To Paris And Prison: Paris

J >> Jacques Casanova de Seingalt >> To Paris And Prison: Paris


The questions she had asked from my oracle related to affairs connected
with her heart, and she wished likewise to know how she could get rid of
the blotches which disfigured her. My answers were rather obscure in such
matters as I was not specially acquainted with, but they were very clear
concerning her disease, and my oracle became precious and necessary to
her highness.

The next day, after dinner, Camille wrote me a note, as I expected,
requesting me to give up all other engagements in order to present myself
at five o'clock at the Palais-Royal, in the same room in which the
duchess had already received me the day before. I was punctual.

An elderly valet de chambre, who was waiting for me, immediately went to
give notice of my arrival, and five minutes after the charming princess
made her appearance. After addressing me in a very complimentary manner,
she drew all my answers from her pocket, and enquired whether I had any
pressing engagements.

"Your highness may be certain that I shall never have any more important
business than to attend to your wishes."

"Very well; I do not intend to go out, and we can work."

She then shewed me all the questions which she had already prepared on
different subjects, and particularly those relating to the cure of her
pimples. One circumstance had contributed to render my oracle precious to
her, because nobody could possibly know it, and I had guessed it. Had I
not done so, I daresay it would have been all the same. I had laboured
myself under the same disease, and I was enough of a physician to be
aware that to attempt the cure of a cutaneous disease by active remedies
might kill the patient.

I had already answered that she could not get rid of the pimples on her
face in less than a week, but that a year of diet would be necessary to
effect a radical cure.

We spent three hours in ascertaining what she was to do, and, believing
implicitly in the power and in the science of the oracle, she undertook
to follow faithfully everything ordered. Within one week all the ugly
pimples had entirely disappeared.

I took care to purge her slightly; I prescribed every day what she was to
eat, and forbade the use of all cosmetics; I only advised her to wash
herself morning and evening with plantain water. The modest oracle told
the princess to make use of the same water for her ablutions of every
part of her body where she desired to obtain the same result, and she
obeyed the prescription religiously.

I went to the opera on purpose on the day when the duchess shewed herself
there with a smooth and rosy shin. After the opera, she took a walk in
the great alley of the Palais-Royal, followed by the ladies of her suite
and flattered by everybody. She saw me, and honoured me with a smile. I
was truly happy. Camille, Madame de Polignac, and M. de Melfort were the
only persons who knew that I was the oracle of the duchess, and I enjoyed
my success. But the next day a few pimples reappeared on her beautiful
complexion, and I received an order to repair at once to the
Palais-Royal.

The valet, who did not know me, shewed me into a delightful boudoir near
a closet in which there was a bath. The duchess came in; she looked sad,
for she had several small pimples on the forehead and the chin. She held
in her hand a question for the oracle, and as it was only a short one I
thought it would give her the pleasure of finding the answer by herself.
The numbers translated by the princess reproached her with having
transgressed the regimen prescribed; she confessed to having drunk some
liquors and eaten some ham; but she was astounded at having found that
answer herself, and she could not understand how such an answer could
result from an agglomeration of numbers. At that moment, one of her women
came in to whisper a few words to her; she told her to wait outside, and
turning towards me, she said,

"Have you any objection to seeing one of your friends who is as delicate
as discreet?"

With these words, she hastily concealed in her pocket all the papers
which did not relate to her disease; then she called out.

A man entered the room, whom I took for a stableboy; it was M. de
Melfort.

"See," said the princess to him, "M. Casanova has taught me the
cabalistic science."

And she shewed him the answer she had obtained herself. The count could
not believe it.

"Well," said the duchess to me, "we must convince him. What shall I ask?"

"Anything your highness chooses."

She considered for one instant, and, drawing from her pocket a small
ivory box, she wrote, "Tell me why this pomatum has no longer any effect."

She formed the pyramid, the columns, and the key, as I had taught her,
and as she was ready to get the answer, I told her how to make the
additions and subtractions which seem to come from the numbers, but which
in reality are only arbitrary; then I told her to interpret the numbers
in letters, and I left the room under some pretext. I came back when I
thought that she had completed her translation, and I found her wrapped
in amazement.

"Ah, sir!" she exclaimed, "what an answer!"

"Perhaps it is not the right one; but that will sometimes happen, madam."

"Not the right one, sir? It is divine! Here it is: That pomatum has no
effect upon the skin of a woman who has been a mother."

"I do not see anything extraordinary in that answer, madam."

"Very likely, sir, but it is because you do not know that the pomatum in
question was given to me five years ago by the Abbe de Brosses; it cured
me at that time, but it was ten months before the birth of the Duke de
Montpensier. I would give anything in the world to be thoroughly
acquainted with that sublime cabalistic science."

"What!" said the count, "is it the pomatum the history of which I know?"

"Precisely."

"It is astonishing."

"I wish to ask one more question concerning a woman the name of whom I
would rather not give."

"Say the woman whom I have in my thoughts."

She then asked this question: "What disease is that woman suffering
from?" She made the calculation, and the answer which I made her bring
forth was this: "She wants to deceive her husband." This time the duchess
fairly screamed with astonishment.

It was getting very late, and I was preparing to take leave, when M. de
Melfort, who was speaking to her highness, told me that we might go
together. When we were out, he told me that the cabalistic answer
concerning the pomatum was truly wonderful. This was the history of it:

"The duchess, pretty as you see her now, had her face so fearfully
covered with pimples that the duke, thoroughly disgusted, had not the
courage to come near her to enjoy his rights as a husband, and the poor
princess was pining with useless longing to become a mother. The Abbe de
Brosses cured her with that pomatum, and her beautiful face having
entirely recovered it original bloom she made her appearance at the
Theatre Francais, in the queen's box. The Duke de Chartres, not knowing
that his wife had gone to the theatre, where she went but very seldom,
was in the king's box. He did not recognize the duchess, but thinking her
very handsome he enquired who she was, and when he was told he would not
believe it; he left the royal box, went to his wife, complimented her,
and announced his visit for the very same night. The result of that visit
was, nine months afterwards, the birth of the Duke of Montpensier, who is
now five years old and enjoys excellent health. During the whole of her
pregnancy the duchess kept her face smooth and blooming, but immediately
after her delivery the pimples reappeared, and the pomatum remained
without any effect."

As he concluded his explanation, the count offered me a tortoise-shell
box with a very good likeness of her royal highness, and said,

"The duchess begs your acceptance of this portrait, and, in case you
would like to have it set she wishes you to make use of this for that
purpose."

It was a purse of one hundred Louis. I accepted both, and entreated the
count to offer the expressions of my profound gratitude to her highness.
I never had the portrait mounted, for I was then in want of money for
some other purpose.

After that, the duchess did me the honour of sending for me several
times; but her cure remained altogether out of the question; she could
not make up her mind to follow a regular diet. She would sometimes keep
me at work for five or six hours, now in one corner, now in another,
going in and out herself all the time, and having either dinner or supper
brought to me by the old valet, who never uttered a word.

Her questions to the oracle alluded only to secret affairs which she was
curious to know, and she often found truths with which I was not myself
acquainted, through the answers. She wished me to teach her the
cabalistic science, but she never pressed her wish upon me. She, however,
commissioned M. de Melfort to tell me that, if I would teach her, she
would get me an appointment with an income of twenty-five thousand
francs. Alas! it was impossible! I was madly in love with her, but I
would not for the world have allowed her to guess my feelings. My pride
was the corrective of my love. I was afraid of her haughtiness
humiliating me, and perhaps I was wrong. All I know is that I even now
repent of having listened to a foolish pride. It is true that I enjoyed
certain privileges which she might have refused me if she had known my
love.

One day she wished my oracle to tell her whether it was possible to cure
a cancer which Madame de la Popeliniere had in the breast; I took it in
my head to answer that the lady alluded to had no cancer, and was
enjoying excellent health.

"How is that?" said the duchess; "everyone in Paris believes her to be
suffering from a cancer, and she has consultation upon consultation. Yet
I have faith in the oracle."

Soon afterwards, seeing the Duke de Richelieu at the court, she told him
she was certain that Madame de la Popeliniere was not ill. The marshal,
who knew the secret, told her that she was mistaken; but she proposed a
wager of a hundred thousand francs. I trembled when the duchess related
the conversation to me.

"Has he accepted your wages?" I enquired, anxiously.

"No; he seemed surprised; you are aware that he ought to know the truth."

Three or four days after that conversation, the duchess told me
triumphantly that M. de Richelieu had confessed to her that the cancer
was only a ruse to excite the pity of her husband, with whom Madame de la
Popeliniere wanted to live again on good terms; she added that the
marshal had expressed his willingness to pay one thousand Louis to know
how she had discovered the truth.

"If you wish to earn that sum," said the duchess to me, "I will tell him
all about it."

But I was afraid of a snare; I knew the temper of the marshal, and the
story of the hole in the wall through which he introduced himself into
that lady's apartment, was the talk of all Paris. M. de la Popeliniere
himself had made the adventure more public by refusing to live with his
wife, to whom he paid an income of twelve thousand francs.

The Duchess de Chartres had written some charming poetry on that amusing
affair; but out of her own coterie no one knew it except the king, who
was fond of the princess, although she was in the habit of scoffing at
him. One day, for instance, she asked him whether it was true that the
king of Prussia was expected in Paris. Louis XV. having answered that it
was an idle rumour,

"I am very sorry," she said, "for I am longing to see a king."

My brother had completed several pictures and having decided on
presenting one to M. de Marigny, we repaired one morning to the apartment
of that nobleman, who lived in the Louvre, where all the artists were in
the habit of paying their court to him. We were shewn into a hall
adjoining his private apartment, and having arrived early we waited for
M. de Marigny. My brother's picture was exposed there; it was a battle
piece in the style of Bourguignon.

The first person who passed through the room stopped before the picture,
examined it attentively, and moved on, evidently thinking that it was a
poor painting; a moment afterwards two more persons came in, looked at
the picture, smiled, and said,

"That's the work of a beginner."

I glanced at my brother, who was seated near me; he was in a fever. In
less than a quarter of an hour the room was full of people, and the
unfortunate picture was the butt of everybody's laughter. My poor brother
felt almost dying, and thanked his stars that no one knew him personally.

The state of his mind was such that I heartily pitied him; I rose with
the intention of going to some other room, and to console him I told him
that M. de Marigny would soon come, and that his approbation of the
picture would avenge him for the insults of the crowd. Fortunately, this
was not my brother's opinion; we left the room hurriedly, took a coach,
went home, and sent our servant to fetch back the painting. As soon as it
had been brought back my brother made a battle of it in real earnest, for
he cut it up with a sword into twenty pieces. He made up his mind to
settle his affairs in Paris immediately, and to go somewhere else to
study an art which he loved to idolatry; we resolved on going to Dresden
together.

Two or three days before leaving the delightful city of Paris I dined
alone at the house of the gate-keeper of the Tuileries; his name was
Conde. After dinner his wife, a rather pretty woman, presented me the
bill, on which every item was reckoned at double its value. I pointed it
out to her, but she answered very curtly that she could not abate one
sou. I paid, and as the bill was receipted with the words 'femme Conde',
I took the pen and to the word 'Conde' I added 'labre', and I went away
leaving the bill on the table.

I was taking a walk in the Tuileries, not thinking any more of my female
extortioner, when a small man, with his hat cocked on one side of his
head and a large nosegay in his button-hole, and sporting a long sword,
swaggered up to me and informed me, without any further explanation, that
he had a fancy to cut my throat.

"But, my small specimen of humanity," I said, "you would require to jump
on a chair to reach my throat. I will cut your ears."

"Sacre bleu, monsieur!"

"No vulgar passion, my dear sir; follow me; you shall soon be satisfied."

I walked rapidly towards the Porte de l'Etoile, where, seeing that the
place was deserted, I abruptly asked the fellow what he wanted, and why
he had attacked me.

"I am the Chevalier de Talvis," he answered. "You have insulted an honest
woman who is under my protection; unsheath!"

With these words he drew his long sword; I unsheathed mine; after a
minute or two I lunged rapidly, and wounded him in the breast. He jumped
backward, exclaiming that I had wounded him treacherously.

"You lie, you rascally mannikin! acknowledge it, or I thrust my sword
through your miserable body."

"You will not do it, for I am wounded; but I insist upon having my
revenge, and we will leave the decision of this to competent judges."

"Miserable wrangler, wretched fighter, if you are not satisfied, I will
cut off your ears!"

I left him there, satisfied that I had acted according to the laws of the
duello, for he had drawn his sword before me, and if he had not been
skilful enough to cover himself in good time, it was not, of course, my
business to teach him. Towards the middle of August I left Paris with my
brother. I had made a stay of two years in that city, the best in the
world. I had enjoyed myself greatly, and had met with no unpleasantness
except that I had been now and then short of money. We went through Metz,
Mayence, and Frankfort, and arrived in Dresden at the end of the same
month. My mother offered us the most affectionate welcome, and was
delighted to see us again. My brother remained four years in that
pleasant city, constantly engaged in the study of his art, and copying
all the fine paintings of battles by the great masters in the celebrated
Electoral Gallery.

He went back to Paris only when he felt certain that he could set
criticism at defiance; I shall say hereafter how it was that we both
reached that city about the same time. But before that period, dear,
reader, you will see what good and adverse fortune did for or against me.

My life in Dresden until the end of the carnival in 1753 does not offer
any extraordinary adventure. To please the actors, and especially my
mother, I wrote a kind of melodrama, in which I brought out two
harlequins. It was a parody of the 'Freres Ennemis', by Racine. The king
was highly amused at the comic fancies which filled my play, and he made
me a beautiful present. The king was grand and generous, and these
qualities found a ready echo in the breast of the famous Count de Bruhl.
I left Dresden soon after that, bidding adieu to my mother, to my brother
Francois, and to my sister, then the wife of Pierre Auguste, chief player
of the harpsichord at the Court, who died two years ago, leaving his
widow and family in comfortable circumstances.

My stay in Dresden was marked by an amorous souvenir of which I got rid,
as in previous similar circumstances, by a diet of six weeks. I have
often remarked that the greatest part of my life was spent in trying to
make myself ill, and when I had succeeded, in trying to recover my
health. I have met with equal success in both things; and now that I
enjoy excellent health in that line, I am very sorry to be physically
unable to make myself ill again; but age, that cruel and unavoidable
disease, compels me to be in good health in spite of myself. The illness
I allude to, which the Italians call 'mal francais', although we might
claim the honour of its first importation, does not shorten life, but it
leaves indelible marks on the face. Those scars, less honourable perhaps
than those which are won in the service of Mars, being obtained through
pleasure, ought not to leave any regret behind.

In Dresden I had frequent opportunities of seeing the king, who was very
fond of the Count de Bruhl, his minister, because that favourite
possessed the double secret of shewing himself more extravagant even than
his master, and of indulging all his whims.

Never was a monarch a greater enemy to economy; he laughed heartily when
he was plundered and he spent a great deal in order to have occasion to
laugh often. As he had not sufficient wit to amuse himself with the
follies of other kings and with the absurdities of humankind, he kept
four buffoons, who are called fools in Germany, although these degraded
beings are generally more witty than their masters. The province of those
jesters is to make their owner laugh by all sorts of jokes which are
usually nothing but disgusting tricks, or low, impertinent jests.

Yet these professional buffoons sometimes captivate the mind of their
master to such an extent that they obtain from him very important favours
in behalf of the persons they protect, and the consequence is that they
are often courted by the highest families. Where is the man who will not
debase himself if he be in want? Does not Agamemnon say, in Homer, that
in such a case man must necessarily be guilty of meanness? And Agamemnon
and Homer lived long before our time! It evidently proves that men are at
all times moved by the same motive-namely, self-interest.

It is wrong to say that the Count de Bruhl was the ruin of Saxony, for he
was only the faithful minister of his royal master's inclinations. His
children are poor, and justify their father's conduct.

The court at Dresden was at that time the most brilliant in Europe; the
fine arts flourished, but there was no gallantry, for King Augustus had
no inclination for the fair sex, and the Saxons were not of a nature to
be thus inclined unless the example was set by their sovereign.

At my arrival in Prague, where I did not intend to stop, I delivered a
letter I had for Locatelli, manager of the opera, and went to pay a visit
to Madame Morelli, an old acquaintance, for whom I had great affection,
and for two or three days she supplied all the wants of my heart.

As I was on the point of leaving Prague, I met in the street my friend
Fabris, who had become a colonel, and he insisted upon my dining with
him. After 'embracing him, I represented to him, but in vain, that I had
made all my arrangements to go away immediately.

"You will go this evening," he said, "with a friend of mine, and you will
catch the coach."

I had to give way, and I was delighted to have done so, for the remainder
of the day passed in the most agreeable manner. Fabris was longing for
war, and his wishes were gratified two years afterwards; he covered
himself with glory.

I must say one word about Locatelli, who was an original character well
worthy to be known. He took his meals every day at a table laid out for
thirty persons, and the guests were his actors, actresses, dancers of
both sexes, and a few friends. He did the honours of his well-supplied
board nobly, and his real passion was good living. I shall have occasion
to mention him again at the time of my journey to St. Petersburg, where I
met him, and where he died only lately at the age of ninety.