of a happy eternity after an unhappy death, or of an unhappy doom after a happy death?


Such suppositions are inconceivable. The happiness of futurity lies in the ecstasy of the soul in feeling freed from the trammels of matter, and unhappiness is the doom of a soul which was full of remorse at the moment it left the body. But enough, for my punishment forbids my farther speech.


Tell me, at least, what is the nature of your punishment?


An everlasting weariness. Farewell.


I had forgotten to ask you, if you believe the new calculation of the calendar to be exempt from error?


No, your majesty; but the error is so minute that it will not produce any sensible effect for the space of nine or ten thousand years.


I thought so; and in my opinion Pope Gregory should not have acknowledged any mistake at all. The Pope, however, had much less difficulty in carrying out his reform than I should have with my subjects, who are too fond of their ancient usages and customs.


Nevertheless, I am sure your majesty would meet with obedience.


No doubt, but imagine the grief of my clergy in not being able to celebrate the numerous saints’ days, which would fall on the eleven days to be suppressed. You have only one saint for each day, but we have a dozen at least. I may remark also that all ancient states and kingdoms are attached to their ancient laws. I have heard that your Republic of Venice begins the year in March, and that seems to me, as it were, a monument and memorial of its antiquity--and indeed the year begins more naturally in March than in January--but does not this usage cause some confusion? None at all, your majesty. The letters M V, which we adjoin to all dates in January and February, render all mistakes impossible. Venice is also noteworthy for its peculiar system of heraldry, by the amusing form under which it portrays its patron saint, and by the five Latin words with which the Evangelist is invoked, in which, as I am told, there is a grammatical blunder which has become respectable by its long standing. But is it true that you do not distinguish between the day and night hours? Such is the force of custom, which makes us admire what other nations think ridiculous. You see no inconvenience in your division of the day, which strikes me as most inconvenient. Yes, but for this one advantage you have over us, we have two over you. We know that at twelve o’clock it is either mid-day or midnight. I have been asked, to allow the lottery to be established in my own dominions; but I should never permit it except on the condition that no stake should be below a rouble, and then the poor people would not be able to risk their money in it.


No, thank God! I am a Parisian, and an actress by occupation. My name is Valville; but I don’t wonder I am unknown to you, for I have been only a month here, and have played but once. Because I was so unfortunate as to fail to win the czarina’s favour. However, as I was engaged for a year, she has kindly ordered that my salary of a hundred roubles shall be paid monthly. At the end of the year I shall get my passport and go. Very likely; but she does not remember that I am forgetting how to act all this time. I only wish she would give me an audience. No, I haven’t. They say the incredible often happens.


As I have the knack of putting an end to an intrigue when it has ceased to amuse me, I have no hesitation in accepting your proposal. As to the sentiments with which you say I have inspired you, I will do my best to share them, and to make you happy. Your supper shall be ready, and later on we will settle the price of the dessert. I shall be delighted to accept the place in your carriage if you can obtain my expenses to Paris as well as my passport. And finally, I hope you will find my plain speaking on a match with yours. Good bye, till the evening. I shall be delighted to travel with you, but I don’t think you will be able to get my passport. I will surely do so. Nothing more than that? Not a word. You say nothing about the passport, and nothing about the journey-money. I am not a rich woman. Oh, that would be too much! I will copy it out myself, for I can write a good enough hand. Indeed, it almost seems as if I had composed it; it is exactly my style. I believe you are a better actor than I am, and from this evening I shall call myself your pupil. Come, let us have some supper, that you may give me my first lesson.


I thought, it was like what is done at Paris, where a girl goes into the chorus or the ballet without having learnt to sing or dance. What else could I think, after an actor like Clerval had assured me I had a talent for acting and had offered me a good engagement? All he required of me was that I should learn by heart and repeat certain passages which I rehearsed in his presence. He said I made a capital soubrette, and he certainly could not have been trying to deceive me, but the fact is he was deceived himself. A fortnight after my arrival I made my first appearance, and my reception was not a flattering one. Perhaps you were nervous? Nervous? not in the least. Clerval said that if I could have put on the appearance of nervousness the empress, who is kindness itself, would certainly have encouraged me. I shall present it to-day,


Very good. I will give you a plain answer when you come back.


Long live the petition! I waited for the empress to come out of her private chapel. I respectfully presented my petition, which she read as she walked along, and then told me with a kindly smile to wait a moment. I waited, and her majesty returned me the petition initialled in her own hand, and bade me take it to M. Ghelagin. This gentleman gave me an excellent reception, and told me that the sovereign hand ordered him to give me my passport, my salary for a year, and a hundred ducats for the journey. The money will be forwarded in a fortnight, as my name will have to be sent to the Gazette.


It seems to me that I am worth more than I was, for I have all your presents, and I know Italian.


You are right, dear, but I don’t want it to be said that I have made a profit on you; besides, I intend to make you a present of the hundred roubles.


As you are going to make me such a handsome present, why not send me back to my father’s house? That would be still more generous. If M. Rinaldi really loves me, he can come and talk it over with my father. You have no objection to his paying me whatever sum I like to mention.


Not at all. On the contrary, I shall be very glad to serve your family, and all the more as Rinaldi is a rich man.


Very good; you will be always dear to me in my memory. You shall take me to my home to-morrow; and now let us go to bed.


That’s the king.


Chevalier, your place will always be at my father’s table.


If you take my silence for consent to your extravagant eulogium of Horace, you are mistaken; for in my opinion the ‘nec cum venari volet poemata panges’, of which you think so much, is to my mind a satire devoid of delicacy.


Satire and delicacy are hard to combine.


Not for Horace, who succeeded in pleasing the great Augustus, and rendering him immortal as the protector of learned men. Indeed other sovereigns seem to vie with him by taking his name and even by disguising it.


What sovereigns have adopted a disguised form of the name Augustus?


The first king of Sweden, who called himself Gustavus, which is only an anagram of Augustus.


That is a very amusing idea, and worth more than all the tales we have told. Where did you find that?


In a manuscript at Wolfenbuttel.


Can you cite any passage of Horace (not in manuscript) where he shews his talent for delicacy and satire?


Sir, I could quote several passages, but here is one which seems to me very good: ‘Coram rege’ sua de paupertate tacentes, plus quam pocentes ferent.”


True indeed,


They that speak not of their necessities in the presence of a king, gain more than they that are ever asking.


Tempora quoeram


Thank no one but Horace, and don’t tell anyone about it.


Never mind, come in my box.


It seems to me I have come at a bad time; it looks as if you loved this lady.


Certainly, my lord; does not your excellency consider her as worthy of love?


Quite so; but as it happens I love her too, and I am not the man to bear any rivals.


As I know that, I shall love her no more.


Then you give her up?


With all my heart; for everyone must yield to such a noble as you are.


Very good; but I call a man that yields a coward.


Isn’t that rather a strong expression?


Venetian coward.


perhaps a Venetian coward might kill a brave Pole outside the theatre;


Where is your head to-night?


My lord, it is four leagues away.


A respectable man ought to have his head in the game, and not at a distance of four leagues.


I am sorry for you, but Branicki was drunk, and you really shouldn’t count what he said as an insult.


What has happened?


What has taken place between you and Branicki?


I will tell you the whole story, my lord, in private after supper.


You had good reasons for being absent-minded at cards.


May I presume to ask your excellency’s advice?


I never give advice in these affairs, in which you must do every-thing or nothing.


My Lord,--Yesterday evening your excellency insulted me with a light heart, without my having given you any cause or reason for doing so. This seems to indicate that you hate me, and would gladly efface me from the land of the living. I both can and will oblige you in this matter. Be kind enough, therefore, to drive me in your carriage to a place where my death will not subject your lordship to the vengeance of the law, in case you obtain the victory, and where I shall enjoy the same advantage if God give me grace to kill your lordship. I should not make this proposal unless I believe your lordship to be of a noble disposition. I have the honour to be, etc.


Sir,--I accept your proposal, and shall be glad if you will have the kindness to inform me when I shall have the honour of seeing you. I remain, sir, etc. Sir,--You will greatly oblige me by coming now. I have sent my carriage. I have the honour to be, etc.


Don’t be afraid. I am not come to assassinate you, but merely to say that I accept your proposal, on condition only that the duel shall take place to-day. If not, never!


It is out of the question. I have letters to write, and some business to do for the king.


That will do afterwards. In all probability you will not fall, and if you do I am sure the king will forgive you. Besides, a dead man need fear no reproaches.


I want to make my will.


Come, come, you needn’t be afraid of dying; it will be time enough for you to make your will in fifty years.


But why should your excellency not wait till tomorrow?


I don’t want to be caught.


You have nothing of the kind to fear from me.


I daresay, but unless we make haste the king will have us both arrested.


How can he, unless you have told him about our quarrel?


Ah, you don’t understand! Well, I am quite willing to give you satisfaction, but it must be to-day or never.


Very good. This duel is too dear to my heart for me to leave you any pretext for avoiding it. Call for me after dinner, for I shall want all my strength.


Certainly. For my part I like a good supper after, better than a good dinner before.


Everyone to his taste.


True. By the way, why did you send me the length of your sword? I intend to fight with pistols, for I never use swords with unknown persons.


What do you mean? I beg of you to refrain from insulting me in my own house. I do not intend to fight with pistols, and you cannot compel me to do so, for I have your letter giving me the choice of weapons.


Strictly speaking, no doubt you are in the right; but I am sure you are too polite not to give way, when I assure you that you will lay me under a great obligation by doing so. Very often the first shot is a miss, and if that is the case with both of us, I promise to fight with swords as long as you like. Will you oblige me in the matter?


Yes, for I like your way of asking, though, in my opinion, a pistol duel is a barbarous affair. I accept, but on the following conditions: You must bring two pistols, charge them in my presence, and give me the choice. If the first shot is a miss, we will fight with swords till the first blood or to the death, whichever you prefer. Call for me at three o’clock, and choose some place where we shall be secure from the law.


Very good. You are a good fellow, allow me to embrace you. Give me your word of honour not to say a word about it to anyone, for if you did we should be arrested immediately.


You need not be afraid of my talking; the project is too dear to me.


Good. Farewell till three o’clock.


Take this packet to the king, if I happen to be killed. You may guess, perhaps, what is going to happen, but do not say a word to anyone, or you will have me for your bitterest enemy, as it would mean loss of honour to me.


I understand. You may reckon on my discretion, and I hope the affair may be ended honourably and prosperously for you. But take a piece of friendly advice--don’t spare your opponent, were it the king himself, for it might cost you your life. I know that by experience.


I will not forget. Farewell.


You might want them, they had better come along.


If I had as many as you, I would certainly agree to your proposition; but as it is I shall do still better without any at all. If need be, your excellency will see that I am tended by your own servants. Does your excellency intend spending the spring at Warsaw?


I had thought of doing so, but you may possibly send me to pass the spring somewhere else.


Oh, I hope not!


Have you seen any military service?


Yes; but may I ask why your excellency asks me the question, for--


I had no particular reason; it was only for the sake of saying something. Choose your weapon, sir.


Is this a duel, sir?


Yes.


You cannot fight here; you are within the ban.


No matter.


It does matter; and I, at all events, refuse to be a witness. I am on guard at the castle, and you have taken me by surprise.


Be quiet; I will answer for everything. I owe this gentleman satisfaction, and I mean to give it him here.


M. Casanova, you cannot fight here.


Then why have I been brought here? I shall defend myself wherever I am attacked.


Lay the whole matter before the king, and you shall have my voice in your favour.


I am quite willing to do so, general, if his excellency will say that he regrets what passed between us last night. General, you can bear witness that I have done all in my power to avoid this duel. I am going to try its goodness on your head,


Scoundrels! have some respect for a man of honour.


You have killed me, so make haste away, as you are in danger of the gibbet. The duel was fought in the ban, and I am a high court officer, and a Knight of the White Eagle. So lose no time, and if you have not enough money take my purse.


I hope, that your wound will not be mortal, and I am deeply grieved at your obliging me to fight. Warszawa?


After this exploit, he seized me by the throat and held a pistol to my head, threatening to blow out my brains if I did not take him in safety to the court where his horse was, so that he might get away from the house without any attack being made on him by Tomatis’s servants; and I did so immediately. Moszczinski is in the doctor’s hands, and will be laid up for some time. As soon as it was reported that Branicki was killed, his Uhlans began to ride about the town swearing to avenge their colonel, and to slaughter you. It is very fortunate that you took refuge here. The chief marshal has had the monastery surrounded by two hundred dragoons, ostensibly to prevent your escape, but in reality to defend you from Branicki’s soldiers. The doctors say that the postoli is in great danger if the ball has wounded the intestines, but if not they answer for his recovery. His fate will be known tomorrow. He now lies at the lord chamberlain’s, not daring to have himself carried to his apartments at the palace. The king has been to see him, and the general who was present told his majesty that the only thing that saved your life was your threat to aim at Branicki’s head. This frightened him, and to keep your ball from his head he stood in such an awkward position that he missed your vital parts. Otherwise he would undoubtedly have shot you through the heart, for he can split a bullet into two halves by firing against the blade of a knife. It was also a lucky thing for you that you escaped Bininski, who never thought of looking for you in the wretched sleigh.


My lord, the most fortunate thing for me is that I did not kill my man outright. Otherwise I should have been cut to pieces just as I went to his help by three of his servants, who stood over me with drawn swords. However, the postoli ordered them to leave me alone. I am sorry for what has happened to your highness and Count Moszczinski; and if Tomatis was not killed by the madman it is only because the pistol was only charged with powder.


That’s what I think, for no one heard the bullet; but it was a mere chance.


Quite so.


Read what the king says to me, and sleep well.


Branicki, my dear uncle, is dangerous wounded. My surgeons are doing all they can for him, but I have not forgotten Casanova. You may assure him that he is pardoned, even if Branicki should die.


Well, gentlemen, you have mustered in great strength; why is this? Gentlemen, you seem to have a great many solid scientific reasons for cutting off my hand; but one thing you have not got, and that is my consent. My hand is my own, and I am going to keep it.


Sir, it is certainly gangrened; by to-morrow the arm will begin to mortify, and then you will have to lose your arm.


Very good; if that prove so you shall cut off my arm, but I happen to know something of gangrene, and there is none about me.


You cannot know as much about it as we do.


Possibly; but as far as I can make out, you know nothing at all.


That’s rather a strong expression.


I don’t care whether it be strong or weak; you can go now.


My lord, they are not deceived themselves, but they want to deceive me.


Why should they?


To make themselves agreeable to Branicki, who is in a dangerous state, and might possibly get better if he heard that my hand had been taken off.


Really that seems an incredible idea to me!


What will your highness say on the day when I am proved to be right?


I shall say you are deserving of the highest praise, but the day must first come.


We shall see this evening, and I give you my word that if any gangrene has attacked the arm, I will have it cut off to-morrow morning.


I have come from my lord-bishop, to absolve you from the ecclesiastical censure, which you have incurred by duelling.


I am always delighted to receive absolution, father, but only after I have confessed my guilt. In the present case I have nothing to confess; I was attacked, and I defended myself. Pray thank my lord for his kindness. If you like to absolve me without confession, I shall be much obliged.


If you do not confess, I cannot give you absolution, but you can do this: ask me to absolve you, supposing you have fought a duel.


Certainly; I shall be glad if you will absolve me, supposing I have fought a duel.


Take care not to catch another.


I have come here, my lord, to offer you my service, and to assure you how I regret that I did not pass over a few trifling words of yours.


You have no reason to reproach yourself, M. Casanova.


Your excellency is very kind. I am also come to say that by fighting with me you have done me an honour which completely swallows up all offence, and I trust that you will give me your protection for the future.


I confess I insulted you, but you will allow that I have paid for it. As to my friends, I openly say that they are my enemies unless they treat you with respect. Bininski has been cashiered, and his nobility taken from him; he is well served. As to my protection you have no need of it, the king esteems you highly, like myself, and all men of honour. Sit down; we will be friends. A cup of chocolate for this gentleman. You seem to have got over your wound completely.


Quite so, my lord, except as to the use of my fingers, and that will take some time.


You were quite right to withstand those rascally surgeons, and you had good reason for your opinion that the fools thought to please me by rendering you one-handed. They judged my heart by their own. I congratulate you on the preservation of your hand, but I have not been able to make out how my ball could have wounded you in the hand after striking your stomach.


Your excellency will allow me to assume the position I was in as I received your fire.


Pray do so.


You should have put your hand behind your body.


Excuse me, madam, but I thought it better to put my body behind my hand.


You wanted to kill my brother, for you aimed at his head.


God forbid, madam! my interest lay in keeping him alive to defend me from his friends.


But you said you were going to fire at his head.


That’s a mere figure of speech, just as one says, ‘I’ll blow your brains out.’ The skilled duellist, however, always aims at the middle of the body; the head does not offer a large enough surface.


Yes, your tactics were superior to mine, and I am obliged to you for the lesson you gave me.


Your excellency gave me a lesson in heroism of far greater value.


You must have had a great deal of practice with the pistol,


Not at all, madam, I regard the weapon with detestation. This unlucky shot was my first; but I have always known a straight line, and my hand has always been steady.


That’s all one wants. I have those advantages myself, and I am only too well pleased that I did not aim so well as usual.


Your ball broke my first phalanges. Here it is you see, flattened by my bone. Allow me to return it to you.


I am sorry to say I can’t return yours, which I suppose remains on the field of battle. You seem to be getting better, thank God!


The wound is healing painfully. If I had imitated you I should no longer be in the land of the living; I am told you made an excellent dinner? Yes, my lord, I was afraid I might never have another chance of dining again.


If I had dined, your ball would have pierced my intestines; but being empty it yielded to the bullet, and let it pass by harmlessly.


Lord, if my enemy kill me, I shall be damned; deign, therefore, to preserve me from death. Amen.


What can I do for you?


I have come to kiss the hand of the kindly man that signed my pardon, and to promise your excellency to be more discreet in future.


I advise you to be more discreet indeed. As for your pardon, thank the king; for if he had not requested me especially to grant it you, I should have had you beheaded.


In spite of the extenuating circumstances, my lord?


What circumstances? Did you or did you not fight a duel.


That is not a proper way of putting it; I was obliged to defend myself. You might have charged me with fighting a duel if Branicki had taken me outside the ban, as I requested, but as it was he took me where he willed and made me fight. Under these circumstances I am sure your excellency would have spared my head.


I really can’t say. The king requested that you should be pardoned, and that shews he believes you to be deserving of pardon; I congratulate you on his good will. I shall be pleased if you will dine with me tomorrow.


My lord, I am delighted to accept your invitation. What a comfort it would have been to your excellency’s friend, if he could have lived to see his son crowned King of Poland.


He would never have consented.


Political reasons, prevented me from visiting you at the monastery; but you must not think I had forgotten you, for you were constantly in my thoughts. I am going to lodge you here, for my wife is very fond of your society; but the rooms will not be ready for another six weeks.


I shall take the opportunity, my lord, of paying a visit to the Palatin of Kiowia, who has honoured me with an invitation to come and see him.


Who gave you the invitation?


Count Bruhl, who is at Dresden; his wife is daughter of the palatin.


This journey is an excellent idea, for this duel of yours has made you innumerable enemies, and I only hope you will have to fight no more duels. I give you fair warning; be on your guard, and never go on foot, especially at night.


No, sire, for his patrician pride would have prevented his complying, and I should have had my pains for my trouble.


Then what would you have done?


Sire, I should have contained myself, though if a noble Venetian were to insult me in a foreign country he would have to give me satisfaction. What has she against me?


She is afraid of you, because she was the cause of the duel, and now Branicki who was her lover will have nothing more to say to her. She hoped he would serve you as he served Tomatis, and instead of that you almost killed her bravo. She lays the fault on him for having accepted your challenge, but he has resolved to have done with her.


I would give all my goods, to be cured.


Venice and St. Mark.


St. Mark, is the patron saint and protector of Venice,


If you like the girl, why don’t you go the proper way to work?


What way is that?


Speak to her father, who is at hand, and arrange the matter amicably.


I don’t know Polish. Will you carry the thing through?


Certainly. I suppose you will give fifty florins?


You are laughing at me. I will give a hundred willingly, provided she is a maid and is as submissive as a lamb.


Where is the girl?


I want to see her face.


Never mind about the face, if the rest is all right.


The face is the essential part for me,


and the rest I look upon as an accessory.


We did not expect to see you here again. Why did you come back?


To pay my debts.


At Princess Strasnikowa’s,


and M. Casanova was there.


Then why did you not answer my question?


Because I am very sorry to have been there. His majesty neither spoke to me nor looked at me. I see I am in disgrace, but for the life of me I know not why.


What have I done?


Nothing; but the Poles are always inconstant and changeable. ‘Sarmatarum virtus veluti extra ipsos’. This inconstancy will cost us dear sooner or later. Your fortune was made, but you missed the turn of the tide, and I advise you to go.


I will certainly do so, but it seems to me rather hard.


I cannot take such a message as that. I shall simply tell the king that I have executed his orders, and no more; but of course you must follow your own judgment.


My creditors, sire, will forgive me for leaving Poland without paying my debts, when they learn that I have only done so because your majesty gave me no choice.


Give it to me. I will place it in the king’s hands.


Yes, sir. I have come to offer myself as governess for her three daughters.


What! Governess at your age?


Alas! sir, age has nothing to do with necessity. I have neither father nor mother. My brother is a poor lieutenant who cannot help me; what can I do? I can only get a livelihood by turning my good education to account.


What will your salary be?


Fifty wretched crowns, enough to buy my dresses.


It’s very little.


It is as much as people give.


Where are you living now?


With a poor aunt, where I can scarce earn enough bread to keep me alive by sewing from morning till night.


If you liked to become my governess instead of becoming a children’s governess, I would give you fifty crowns, not per year, but per month.


Your governess? Governess to your family, you mean, I suppose?


I have no family; I am a bachelor, and I spend my time in travelling. I leave at five o’clock to-morrow morning for Dresden, and if you like to come with me there is a place for you in my carriage. I am staying at such an inn. Come there with your trunk, and we will start together.


You are joking; besides, I don’t know you.


I am not jesting; and we should get to know each other perfectly well in twenty-four hours; that is ample time.


How about your belongings?


Belongings? They were not worth the trouble of gathering together. All I have is included in that small package, which contains a chemise, a pair of stockings, some handkerchiefs, and a few nicknacks.


What will your lover say?


Alas! I haven’t got one to say anything.


I cannot credit that.


I have had two lovers; the first one was a rascal, who took advantage of my innocence to seduce me, and then left me when I ceased to present any novelty for him; my second was an honest man, but a poor lieutenant with no prospects of getting on. He has not abandoned me, but his regiment was ordered to Stetin, and since then--


And since then?


We were too poor to write to one another, so we had to suffer in silence.


I shall be delighted,


He asked smilingly if the lady took a siesta too,


I replied that we usually took it together.


he asked us both to dine with him the next day.


I replied that I never took Maton out anywhere, but that he would be welcome to come and take pot-luck with us every day if he liked.


Oh, he is like all officers with girls; but I don’t think he is more in love with me than any other girl.


Oh, but didn’t he come to call on me this morning?


Certainly not; and if he had come the maid would have told him you were out.


Did you not notice him walking up and down under the windows?


No.


Yes, two rooms, both looking on the street.


Tell the landlord that I will take them both.


They were taken yesterday evening.


By whom?


By a Swiss officer, who is entertaining a party of friends to supper here this evening.


You shall have my room, and I will have yours; I can read there, and see the people going by.


Wretch, you have poisoned me; but nobody shall know it, as it is by my own fault, and I am ashamed of it. Get up, and you shall see how generous I can be.


What am I to do here? I don’t know anyone.


If you like to return to Breslau I will pay your expenses there.


I am sorry for them, but it’s their own fault; why didn’t they take more care?


But the girl came to Dresden with you.


Yes, and I sent her about her business. It was enough for me to keep them off while she was under my charge. Tell them that if they complain of me they are wrong, and still more wrong to publish their shame. Let them learn discretion and get themselves cured in secrecy, if they do not want sensible men to laugh at them. Don’t you think I am right?


The adventure is not a very honourable one for you.


I know it, and that’s why I say nothing; I am not such a fool as to proclaim my shame from the housetops. These friends of yours must be simpletons indeed; they must have known that I had good reasons for sending the girl away, and should consequently have been on their guard. They deserve what they got, and I hope it may be a lesson to them.


They are all astonished at your being well.


You may comfort them by saying that I have been as badly treated as they, but that I have held my tongue, not wishing to pass for a simpleton.


You saw yourself when I supped with you, how his majesty completely ignored me. Your highness will be going to Paris next year; you will meet me there and you can write to the king that if I had been burnt in effigy I should not venture to shew myself.


Certainly,


I can scarcely believe it, for she is not pretty, and she has not the look nor the manners of a princess.


Perhaps you are not a good judge of princesses.


I have seen enough of them anyhow, and to prove that I am a good judge I say that it is you who ought to be the princess; I would willingly give a hundred ducats to spend the night with you.


A hundred ducats! What would you do if I were to take you at your word?


Try me. I lodge at the same hotel as you, and if you can contrive ways and means, I will give you the money in advance, but not till I am sure of my prize, for I don’t like being taken in.


Very good. Say not a word to anyone, but try to speak with me either before or after supper. If you are brave enough to face certain risks, we will spend the night together.


What is your name?


Caroline.


You mean Caroline, I expect?


Yes.


She is waiting on the princess, but she will be out in half an hour.


Without any light?


Of course, or else the people of the house would notice it, and I should not like that.


I cannot do anything without light, charming Caroline; and besides, this closet is not a very nice place to pass five or six hours. There is another alternative, the first room above is mine. I shall be alone, and I swear to you that no one shall come in; come up and make me happy; I have got the hundred ducats here.


Impossible! I dare not go upstairs for a million ducats.


So much the worse for you, as I am not going to stay in this hole which has only a chair in it, if you offer me a million and a half. Farewell, sweet Caroline.


Wait a moment; let me go out first.


Good night, Caroline, you see it was no use.


Alas! count, I am that Casanova, and here is my arm still in a sling.


I congratulate you, my dear fellow; I should like to hear about it.


Yes; I heard something about it in the papers. So this is the hero of the tale. Delighted to make your acquaintance.


What, madam, you here!


Yes, to my sorrow. I have been here for the last three weeks, and have seen you several times, but you have always avoided us.


Who are ‘us’?


Schwerin and myself.


Schwerin is here, is he?


Yes; and in prison on account of a forged bill. I am sure I do not know what they will do to the poor wretch. He would have been wise to have fled, but it seems as if he wanted to get hanged.


And you have been with him ever since you left England? that is, three years ago.


Exactly. Our occupation is robbing, cheating, and escaping from one land to another. Never was a woman so unhappy as I.


For how much is the forged bill?


For three hundred crowns. Do a generous action M. Casanova, and let bygones be bygones; deliver the poor wretch from the gallows and me from death, for if he is hanged I shall kill myself.


Indeed, madam, he may hang for me, for he did his best to send me to the gallows with his forged bills; but I confess I pity you. So much, indeed, that I invite you to come to Dresden with me the day after to-morrow, and I promise to give you three hundred crowns as soon as Schwerin has undergone the extreme penalty of the law. I can’t understand how a woman like you can have fallen in love with a man that has neither face, nor talents, nor wit, nor fortune, for all that he has to boast of is his name of Schwerin.


I confess, to my shame, that I never loved him. Ever since the other rogue, Castelbajac--who, by the way, was never married to me--made me know him, I have only lived with him by force, though his tears and his despairs have excited my compassion. If destiny had given me an honest man in his stead, I would have forsaken him long ago, for sooner or later he will be the death of me.


Where do you live?


Nowhere. I have been turned out into the street with nothing but the clothes on my back. Have compassion on me.


Indeed, if you were to give me the hundred ducats this moment, and I used them to free Schwerin, I should be no better off than before; so I accept your generous offer thankfully. I see, that either out of liking or for politeness’ sake you will ask me for those favours which I should be only too happy to grant, but if I allowed that it would be a bad return indeed for your kindness. Look at my linen, and behold in what a state that unhappy wretch has left me!


Alas! that’s what he was most afraid of. It’s all up with him. The King of Prussia will pay his debts, but he will end his days at Spandau. Why didn’t they put him there before I ever knew him?


I have relations there, who will be glad to see me, and I hope that my husband will let me return to him. I am the Prodigal Son, and I hope to find in him the forgiving father.


Who are you, madam?


My name is Blasin.


Who is this gentleman?


You had better ask him.


What are you doing at Vienna?


Taking coffee. I should have thought you could have seen that for yourselves.


If the gentleman is not your husband, you will leave the town within twenty-four hours.


The gentleman is my friend, and not my husband; and I shall leave Vienna exactly when I choose, unless you make me go away by force.


Very good. We are aware, sir, that you have a separate room, but that makes no difference.


What do you want here?


I am looking at your bed, and I can see you have not slept in it. That’s enough.


The devil! What business have you here at all, and who authorizes such disgraceful proceedings? Dress yourself, and tell the French ambassador the whole story. Tell him that you are a milliner, Blasin by name, and that all you want is to go from here to Strasburg, and from there to Montpellier.


I am quite ready to change my room,


Is the lady to sup alone?


I have received no instructions on that point.


Then I will sup with her, and I hope you will treat us well.


You shall be well served, sir.


You are mistaken. I am quite ready to pay.


I see it.


If you are at Vienna at that time to-morrow I shall have you expelled from the city.


Why do you give me such an unjust order?


In the first place, I am not here to give you accounts or reasons for my actions. However, I may tell you that you are expelled for playing at games of chance, which are forbidden by the laws under pain of the galleys. Do you recognize that purse and these cards? In fine, you will obey my order to leave the town, and you must tell me where you are going.


I will tell you that when I have made up my mind to go.


What? You dare to tell me that you will not obey?


You yourself have said that if I do not go I shall be removed by force.


Very good. I have heard you have a strong will, but here it will be of no use to you. I advise you to go quietly, and so avoid harsh measures.


I request you to return me that document.


I will not do so. Begone!


I have received my order to go, but I shall not obey. I implore your highness to give me your protection, and to help me to bring my plea to the foot of the throne.


Write out your petition, and I will see that the empress gets it. But I advise you to ask her majesty for a respite, for if you say that you won’t obey, she will be predisposed against you.


But if the royal grace does not place me in security, I shall be driven away by violence.


Then take refuge with the ambassador of your native country.


Alas, my lord, my country has forsaken me. An act of legal though unconstitutional violence has deprived me of my rights as a citizen. My name is Casanova, and my country is Venice.


It’s a pity, that you cannot claim the protection of any ambassador.


I could claim his protection, as my whole family, myself included, had served the prince his master.


That is Count Vitzthum. Write to the empress, and I will forward your petition immediately. If there is any delay in the answer, go to the count; you will be safe with him, until you like to leave Vienna.


What! shall I be obliged to leave Vienna to-morrow?


No, no, the empress cannot possibly refuse you the week’s delay.


Why not?


Oh! no one could refuse such an appeal as that. Even the prince could not help smiling as he was reading it in his cold way. After reading it he passed it on to me, and then to the Venetian ambassador, who asked him if he meant to give it to the empress as it stood.


This petition, might be sent to God, if one knew the way;


We talked of you for the rest of dinner, and I had the pleasure of hearing the Venetian ambassador say that no one could discover any reason for your imprisonment under the Leads. Your duel was also discussed, but on that point we only knew what has appeared in the newspapers. Oblige me by giving me a copy of your petition; that phrase of Schrotembach and the slipper pleased me vastly.


I have no time to lose. I shall have justice done me, my assassins will be condemned, my purse will be returned with the two hundred ducats in it, and not in the condition in which it was shewn to me by the infamous Schrotembach, who will be punished by dismissal, at least.


However. I have come to see you on a different matter.


Yes, I know, but I will have nothing to do with it. You are all as bad as Tomatis.


This is what Prince Kaunitz asked me to tell you. But you need not be afraid of any violence, and you can go when you like.


Then I am to be robbed of two hundred ducats with impunity. The empress might at least reimburse me if she does nothing more. Please to ask the prince whether I can ask the sovereign to give me that satisfaction; the least I can demand.


I will tell him what you say.


If not, I shall leave; for what can I do in a town where I can only drive, and where the Government keeps assassins in its pay?


You are right. We are all sure that Pocchini has calumniated you. The girl who recites Latin verses is well known, but none know her address. I must advise you not to publish your tale as long as you are in Vienna, as it places Schrotembach in a very bad light, and you see the empress has to support him in the exercise of his authority.


I see the force of your argument, and I shall have to devour my anger. I will leave Vienna as soon as the washerwoman sends home my linen, but I will have the story printed in all its black injustice.


The empress is prejudiced against you, I don’t know by whom.


I know, though; it is that infernal old hag, Countess Salmor.


I thought her much more amusing than Schrotembach.


No,


I see you do not remember me?


You remind me of Anna Midel,


Alas, I was Anna Midel once. I am no longer an object fit for love, but that is your fault.


Mine?


Yes; the four hundred florins you gave me made Count Fugger’s coachman marry me, and he not only abandoned me but gave me a disgusting disease, which was like to have been my death. I recovered my health, but I never shall recover my good looks.


I am very sorry to hear all this; but tell me what has become of Gertrude?


Then you don’t know that you are going to a ball at her house to-night?


Her house?


Yes. After her father’s death she married a well-to-do and respectable man, and I expect you will be pleased with the entertainment.


Is she pretty still?


She is just as she used to be, except that she is six years older and has had children.


Is she gallant?


I don’t think so.


The countess will be delivered of a child if we do not make haste.


Quick! coachman, quick!


What a diet! What plots! What counterplots! What misfortunes! Happy are they who have nothing to do with it!


MY LORD,--I hope your highness will either burn this letter after reading it, or else preserve it with the greatest care. It will be better, however, to make a copy in cypher, and to burn the original. My attachment to you is not my only motive in writing; I confess my interest is equally concerned. Allow me to say that I do not wish your highness to esteem me alone for any qualities you may have observed in me; I wish you to become my debtor by the inestimable secret I am going to confide to you. This secret relates to the making of gold, the only thing of which your highness stands in need. If you had been miserly by nature you would be rich now; but you are generous, and will be poor all your days if you do not make use of my secret. Your highness told me at Riga that you would like me to give you the secret by which I transmuted iron into copper; I never did so, but now I shall teach you how to make a much more marvellous transmutation. I should point out to you, however, that you are not at present in a suitable place for the operation, although all the materials are easily procurable. The operation necessitates my presence for the construction of a furnace, and for the great care necessary, far the least mistake will spoil all. The transmutation of Mars is an easy and merely mechanical process, but that of gold is philosophical in the highest degree. The gold produced will be equal to that used in the Venetian sequins. You must reflect, my lord, that I am giving you information which will permit you to dispense with me, and you must also reflect that I am confiding to you my life and my liberty. The step I am taking should insure your life-long protection, and should raise you above that prejudice which is entertained against the general mass of alchemists. My vanity would be wounded if you refuse to distinguish me from the common herd of operators. All I ask you is that you will wait till we meet before undertaking the process. You cannot do it by yourself, and if you employ any other person but myself, you will betray the secret. I must tell you that, using the same materials, and by the addition of mercury and nitre, I made the tree of projection for the Marchioness d’Urfe and the Princess of Anhalt. Zerbst calculated the profit as fifty per cent. My fortune would have been made long ago, if I had found a prince with the control of a mint whom I could trust. Your character enables me to confide in you. However, we will come to the point. You must take four ounces of good silver, dissolve in aqua fortis, precipitate secundum artem with copper, then wash in lukewarm water to separate the acids; dry, mix with half an ounce of sal ammoniac, and place in a suitable vessel. Afterwards you must take a pound of alum, a pound of Hungary crystals, four ounces of verdigris, four ounces of cinnabar, and two ounces of sulphur. Pulverise and mix, and place in a retort of such size that the above matters will only half fill it. This retort must be placed over a furnace with four draughts, for the heat must be raised to the fourth degree. At first your fire must be slow so as to extract the gross phlegm of the matter, and when the spirit begins to appear, place the receiver under the retort, and Luna with the ammoniac salts will appear in it. All the joinings must be luted with the Philosophical Luting, and as the spirit comes, so regulate your furnace, but do not let it pass the third degree of heat. So soon as the sublimation begins then boldly open your forth vent, but take heed that that which is sublimed pass not into the receiver where is your Luna, and so you must shut the mouth of the retort closely, and keep it so for twenty-four hours, and then take off your fastenings, and allow the distillation to go on. Then you must increase your fire so that the spirits may pass, over, until the matter in the retort is quite desiccated. After this operation has been performed three times, then you shall see the gold appear in the retort. Then draw it forth and melt it, adding your corpus perfectum. Melt with it two ounces of gold, then lay it in water, and you shall find four ounces of pure gold. Such my lord, is the gold mine for your mint of Mitau, by which, with the assistance of a manager and four men, you can assure yourself a revenue of a thousand ducats a week, and double, and quadruple that sum, if your highness chooses to increase the men and the furnaces. I ask your highness to make me your manager. But remember it must be a State secret, so burn this letter, and if your highness would give me any reward in advance, I only ask you to give me your affection and esteem. I shall be happy if I have reason to believe that my master will also be my friend. My life, which this letter places in your power, is ever at your service, and I know not what I shall do if I ever have cause to repent having disclosed my secret. I have the honour to be, etc.


Well, sir, his highness, your sovereign, has listened to reason at last, and this letter informs me of a reparation which is in every way satisfactory. The duke has created me his private secretary, with a salary of twelve hundred a year. But I have waited for it a long time. God knows what has become of the three officers!


They are all at Louisburg, and ------ is now a colonel.


Well, they will be surprised to hear my news, and they will hear it to-morrow, for I am leaving this place in an hour. If they are at Louisburg, I shall have a triumph; but I am sorry not to be able to accompany you, however we shall see each other the day after tomorrow.


What victory?


Your appearance here has filled the hearts of all your friends with joy.


Well, I certainly am in the duke’s service, but how did you find it out?


It’s the common talk. The courier who gave you the letter has spread it all abroad, and the officer who was present and arrived here yesterday morning confirmed it. But you cannot imagine the consternation of your three foes. However, we are afraid that you will have some trouble with them, as they have kept your letter of defiance given from Furstenberg.


Why didn’t they meet me, then?


Two of them could not go, and the third arrived too late.


Very good. If the duke has no objection I shall be happy to meet them one after another, not three all at once. Of course, the duel must be with pistols; a sword duel is out of the question with my arm in a sling.


We will speak of that again. My daughter wants to make peace before the duke comes, and you had better consent to arrangements, for there are three of them, and it isn’t likely that you could kill the whole three one after the other.


Your daughter must have grown into a beauty.


You must stop with us this evening; you will see her, for she is no longer the duke’s mistress. She is going to get married.


If your daughter can bring about an arrangement I would gladly fall in with it, provided it is an honourable one for me.


How is it that you are wearing the sling after all these months?


I am quite cured, and yet my arm swells as soon as I let it swing loose. You shall see it after dinner, for you must dine with me if you want me to sup with you.


Your elocution is admirable, and your expression full of spirit, but what a pity it is that you do not pronounce the dentals.


It’s a beauty, not a defect,


It makes her acting soft and delicate; other actresses envy her the privilege of what you call a defect.


Do you think I am taken in by all that?


I think you are much too sensible to believe such nonsense.


I prefer a man to say honestly, ‘what a pity,’ than to hear all that foolish flattery. But I am sorry to say that there is no remedy for the defect.


No remedy?


No.


Time is an excellent doctor,


and it has cured me of a passion which left behind it the sting of remorse.


Should only serve as a place wherein to confess our sins of the past, and to implore grace to sin no more.


May the Lord save me from repentance, the only source of which is a prejudice! I shall leave Cologne to-morrow.


I do not tell you to go.


If there is no hope, it is no place for me. May I hope?


Never.


You scoundrelly journalist.


I am the adventurer Casanova whom you slandered in your miserable sheet four months ago.


Where is this letter?


You shall have it in a moment.


I haven’t got one.


All the better. Send away your carriage.


Where shall I send it?


I will see that it is housed safely.


How much am I to pay?


Nothing; and if you are not too particular, we should like you to share our meals.


I accept your offer thankfully.


It’s not within the limits of possibility, for the niece to be uglier than they, but if they allow her to sleep thus in the same room with the first comer, she must be proof against all temptation.


Forty louis at the least.


A gentleman wants me to give him twenty louis for it, on the condition that I return it to-morrow if he brings me twenty-two.


Then I advise you to accept his offer.


I haven’t got the money.


I will lend it you with pleasure.


for, we are not rich people, and we only allow ourselves this luxury on a Sunday.


I thought trade was good with you.


The stuff is not ours, and we have debts; besides, the expenses are very great. We have sold very little up to now.


Do you only sell hats?


No, we have silk handkerchiefs, Paris stockings, and lace ruffs, but they say everything is too dear.


I will buy some things for you, and will send all my friends here. Leave it to me; I will see what I can do for you.


Mercy, fetch down one or two packets of those handkerchiefs and some stockings, large size, for the gentleman has a big leg.


We are cousins-german,


Is he rich?


Yes, in debts.


Why?


Because he is unfortunate, like most honest people.


How about his wife?


Her careful economy keeps him above water.


Do you know the niece?


Yes; she’s a good girl, but very pious. Her silly scruples keep customers away from the shop.


What do you think she should do to attract customers?


She should be more polite, and not play the prude when anyone wants to give her a kiss.


She is like that, is she?


Try her yourself and you will see. Last week she gave an officer a box on the ear. My cousin scolded her, and she wanted to go back to Liege; however, the wife soothed her again. She is pretty enough, don’t you think so?


Certainly I do, but if she is as cross-grained as you say, the best thing will be to leave her alone.


She will have to change her ways, or I will keep her no longer.


Is she the same with all men?


With all.


Then she has never been in love.


She says she has not, but I don’t believe her.


I wonder she can sleep so comfortably with a man at a few feet distant.


She is not afraid.


good night, she would go to bed.


what I wanted.


that I only wanted to wish her a good day and to have a little talk.


You must feel, that if I complied with your request the adventure would become public to the damage of my honour and your business, and your niece would not be able to pass for a devotee any longer.


It will be yours, if the owner does not bring me two hundred and twenty Louis in a week’s time.


I consent to give the sum required if the owner is ready to give me a receipt.


I will do so myself in the presence of witnesses.


Very good. You shall have the money in the course of an hour; I am going to have the stone taken out first. That will make no difference to the owner, as I shall have it reset at my own expense. If he redeems it, the twenty Louis shall be yours.


I must ask him whether he has any objection to the stone being taken out.


Very good, but you can tell him that if he will not allow it to be done he will get nothing for it. Have you weighed it?


No, but I am quite sure it weighs over six carats.


Then you can lend the money on it?


I cannot command such a sum.