 Chapter 15 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 2. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 2, Paris and Prison by Jacques Casanova, translated by Arthur Machin, Episode 7, Venice, Chapter 15. Croce is expelled from Venice, Sugombro, his infamy and death, misfortune which befalls my dear C.C. I receive an anonymous letter from a nun and answer it, an amorous intrigue. My former partner was, as I have said before, a skillful and experienced hand at securing the favors of fortune. He was driving a good trade in Venice, and as he was amiable, and what is called in society a gentleman, he might have held that excellent footing for a long time if he had been satisfied with gambling, for the state inquisitors would have too much to attend to if they wished to compel fools to spare their fortunes, dupes to be prudent, and cheats not to dupe the fools. But whether through the folly of youth, or through a vicious disposition, the cause of his exile was of an extraordinary and disgusting nature. A Venetian nobleman, noble by birth, but very innomal, in his propensities, called Sugombro, and belonging to the Greedy family, fell deeply in love with him, and Croce, either for fun or from taste, showed himself very compliant. Unfortunately the reserve commanded by common decency was not a guest at their amorous feats, and the scandal became so notorious that the government was compelled to notify to Croce the order to quit the city and to seek his fortune in some other place. Some time afterwards the infamous Sugombro seduced his own two sons, who were both very young and, unfortunately for him, he put the youngest in such a state as to render necessary an application to a surgeon. The infamous deed became publicly known, and the poor child confessed that he had not had the courage to refuse obedience to his father. Such obedience was, as a matter of course, not considered as forming a part of the duties which his son owes to his father, and the state inquisitors sent the disgusting wretch to the citadel of Cattaro, where he died after one year of confinement. It is well known that the heir of Cattaro is deadly, and that the tribunal sentences to inhale it only such criminals as are not judged publicly for fear of exciting too deeply the general horror by the publication of the trial. It was to Cattaro that the Council of Ten sent, fifteen years ago, the celebrated advocate Cantorini, a Venetian nobleman who by his eloquence had made himself Master of the Great Council, and was on the point of changing the constitution of the state. He died there at the end of the year. As for his accomplices, the tribunal thought that it was enough to punish the four or five leaders, and to pretend not to know the others, who through fear of punishment returned silently to their allegiance. That Sagombro, of whom I spoke before, had a charming wife who was still alive, I believe. Her name was Cornelia Giddy. She was as celebrated by her wit as by her beauty, which she kept in spite of her years. Having recovered her liberty through the death of her husband, she knew better than to make herself a second time the prisoner of the Hymenian God. She loved her independence too much, but as she loved pleasure too she accepted the homage of the lovers who pleased her taste. One Monday, towards the end of July, my servant woke me at daybreak to tell me that Laura wished to speak to me. I foresaw some misfortune and ordered the servant to show her in immediately. These are the contents of the letter which she handed to me. My dearest, a misfortune has befallen me last evening and it makes me very miserable because I must keep it a secret from everyone in the convent. I am suffering from a very severe loss of blood and I do not know what to do. Having but very little linen. Laura tells me I shall require a great deal of it if the flow of blood continues. I can take no one into my confidence but you, and I entreat you to send me as much linen as you can. You see that I have been compelled to make a confidant of Laura, who is the only person allowed to enter my room at all times. If I should die, my dear husband, everybody in the convent would, of course, know the cause of my death. But I think of you and I shudder. What will you do in your grief? Ah, darling, love! What a pity! I dressed myself hurriedly, plying Laura with questions all the time. She told me plainly that it was a miscarriage and that it was necessary to act with great discretion in order to save the reputation of my young friend. That after all she required nothing but plenty of linen and that it would be nothing. Commonplace words of consolation, which did not allay the fearful anxiety under which I was laboring. I went out with Laura, called on a Jew from whom I bought a quantity of sheets and two hundred napkins, and putting it all in a large bag I repaired with her to Murn. On our way there I wrote in pencil to my sweetheart, telling her to have entire confidence in Laura, and assuring her that I would not leave Murn until all danger had passed. Before we landed Laura told me that in order not to be remarked I had better conceal myself in her house. At any other time it would have been shutting up the wolf in the sheep-fold. She left me in a miserable-looking small room on the ground floor, and concealing about herself as much linen as she could, she hurried to her patient, whom she had not seen since the previous evening. I was in hopes that she would find her out of danger, and I longed to see her come back with that good news. She was absent about one hour, and when she returned her looks were sad. She told me that my poor friend, having lost a great deal of blood during the night, was in bed in a very weak state, and that all we could do was to pray to God for her, because if the flooding of the blood did not stop soon she could not possibly live twenty-four hours. When I saw the linen which she had concealed under her clothes to bring it out, I could not disguise my horror, and I thought the sight would kill me. I fancied myself in a slaughter-house. Laura, thinking of consoling me, told me that I could rely upon the secret being well kept. Ah, what do I care, I exclaimed, provided she lives, let the whole world know that she is my wife. At any other time the foolishness of poor Laura would have made me laugh, but in such a sad moment I had neither the inclination nor the courage to be merry. Our dear patient added, Laura, smiled as she was reading your letter, and she said that, with you so near her, she was certain not to die. Those words did me good, but a man needs so little to console him or to soothe his grief. When the nuns are at their dinner, said Laura, I will go back to the convent with as much linen as I can conceal about me, and in the meantime I am going to wash all this. Has she had any visitors? Oh, yes, all the convent, but no one has any suspicion of the truth. But in such hot weather as this she can have only a very light blanket over her, and her visitors must remark the great bulk of the napkins. There is no fear of that, because she is sitting up in her bed. What does she eat? Nothing, for she must not eat. Soon afterwards Laura went out, and I followed her. I called upon a physician where I wasted my time and my money in order to get from him a long prescription, which was useless, for it would have put all the convent in possession of the secret, or to speak more truly. Her secret would have been known to the whole world, for a secret known to a nun soon escapes out of the convent's walls. Besides, the physician of the convent himself would most likely have betrayed it through a spirit of revenge. I returned sadly to my miserable whole in Laura's house. Half an hour afterwards she came to me crying bitterly, and she placed in my hands this letter, which was scarcely legible. I have not strength enough to write to you, my darling. I am getting weaker and weaker. I am losing all my blood, and I am afraid there is no remedy. I abandoned myself to the will of God, and I thank him for having saved me from dishonor. Do not make yourself unhappy. My only consolation is to know that you are near me. Alas, if I could see you, but for one moment I would die happy. The sight of a dozen napkins brought by Laura made me shudder, and the good woman imagined that she afforded me some consolation by telling me that as much linen could be soaked with a bottle of blood. My mind was not disposed to taste such consolation. I was in despair, and I addressed to myself the fiercest reproaches, upbraiding myself as the cause of the death of that adorable creature. I threw myself on the bed, and remained there almost stunned for more than six hours, until Laura's return from the convent with twenty napkins entirely soaked. Night had come on, and she could not go back to her patient until morning. I passed a fearful night without food, without sleep, looking upon myself with horror, and refusing all the kind attentions that Laura's daughters tried to show me. It was barely daylight when Laura came to announce to me in the saddest tone that my poor friend did not bleed any more. I thought she was dead, and I screamed loudly, oh, she is no more. She is still breathing, sir, but I fear she will not outlive this day, for she is worn out. She can hardly open her eyes, and her pulse is scarcely to be felt. A weight was taken off me. I was instinctively certain that my darling was saved. Laura, I said, this is not bad news. Provided the flooding has ceased entirely, all that is necessary is to give her some light food. A physician has been sent for. He will prescribe whatever is right, but to tell you the truth I have not much hope. Only give me the assurance that she is still alive. Yes, she is, I assure you, but you understand very well that she will not tell the truth to the doctor, and God knows what he will order. I whispered to her not to take anything, and she understood me. You are the best of women. Yes, if she does not die from weakness before tomorrow she is saved, nature and love will have been her doctors. May God hear you. I shall be back by twelve. Why not before? Because her room will be full of people. Feeling the need of hope, and almost dead for want of food, I ordered some dinner and prepared a long letter for my beloved mistress, to be delivered to her when she was well enough to read it. The instants given to repentance are very sad, and I was truly a fit subject for pity. I longed to see Laura again so as to hear what the doctor had said. I had very good cause for laughing at all sorts of oracles, yet through some unaccountable weakness I longed for that of the doctor. I wanted, before all, to find it a propitious one. Laura's young daughters waited upon me at dinner. I could not manage to swallow mouthful, but it amused me to see the three sisters devour my dinner at the first invitation I gave them. The eldest sister, a very fine girl, never raised her large eyes once towards me. The two younger ones seemed to me disposed to be amiable, but if I looked at them it was only to feed my despair and the cruel pangs of repentance. At last, Laura, whom I expected anxiously, came back. She told me that the dear patient remained in the same state of debility. The doctor had been greatly puzzled by her extreme weakness because he did not know to what cause to attribute it. Laura added, He has ordered some restoratives and a small quantity of light broth. If she can sleep, he answers for her life. He has likewise desired her to have someone to watch her at night, and she immediately pointed her finger at me, as if she wished me to undertake that office. Now I promise you never to leave her either night or day, excepting to bring you news. I thanked her, assuring her that I would reward her generously. I heard with great pleasure that her mother had paid her a visit and that she had no suspicion of the real state of things, for she had lavished on her the most tender caresses. Feeling more at ease I gave six sequins to Laura, one to each of her daughters, and ate something for my supper. I then laid myself down on one of the wretched beds in the room. As soon as the two younger sisters saw me in bed they undressed themselves without ceremony and took possession of the second bed, which was close by mine. Their innocent confidence pleased me. The elder sister, who most likely had more practical experience, retired to the adjoining room. She had a lover to whom she was soon to be married. This time, however, I was not possessed with the evil spirit of concupiscence, and I allowed innocents to sleep peacefully without attempting anything against it. Early the next morning Laura was the bearer of good news. She came in with a cheerful air to announce that the beloved patient had slept well, and that she was going back soon to give her some soup. I felt an almost maddening joy in listening to her, and I thought the oracle of Escalapius a thousand times more reliable than that of Apollo. But it was not yet time to exalt in our victory, for my poor little friend had to recover her strength and to make up for all the blood she had lost. That could be done only by time in careful nursing. I remained another week at Laura's house, which I left only after my dear C.C. had requested me to do so in a letter of four pages. Laura, when I left, wept for joy in seeing herself rewarded by the gift of all the fine linen I had brought for my C.C., and her daughters were weeping likewise. Most probably because, during the ten days I had spent near them, they had not obtained a single kiss from me. After my return to Venice I resumed my usual habits, but with a nature like mine how could I possibly remain satisfied without positive love. My only pleasure was to receive a letter from my dear Recluse every Wednesday who advised me to wait patiently rather than to attempt carrying her off. Laura asserted me that she had become more lovely than ever, and I longed to see her. An opportunity of gratifying my wishes soon offered itself, and I did not allow it to escape. There was to be a taking of the veil, a ceremony which always attracts a large number of persons. On those occasions the nuns always received a great many visitors, and I thought that the boarders were likely to be in the partiler on such an occasion. I ran no risk of being remarked any more than any other person, for I would mingle with the crowd. I therefore went without saying anything about it to Laura, and without acquainting my dear little wife of my intentions. I thought I would fall, so great was my emotion when I saw her within four yards of me, and looking at me as if she had been in an ecstatic state. I thought her taller and more womanly, and she certainly seemed to me more beautiful than before. I saw no one but her. She never took her eyes off me, and I was the last to leave that place which on that day struck me as being the temple of happiness. Three days afterwards I received a letter from her. She painted with such vivid colors the happiness she had felt in seeing me, that I made up my mind to give her that pleasure as often as I could. I answered at once that I would attend Mass every Sunday at the church of her convent. It cost me nothing. I could not see her, but I knew that she saw me herself, and her happiness made me perfectly happy. I had nothing to fear, for it was almost impossible that anyone could recognize me in the church which was attended only by the people of Murrin. After hearing two or three Masses I used to take a gondola, the gondolier of which could not feel any curiosity about me. Yet I kept on my guard, for I knew that the father of C.C. wanted her to forget me, and I had no doubt he would have taken her away. God knew where, if he had had, the slightest suspicion of my being acquainted with the place where he had confined her. Thus I was reasoning in my fear to lose all opportunity of corresponding with my dear C.C. but I did not yet know the disposition and the shrewdness of the sainted daughters of the Lord. I did not suppose that there was anything remarkable in my person, at least for the inmates of a convent, but I was yet a novice respecting the curiosity of women, and particularly of unoccupied hearts. I had soon occasioned to be convinced. I had executed my Sunday maneuvering only for a month or five weeks when my dear C.C. wrote me jestingly that I had become a living enigma for all the convent, borders, and nuns. Not even accepting the old ones. They all expected me anxiously. They warned each other of my arrival, and watched me taking the holy water. They remarked that I never cast a glance toward the grading behind which were all the inmates of the convent, that I never looked at any of the women coming in or going out of the church. The old nun said that I was certainly laboring under some deep sorrow of which I had no hope to be cured except through the protection of the holy virgin, and the young ones asserted that I was either melancholy or misanthropic. My dear wife, who knew better than the others, and had no occasion to lose herself in suppositions, was much amused, and she entertained me by sending me a faithful report of it all. I wrote to her that if she had any fear of my being recognized I would cease my Sunday visits to the church. She answered that I could not impose upon her a more cruel privation, and she entreated me to continue my visits. I thought it would be prudent, however, to abstain from calling at Laura's house, for fear of the chattering nuns contriving to know it, and discovering in that manner a great deal more than I wished them to find out. But that existence was literally consuming me by slow degrees and could not last long. Besides I was made to have a mistress, and to live happily with her. Not knowing what to do with myself I would gamble and I almost invariably won, but in spite of that weiriness had got hold of me and I was getting thinner every day. With the five thousand sequins which my partner Crocha had won for me in Padua I had followed Monsieur Bragedan's advice. I had hired a casino where I held a ferro bank in partnership with a matador who secured me against the frauds of certain noblemen, tyrants with whom a private citizen is always sure to be in the wrong in my dear country. On all Saints' Day, in the year 1753, just as, after hearing mass, I was going to step into a gondola to return to Venice, I saw a woman, somewhat in Laura's style, who, passing near me, looked at me and dropped a letter. I picked it up, and the woman seeing me in possession of the epistle quietly went on. The letter had no address, and the seal represented a running knot. I stepped hurriedly into the gondola, and as soon as we were in the offing I broke the seal. I read the following words. A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A pamphlet which you have lost and which chance has thrown into her hands makes her believe that you speak French, but if you like it better you can answer an Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlor of the convent, because before you place yourself under the necessity of speaking to her, she wishes you to see her, and for that purpose she will name a lady whom you can accompany to the parlor. That lady shall not know you and need not therefore introduce you, in case you should not wish to be known. Should you not approve of that way to become acquainted, even none will appoint a certain casino in Murrin, in which you will find her alone in the evening any night you may choose. You will then be at liberty either to sup with her, or to retire after an interview of a quarter of an hour, if you have any other engagements. Would you rather offer her a supper in Venice, name the night, the hour, the place of appointment, and you will see her come out of a gondola, only be careful to be there alone, masked, and with a lantern. I feel certain that you will answer me, and that you will guess how impatiently I am waiting for your letter. I entreat you, therefore, to give it to-morrow to the same woman through whom you will receive mine. You will find her one hour before noon in a church of St. Cansian, near the first altar on the right. Recollect that if I did not suppose you endowed with a noble soul and a high mind I could never have resolved on taking a step which might give you an unfavorable opinion of my character. The tone of that letter which I have copied word by word surprised me even more than the offer it contained. I had business to attend to, but I gave up all engagements to lock myself in my room in order to answer it. Such an application betokened an extravagant mind, but there was in it a certain dignity, a singularity which attracted me. I had an idea that the writer might be the same nun who taught French to C.C. She had represented her friend in her letters as handsome, rich, gallant, and generous. My dear wife had perhaps been guilty of some indiscretion. A thousand fancies whirled through my brain, but I would entertain only those which were favorable to a scheme highly pleasing to me. Besides, my young friend had informed me that the nun who had given her French lessons was not the only one in the convent who spoke that language. I had no reason to suppose that if C.C. had made a confidant of her friend, she would have made a mystery of it to me. But for all that, the nun who had written to me might be the beautiful friend of my dear little wife, and she might also turn out to be a different person. I felt somewhat puzzled. Here is, however, the letter which I thought I could write without implicating myself. I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the clearness and the precision of which you give me the example and yours. The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance, considering all the circumstances. As I must answer without knowing the person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that unless I should possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my honor requires that I should keep on my guard. If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with feeling as noble as her own, she will find I trust that I could not answer in any other way than I am now doing. If you have judged me worthy, madam, of the honor which you do me by offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been formed only from my personal appearance, I feel at my duty to obey you, even if the result be to un-deceive you by proving that I had unwittingly led you into a mistaken appreciation of my person. Of the three proposals which you so kindly made in your letter, I dare not accept any but the first, with the restriction suggested by your penetrating mind. I will accompany to the parlor of your convent a lady who shall not know who I am, and consequently shall have no occasion to introduce me. Do not judge too severely, madam, the specious reasons which compel me not to give you my name, and receive my word of honor that I shall learn yours only to render you homage. If you choose to speak to me, I will answer with the most profound respect. Permit me to hope that you will come to the parlor alone. I may mention that I am a Venetian and perfectly free. The only reason which prevents me from choosing one of the two other arrangements proposed by you, either of which would have suited me better because they greatly honor me, is, allow me to repeat it, a fear of being the victim of a misification. But these modes of meeting will not be lost when you know me and when I have seen you. I entreat you to have faith in my honor and to measure my patience by your own. Tomorrow at the same place and at the same hour I shall be anxiously expecting your answer. I went to the place appointed, and having met the female Mercury, I gave her my letter with a sequin, and I told her that I would come the next day for the answer. We were both punctual. As soon as she saw me, she handed me back the sequin which I had given her the day before, and a letter requesting me to read it and to let her know whether she was to wait for an answer. Here is the exact copy of the letter. I believe, sir, that I have not been mistaken in anything. Like you I detest untruth when it can lead to important consequences, but I think it a mere trifle when it can do no injury to anyone. Of my three proposals you have chosen the one which does the greatest honor to your intelligence, and respecting the reasons which induce you to keep your incognito, I have written the enclose to the countess of S, which I request you to read. Be kind enough to seal it before delivery of it to her. You may call upon her whenever convenient to yourself. She will name her own hour, and you will accompany her here in her gondola. The countess will not ask you any questions, and you need not give her any explanation. There will be no presentation, but as you will be made acquainted with my name you can afterwards call on me here, whenever you please, and by using the name of the countess. In that way we shall become acquainted without the necessity of disturbing you, or of your losing at night some hours which may be precious to you. I have instructed my servant to wait for your answer in case you should be known to the countess and object to her. If you approve of the choice I have made of her, tell the messenger that there is no answer. As I was an entire stranger to the countess I told the woman that I had no answer to give, and she left me. Here are the contents of the note addressed by the nun to the countess and which I had to deliver to her. I beg of you, my dear friend, to pay me a visit when you are at leisure, and to let the masked gentleman, bearer of this note, know the hour, so that he can accompany you. He will be punctual. Farewell. You will much oblige your friend. That letter seemed to me informed by a sublime spirit of intrigue. I was in it an appearance of dignity which captivated me, although I felt conscious that I was playing the character of a man on whom a favour seemed to be bestowed. In her last letter my nun, pretending not to be anxious to know who I was, approved of my choice and feigned indifference for nocturnal meetings. But she seemed certain that after seeing her I would visit her. I knew very well what to think of it all, for the intrigue was sure to have an amorous issue. Nevertheless her assurance, or rather confidence, increased my curiosity, and I felt that she had every reason to hope if she were young and handsome. I might very well have delayed the affair for a few days and have learned from C.C. who that nun could be. But besides the baseness of such a proceeding I was afraid of spoiling the game and repenting it afterwards. I was told to call on the countess at my convenience, but it was because the dignity of my nun would not allow her to show herself too impatient, and she certainly thought that I would myself hasten the adventure. She seemed to me too deeply learned in gallantry to admit the possibility of her being an inexperienced novice, and I was afraid of wasting my time. But I made up my mind to laugh at my own expense if I happened to meet a superannuated female. It is very certain that if I had not been actuated by curiosity I should not have gone one step further. But I wanted to see the countenance of a nun who had offered to come to Venice to sup with me. Besides I was much surprised that the liberty enjoyed by those sainted virgins and at the facility with which they could escape out of their walls. At three o'clock I presented myself before the countess and delivered the note, and she expressed a wish to see me the next day at the same hour. We dropped a beautiful reverence to one another and parted. She was a superior woman, already going down the hill but still very handsome. The next morning, being Sunday, I need not say that I took care to attend Mass at the convent, elegantly dressed and already unfaithful, at least an idea, to my dear C.C., for I was thinking of being seen by the nun, young or old, rather than of showing myself to my charming wife. In the afternoon I masked myself again and at the appointed time I repaired to the house of the countess who was waiting for me. We went in a two-ord gondola and reached the convent without having spoken of anything but the weather. When we arrived at the gate the countess asked for M.M. I was surprised by that name, for the woman to whom it belonged was celebrated. We were shown into a small parlor and a few minutes afterwards a nun came in, went straight to the grading, touched a spring, and made four squares of the grading revolve, which left an opening sufficiently large to enable the two friends to embrace. The ingenious window was afterwards carefully closed. The opening was at least eighteen inches wide, and a man of my size could easily have got through it. The countess sat opposite the nun and I took my seat a little on one side so as to be able to observe quietly and, at my ease, one of the most beautiful women that it was possible to see. I had no doubt whatever of her being the person mentioned by my dear C.C. as teaching her French. Admiration kept me in a sort of ecstasy and I never heard one word of their conversation. The beautiful nun, far from speaking to me, did not even condescend to honour me with one look. She was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, and the shape of her face was most beautiful. Her figure was much above the ordinary height. Her complexion rather pale, her appearance noble, full of energy, but at the same time reserved and modest. Her eyes were large and full, were of a lovely blue. Her countenance was soft and cheerful. Her fine lips seemed to breathe the most heavenly voluptuousness, and her teeth were two rows of the most brilliant enamel. Her headdress did not allow me to see her hair, but if she had any I knew by the colour of her eyebrows that it was of a beautiful light brown. Her hand and her arm, which I could see as far as the elbow, were magnificent. The chisel of Prax-Italy's never carved anything more gracefully rounded and plump. I was not sorry to have refused the two rendezvous which had been offered to me by the beauty, for I was sure of possessing her in a few days, and it was a pleasure for me to lay my desires at her feet. I longed to find myself alone with her near that grating, and I would have considered it an insult to her, if the very next day I had not come to tell her how fully I rendered to her charms the justice they deserved. She was faithful to her determination not to look at me once, but after all I was pleased with her reserve. All at once the two friends lowered their voices, and out of delicacy I withdrew further. Their private conversation lasted about a quarter of an hour, during which I pretended to be intently looking at a painting. Then they kissed one another again by the same process as at the beginning of the interview. The nun closed the opening, turned her back on us, and disappeared without casting one glance in my direction. As we were on our way back to Venice the Countess, tired perhaps of our silence, said to me with a smile, M. M. is beautiful and very witty. I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit. She did not address one word to you. I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending not to know that I was present. The Countess made no answer, and we reached her house without exchanging another word. At her door, a very ceremonious curtsy, with these words, adieu, sir, warned me that I was not to go any further. I had no wish to do so, and went away dreaming and wondering at the singularity of the adventure, the end of which I longed to see. END OF CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. My beautiful nun had not spoken to me, and I was glad of it, for I was so astonished, so completely under the spell of her beauty, that I might have given her a very poor opinion of my intelligence by the rambling answers which I should very likely have given to her questions. I knew her to be certain that she had not to fear the humiliation of refusal from me. But I admired her courage in running the risk of it in her position. I could hardly understand her boldness, and I could not conceive how she contrived to enjoy so much liberty. A casino at Moran, the possibility of going to Venice to sup with a young man. It was all very surprising, and I decided in my own mind that she had an acknowledged lumber whose pleasure it was to make her happy by satisfying her caprices. It is true that such a thought was rather unpleasant to my pride, but there was too much pecancy in the adventure. The heroin of it was too attractive for me to be stopped by any considerations. I saw very well that I was taking the high road to become unfaithful to my dear C.C., or rather that I was already so in thought and will, but I must confess that in spite of all my love for that charming child I felt no qualms of conscience. It seemed to me that an infidelity of that sort, if she ever heard of it, would not displease her, for that short excursion on strange ground would only keep me alive and in good condition for her, because it would save me from the weariness which surely was killing me. I had been presented to the celebrated Countess Coronini by a nun, a relative of Monsieur Dandolo. That Countess, who had been very handsome and was very witty, having made up her mind to renounce the political intrigues which had been the study of her whole life, had sought a retreat in the convent of St. Justine, in the hope of finding in that refuge the calm which she wanted and which her disgust of society had rendered necessary to her. As she had enjoyed a very great reputation, she was still visited at the convent by all the foreign ambassadors and by the first noblemen of Venice. Inside of the walls of her convent the Countess was acquainted with everything that happened in the city. She always received me very kindly, and treating me as a young man, she took pleasure in giving me, every time I called on her, very agreeable lessons in morals. Being quite certain to find out from her with a little manoeuvring, something concerning M. M., I decided on paying her a visit the day after I had seen the beautiful nun. The Countess gave me her usual welcome, and after the thousand nothings which it is the custom to utter in society before anything worth saying is spoken, I led the conversation up to the convent of Venice. We spoke of the wit and influence of a nun called Celci, who, although ugly, had an immense credit everywhere and in everything. We mentioned, afterwards, the young and lovely Sister Macaulay, who had taken the veil to prove to her mother that she was superior to her in intelligence and wit. After speaking of several other nuns who had the reputation of being addicted to gallantry, I named M. M., remarking that most likely she deserved that reputation likewise but that she was an enigma. The Countess answered with a smile that she was not an enigma for everybody, although she was necessarily so for most people. What is incomprehensible, she said, is the caprice that she took suddenly to become a nun, being handsome, rich, free, well educated, full of wit, and, to my knowledge, a free thinker. She took the veil without any reason, physical or moral. It was a mere caprice. Do you believe her to be happy, madam? Yes, unless she has repented her decision, or if she does not repent it some day, but if ever she does I think she will be wise enough never to say so to any one. Satisfied by the mysterious air of the Countess, that M. M. had a lover, I made up my mind not to trouble myself about it. And having put on my mask I went to M. M. in the afternoon. When I reached the gate of the convent I rang the bell, and with an anxious heart I asked for M. M. in the name of madam to S. The small parlor being closed the attendant pointed out to me the one in which I had to go. I went in, took off my mask, and sat down, waiting for my divinity. My heart was beating furiously. I was waiting with great impatience. Yet that expectation was not without charm, for I dreaded the beginning of the interview. An hour passed pretty rapidly, but I began then to find the time rather long, and thinking that perhaps the attendant had not rightly understood me I rang the bell, and inquired whether notice of my visit had been given to S. M. M. A voice answered affirmatively. I took my seat again, and a few minutes afterwards an old toothless nun came in and informed me that Sister M. M. was engaged for the whole day. Without giving me time to utter a single word the woman left the parlor. This was one of those terrible moments to which the man who worships at the shrine of the God of Love is exposed. They are indeed cruel moments. They bring fearful sorrow. They may cause death. Upon whom myself disgraced my first sensation was utter contempt for myself, an inward despair which was akin to rage. The second was disdainful indignation against the nun upon whom I passed the severe judgment which I thought she deserved, and which was the only way I had to soothe my grief. Such behavior proclaimed her to be the most impudent of women, and entirely wanting in good sense, for the two letters she had written to me were quite enough to ruin her character if I had wished to revenge myself, and she evidently could not expect anything else from me. She must have been mad to set at defiance my revengeful feelings, and I should certainly have thought that she was insane if I had not heard her converse with the Countess. Time, they say, brings good counsel. It certainly brings calm, and cool reflection gives lucidity to the mind. At last I persuaded myself that what had occurred was after all in no way extraordinary, and that I would certainly have considered it, at first, a very common occurrence if I had not been dazzled by the wonderful beauty of the nun, and blinded by my own vanity. As a very natural result I felt that I was at liberty to laugh at my mishap, and that nobody could possibly guess whether my mirth was genuine or only counterfeit. Sophism is so officious. But in spite of all my fine arguments I still cherish the thought of revenge. No debasing element, however, was to form part of it, and being determined not to leave the person who had been guilty of such a bad practical joke, the slightest cause of triumph, I had the courage not to show any vexation. She had sent word to me that she was engaged, nothing more natural. The part I had to play was to appear indifferent. Most likely she will not be engaged another time, I said to myself, but I defy her to catch me in the snare again. I mean to show her that I only laugh at her uncivil behavior. Of course I intended to send back her letters, but not without the accompaniment of a billet-due, the gallantry of which was not likely to please her. The worst part of the affair for me was to be compelled to go to her church, because, supposing her not to be aware of my going there for CC, she might imagine that the only object of my visits was to give her the opportunity of apologizing for her conduct and of appointing a new meeting. I wanted her to entertain no doubt of my utter contempt for her person, and I felt certain that she had proposed the other meetings in Venice and at the Casino of Murrin only to deceive me more easily. I went to bed with a great thirst for revenge. I fell asleep thinking of it, and I awoke with the resolution of quenching it. I began to write, but, as I wished particularly that my letters should not show the peak of the disappointed lover, I left it on my table with the intention of reading it again the next day. It proved a useful precaution for when I read it over twenty-four hours afterwards I found it unworthy of me and tore it to pieces. It contained some sentences which savored too much of my weakness, my love, and my spite, and which far from humiliating her would only have given her occasion to laugh at me. On the Wednesday after I had written to CC that very serious reasons compelled me to give up my visits to the church of her convent. I wrote another letter to the nun, but on Thursday it had the same fate as the first, because upon a second perusal I found the same deficiencies. It seemed to me that I had lost the faculty of writing. Ten days afterwards I found out that I was too deeply in love to have the power of expressing myself in any other way than through the feelings of my heart. Sinserium est nisi vas, quod cunc infidunis assisit. The face of M.M. had made too deep an impression on me. Nothing could possibly obliterate it except the all-powerful influence of time. In my ridiculous position I was sorely tempted to complain to Countess S., but I am happy to say I was prudent enough not to cross the threshold of her door. At last I bethought myself that the giddy nun was certainly laboring under constant dread knowing that I had in my possession her two letters, with which I could ruin her reputation and cause the greatest injury to the convent, and I sent them back to her with the following note after I had kept them ten days. I can assure you, madam, that it was owing only to forgetfulness that I did not return your two letters which you will find enclosed. I have never thought of belying my own nature by taking a cowardly revenge upon you, and I forgive you most willingly the two giddy acts of which you have been guilty, whether they were committed thoughtlessly or because you wanted to enjoy a joke at my expense. Nevertheless you will allow me to advise you not to treat any other man in the same way, for you might meet with one endowed with less delicacy. I know your name, I know who you are, but you need not be anxious. It is exactly as if I did not know it. You may perhaps care but little for my discretion, but if it should be so I should greatly pity you. You may be aware that I shall not show myself again at your church, but let me assure you that it is not a sacrifice on my part, and that I can attend mass anywhere else, yet I must tell you why I shall abstain from frequenting the church of your convent. It is very natural for me to suppose that to the two thoughtless acts of which you have been guilty, you have added another not less serious, namely that of having boasted of your exploits with the other nuns, and I do not want to be the butt of your jokes in cell or parlor. Do not think me too ridiculous if in spite of being five or six years older than you, I have not thrown off all feelings of self-respect or trodden under my feet, all reserve and propriety. And one word, if I have kept some prejudices, there are a few which in my opinion ought never to be forgotten. Do not disdain, madam, the lesson which I take the liberty to teach you, as I receive in the kindest spirit the one which you have given me, most likely only for the sake of fun, but by which I promise you to profit as long as I live. I thought that, considering all circumstances, my letter was a very genial one. I made up my parcel, put on my mask, and looked out for a porter who could have no knowledge of me. I gave him half a sequin, and I promised him as much more when he could assure me that he had faithfully delivered my letter at the convent of Morin. I gave him all the necessary instructions and cautioned him to go away the very moment he had delivered the letter at the gate of the convent, even if he were told to wait. I must say here that my messenger was a man from Forley, and that the Forlanese were then the most trustworthy men in Venice, for one of them to be guilty of a breach of trust was an unheard of thing. Such men were formerly the Savoyards in Paris, but everything is getting worse in the world. I was beginning to forget the adventure, probably because I thought rightly or wrongly that I had put an insurmountable barrier between the nun and myself, when, ten days after I had sent my letter, as I was coming out of the opera, I met my messenger, lantern in hand. I called him, and without taking off my mask I asked him whether he knew me. He looked at me. I had me from head to foot, and finally answered that he did not. Did you faithfully carry the message to Murrin? Ah, sir, God be praised. I am very happy to see you again, for I have an important communication to make to you. I took your letter, delivered it according to your instructions, and I went away as soon as it was in the hands of the attendant, although she requested me to wait. When I returned for Murrin I did not see you, but that did not matter. On the following day one of my companions, who happened to be at the gate of the convent when I delivered your letter, came early in the morning to tell me to go to Murrin, because the attendant wanted particularly to speak to me. I went there, and after waiting for a few minutes I was shown into the parlor, where I was kept for more than an hour by a nun as beautiful as the light of day, who asked me a thousand questions for the purpose of ascertaining, if not who you are, at least where I should be likely to find you. You know that I could not give her any satisfactory information. She then left the parlor, ordering me to wait, and at the end of two hours she came back with the letter which she entrusted to my hands, telling me that, if I succeeded in finding you out and in bringing her an answer, she would give me two sequins. In the meantime I was to call the convent every day, show her the letter, and receive forty sons every time. Until now I have earned twenty crowns, but I am afraid the lady will get tired of it, and you can make me earn two sequins by answering a line. Where is the letter? In my room, under lock and key, for I am always afraid of losing it. Then how can I answer? If you will wait for me here, you shall have the letter in less than a quarter of an hour. I will not wait, because I do not care about the letter, but tell me how you could flatter the nun with the hope of finding me out. You are a rogue, for it is not likely that she would have trusted you with the letter if you had not promised her to find me. I am not a rogue, for I have done faithfully what you told me, but it is true that I gave her a description of your coat, your buckles, and your figure, and I can assure you that for the last ten days I have examined all the masks who are about your size, but in vain. Now I recognize your buckles, but I do not think you have the same coat. Alas, sir, it will not cost you much to write only one line. Be kind enough to wait for me in the coffee-house close by. I could not resist my curiosity any longer, and I made up my mind not to wait for him, but to accompany him as far as his house. I had only to write, I have received the letter, and my curiosity was gratified, and the four linees earned his two sequins. I could afterwards change my buckles and my mask, and thus set all inquiries at defiance. I therefore followed him to his door. He went in and brought me the letter. I took him to an inn where I asked for a room with a good fire, and I told my man to wait. I broke the seal of the parcel, a rather large one, and the first papers that I saw were the two letters which I had sent back to her in order to allay her anxiety as to the possible consequences of her giddiness. The sight of these letters caused me such a palpitation of a heart that I was compelled to sit down. It was a most evident sign of my defeat. Besides these two letters I found a third one signed S, and addressed to M.M. I read the following lines. The mask who accompanied me back to my house would not, I believe, have uttered a single word if I had not told him that the charms of your witty mind were even more bewitching than those of your person, and his answer was, I have seen the one and I believe in the other. I added that I did not understand why you had not spoken to him, and he said with a smile. I refused to be presented to her, and she punished me for it by not appearing to know that I was present. These few words were all our dialogue. I intended to send you this note this morning, but found it impossible, at you. After reading this note, which stated the exact truth, and which could be considered as proof, my heart began to beat less quickly. Delighted at seeing myself on the point of being convicted of injustice, I took courage, and I read the following letter. Owing to an excusable weakness, feeling curious to know what you would say about me to the Countess after you had seen me, I took an opportunity of asking her to let me know all you said to her on the following day at latest, for I foresaw that you would pay me a visit in the afternoon. Her letter, which I enclose, and which I beg you to read, did not reach me till half an hour after you had left the convent. This was the first fatality. Not having received that letter when you called, I had not the courage to see you. This absurd weakness on my part was the second fatality. Without the weakness you will, I hope forgive. I gave orders to the lay sister to tell you that I was ill for the whole day. A very legitimate excuse, whether true or false, for it was an officious untruth, the correction of which was to be found in the words for the whole day. You had already left the convent, and I could not possibly send anyone to run after you, when the old fool informed me of her having told you that I was engaged. This was the third fatality. You cannot imagine when I had a mind to do and to say to that foolish sister, but here one must say or do nothing. One must be patient and dissemble, thanking God when mistakes are the result of ignorance and not of wickedness. A very common thing in convents. I foresaw at once, at least partly, what would happen and what has actually happened, for no reasonable being could, I believe, have foreseen it all. I guessed that thinking yourself the victim of a joke you would be incensed, and I felt miserable, for I did not see any way of letting you know the truth before the following Sunday. My heart longed ardently for that day. Could I possibly imagine that you would take a resolution not to come again to our church? I tried to be patient until that Sunday, but when I found myself disappointed in my hope, my misery became unbearable, and it will cause my death if you refuse to listen to my justification. Your letter has made me completely unhappy, and I shall not resist my despair if you persist in the cruel resolve expressed by your unfeeling letter. You have considered yourself trifled with. That is all you can say. But will this letter convince you of your error, and even believing yourself deceived in the most scandalous manner, you must admit that to write such an awful letter you must have supposed me an abominable wretch, a monster, such as a woman of noble birth, and of refined education cannot possibly be. I enclose the two letters you sent back to me with the idea of allaying my fears which you cruelly supposed very different to what they are in reality. I am a better physiognomist than you, and you must be quite certain that I have not acted thoughtlessly, for I never thought you capable. I will not say of crime, but even of an indelicate action. You must have read on my features the signs only of giddy impudence, and that is not my nature. You may be the cause of my death. It will certainly make me miserable for the remainder of my life if you do not justify yourself. On my side I think that justification is complete. I hope that even if you feel no interest in my life you will think that you are bound in honor to come and speak to me. Come yourself to recall all you have written. It is your duty, and I deserve it. If you do not realize the fatal effect produced upon me by your letter I must indeed pity you, in spite of my misery, for it proves that you have not the slightest knowledge of the human heart, but I feel certain that you will come back, provided the man to whom I trust this letter contrives to find you. At you I expect life or death from you. I did not require to read that letter twice. I was ashamed and in despair. M.M. was right. I called the four Lenees, inquired from him whether he had spoken to her in the morning, and whether she looked ill. He answered that he had found her looking more unhappy every day, and that her eyes were red from weeping. Go down again and wait, I said to him. I began to write, and I had not concluded my long screed before the dawn of day. Here are, word by word, the contents of the letter which I wrote to the noblest of women, whom in my unreasonable spite I had judged so wrongly. I plead guilty, madam. I cannot possibly justify myself, and I am perfectly convinced of your innocence. I should be disconsolid if I did not hope to obtain pardon, and you will not refuse to forgive me if you are kind enough to recollect the cause of my guilt. I saw you, I was dazzled, and I could not realize a happiness which seemed to me a dream. I thought myself the prey of one of those delightful illusions which vanished when we wake up. The doubt under which I was laboring could not be cleared up for twenty-four hours, and how could I express my feverish impatience as I was longing for that happy moment. It came at last, and my heart, throbbing with desire and hope, was flying towards you while I was in the parlor, counting the minutes. Yet an hour passed almost rapidly, and not unnaturally, considering my impatience and the deep impression I felt at the idea of seeing you. But then, precisely at the very moment when I believed myself certain that I was going to gaze upon the beloved features which had been in one interview indelibly engraved upon my heart, I saw the most disagreeable face appear, and a creature announced that you were engaged for the whole day, and without giving me time to utter one word she disappeared. You may imagine my astonishment and the rest. The lightning would not have produced upon me a more rapid and more terrible effect. If you had sent me a line by that sister, a line from your hand, I would have gone away, if not pleased, at least submissive and resigned. But that was the fourth fatality which you have forgotten to add to your delightful and witty justification, thinking myself scoffed at, myself love rebelled, and ignignation for the moment silenced love. Shame overwhelmed me. I thought that everybody could read on my face all the horror in my heart, and I saw in you, under the outward appearance of an angel, nothing but a fearful daughter of the prince of darkness. My mind was thoroughly upset, and at the end of eleven days I lost the small portion of good sense that was left in me. At least I must suppose so, as it is then that I wrote to you the letter of which you have so good a right to complain, and which at the time seemed to me a masterpiece of moderation. But I hope it is all over now, and this very day at eleven o'clock you will see me at your feet, tender, submissive, and repentant. You will forgive me, divine woman, or I will myself avenge you for the insult I have hurled at you. The only thing which I dare to ask from you as a great favor is to burn my first letter and never to mention it again. I sent it only after I had written four which I destroyed one after the other. You may therefore imagine the state of my heart. I have given orders to my messenger to go to your convent at once, so that my letter can be delivered to you as soon as you wake in the morning. He would never have discovered me if my good angel had not made me go up to him at the door of the opera house. But I shall not require his services any more. Do not answer me, and receive all the devotion of a heart which adores you. When my letter was finished I called my four lenees, gave him one sequin, and I made him promise to go to Murn immediately and to deliver my letter only to the nun herself. As soon as he had gone I threw myself on my bed, but anxiety and burning impatience would not allow me to sleep. I need not tell the reader who knows the state of excitement under which I was laboring that I was punctual in presenting myself at the convent. I was shown into the small parlor where I had seen her for the first time, and she almost immediately made her entrance. As soon as I saw her near the grating I fell on my knees, but she entreated me to rise at once as I might be seen. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her looks seemed to me heavenly. She sat down, and I took a seat opposite to her. We remained several minutes motionless, gazing at each other without speaking, but I broke the silence by asking her in a voice full of love and anxiety, whether I could hope to obtain my pardon. She gave me her beautiful hand through the grating, and I covered it with tears and kisses. Our acquaintance, she said, has begun with a violent storm. Let us hope that we shall now enjoy it long and perfect and lasting calm. This is the first time that we speak to one another, but what has occurred must be enough to give us a thorough knowledge of each other. I trust that our intimacy will be as tender, as sincere, and that we shall know how to have a mutual indulgence for our faults. Can such an angel as you have any? Ah, my friend, who is without them? When shall I have the happiness of convincing you of my devotion with complete freedom and in all the joy of my heart? We will take supper together at my casino whenever you please, provided you give me notice two days beforehand, or I will go and sup with you in Venice, if it will not disturb your arrangements. It would only increase my happiness. I think it right to tell you that I am in very easy circumstances and that far from fearing expense I delight in it. All I possess belongs to the woman I love. That confidence, my dear friend, is very agreeable to me, the more so, than I have likewise to tell you that I am very rich and that I could not refuse anything to my lover. But you must have a lover. Yes, it is through him that I am rich, and he is entirely my master. I never conceal anything from him. The day after tomorrow, when I am alone with you, I will tell you more. But I hope that your lover will not be there, certainly not. Have you a mistress? I had one, but alas, she has been taken from me by violent means and for the last six months I have let a life of complete celibacy. Do you love her still? I cannot think of her without loving her. She has almost as great charms, as great beauty, as you have, but I foresee that you will make me forget her. If your happiness with her was complete, I pity you. She has been violently taken from you, and you shun society in order to feed your sorrow. I have guessed right, have I not? But if I happen to take possession of her place in your heart, no one, my sweet friend, shall turn me out of it. But what will your lover say? He will be delighted to see me happy with such a lover as you. It is in his nature. What an admirable nature! Such heroism is quite beyond me. What sort of a life do you lead in Venice? I live at the theatres, in society, in the casinos where I fight against fortune, sometimes with good, sometimes with bad success. Do you visit the foreign ambassadors? No, because I am too much acquainted with the nobility, but I know them all. How can you know them if you do not see them? I have known them abroad, in Parma, the Duke de Montelagra, the Spanish ambassador. In Vienna, I knew Count Rosenberg. In Paris, about two years ago, the French ambassador. It is near twelve o'clock, my dear friend, it is time for us to part. Come at the same hour the day after tomorrow, and I will give you all the instructions which you will require to enable you to come and sup with me. Alone? Of course. May I venture to ask you for a pledge? The happiness which you promised me is so immense. What pledge do you want? To see you standing before that small window in the grading, with permission for me to occupy the same place as Madame de S. She rose at once, and with the most gracious smile touched the spring. After a most expressive kiss I took leave of her. She followed me with her eyes as far as the door, and her loving gaze would have rooted me to the spot if she had not left the room. I spent the two days of expectation in a whirl of impatient joy which prevented me from eating and sleeping, for it seemed to me that no other love had ever given me such happiness, or rather that I was going to be happy for the first time. The respective of birth, beauty, and wit, which was the principal merit of my new conquest, prejudice was there to enhance a hundredfold my felicity, for she was a vestal, it was forbidden fruit, and who does not know that, from Eve down to our days, it was that fruit which has always appeared the most delicious. I was on the point of encroaching upon the rites of an all-powerful husband, in my eyes M.M. was above all the queens of the earth. If my reason had not been the slave of passion I should have known that my none could not be a different creature from all the pretty women whom I had loved for the thirteen years that I had been laboring in the fields of love. But where is the man in love who can harbor such a thought? If it presents itself too often to his mind he expels it disdainfully. M.M. could not by any means be otherwise than superior to all other women in the wide world. All nature which chemists call the animal kingdom obtains through instinct the three various means necessary for the perpetuation of its species. There are three real wants which nature has implanted in all human creatures. They must feed themselves, and to prevent that task from being insipid and tedious they have the agreeable sensation of appetite which they feel pleasure in satisfying. They must propagate their respective species, an absolute necessity which proves the wisdom of the creator since without reproduction all would be annihilated by the constant law of degradation, decay, and death. And whatever St. Augustine may say human creatures would not perform the work of generation if they did not find pleasure in it, and if there was not in that great work an irresistible attraction for them. In the third place all creatures have a determined and invincible propensity to destroy their enemies, and it is certainly a very wise ordination for that feeling of self-preservation makes it a duty for them to do their best for the destruction of whatever can injure them. Each species obeys these laws in its own way. The three sensations, hunger, desire, and hatred, are in animals the satisfaction of habitual instinct and cannot be called pleasures for they can be so only in proportion to the intelligence of the individual. Man alone is gifted with the perfect organs which render real pleasure peculiar to him. Because being endowed with a sublime faculty of reason he foresees enjoyment, looks for it, composes, improves, and increases it by thought and recollection. I entreat you, dear reader, not to get weary of following me in my ramblings. For now that I am but the shadow of the once brilliant Casanova I love to chatter, and if you were to give me the slip you would be neither polite nor blidging. Man comes down to the level of beasts whenever he gives himself up to the three natural propensities without calling reason and judgment to his assistance. But when the mind gives perfect equilibrium to those propensities, the sensations derived from them become true enjoyment, an unaccountable feeling which gives us what is called happiness, and which we experience without being able to describe it. The voluptuous man who reasons, disdains his greediness, rejects with contempt, lust, and lewdness, and spurns the brutal revenge which is caused by a first movement of anger. But he is dainty and satisfies his appetite only in a manner of harmony with his nature and his tastes. He is amorous, but he enjoys himself with the object of his love only when he is certain that she will share his enjoyment, which can never be the case unless their love is mutual. If he is offended he does not care for revenge until he has calmly considered the best means to enjoy it fully. If he is sometimes more cruel than necessary, he consoles himself with the idea that he has acted under the empire of reason, and his revenge is sometimes so noble that he finds it in forgiveness. Those three operations are the work of the soul which to procure enjoyment for itself becomes the agent of our passions. We sometimes suffer from hunger in order to enjoy better the food which will allay it. We delay the amorous enjoyment for the sake of making it more intense, and we put off the moment of our revenge in order to make it more certain. It is true, however, that one may die from indigestion, that we allow ourselves to be often deceived in love, and that the creature we want to annihilate often escapes our revenge, but perfection cannot be attained in anything, and those are risks which we run most willingly. CHAPTER XVII There is nothing, there can be nothing, dearer to a thinking being than life, yet the voluptuous men, those who try to enjoy it in the best manner, are the men who practiced with the greatest perfection the difficult art of shortening life, of driving it fast. They do not mean to make it shorter, for they would like to perpetuate it in the midst of pleasure, but they wish enjoyment to render its course insensible. They are right, provided they do not fail in fulfilling their duties. Men must not, however, imagine that he has no other duties but those which gratify his senses. He would be greatly mistaken, and he might fall the victim of his own error. I think that my friend Horus made a mistake when he said to Florus, NEFMETUUM QUID DIMEJUDASETHERES QUADNON PLURA DATUS INVENIET The happiest man is the one who knows how to obtain the greatest sum of happiness without ever failing in the discharge of his duties, and the most unhappy is the man who has adopted a profession in which he finds himself constantly under the sad necessity of foreseeing the future. Perfectly certain that M.M. would keep her word, I went to the convent at ten o'clock in the morning, and she joined me in the parlor as soon as I was announced. Good heavens, she exclaimed, are you ill? No, but I may well look so, for the expectation of happiness wears me out. I have lost sleep and appetite, and if my felicity were to be deferred, my life would be the forfeit. There shall be no delay, dearest, but how impatient you are. Let us sit down. Here is the key of my casino. You will find some persons in it, because we must be served, but nobody will speak to you, and you need not speak to anyone. You must be masked, and you must not go there till two hours after sunset. Mind not before. Then go up the stairs, opposite the street door, and at the top of those stairs you will see, by the light of a lamp, a green door which you will open to enter the apartment which you will find lighted. You will find me in the second room, and in case I should not be there you will wait for me a few minutes. You may rely upon my being punctual. You can take off your mask in that room and make yourself comfortable. You will find some books and a good fire. The description could not be clear. I kissed the hand which was giving me the key of that mysterious temple, and I inquired from the charming woman whether I should see her in her conventional garb. I always leave the convent with it, she said, but I have at the casino a complete wardrobe to transform myself into an elegant woman of the world, and even to disguise myself. I hope you will do me the favor to remain in the dress of a nun. Why so, I beg. I love to see you in that dress. Ah, ah, I understand. You fancy that my head is shaved, and you are afraid. But comfort yourself, dear friend. My wig is so beautifully made that it defies detection. It is nature itself. Oh, dear, what are you saying? The very name of wig is awful. But no, you may be certain that I will find you lovely under all circumstances. I only entreat you not to put on that cruel wig in my presence. Do I offend you? Forgive me. I am very sorry to have mentioned that subject. Are you sure that no one can see you leave the convent? You will be sure of it yourself when you have gone round the island and seen the small door on the shore. I have the key of a room opening on the shore, and I have every confidence in the sister who serves me. And the gondola? My lover himself answers for the fidelity of the gondoliers. What a man that lover is. I fancy him must be an old man. You are mistaken. If he were old I should be ashamed. He is not forty, and he has everything necessary to be loved. Beauty, wit, sweet temper, and noble behaviour. And he forgives your amorous caprices? What do you mean by caprices? A year ago he obtained possession of me, and before him I had never belonged to a man. You are the first who inspired me with a fancy. When I confessed it to him he was rather surprised, then he laughed, and read me a short lecture upon the risk I was running in trusting a man who might prove indiscreet. He wanted me to know at least who you were before going any further, but it was too late. I answered for your discretion, and of course I made him laugh by my being so positively the guarantee of a man whom I did not know. When did you confide in him? The day before yesterday, and without concealing anything from him, I have shown him my letters and yours. He thinks you are a Frenchman, although you represent yourself as a Venetian. He is very curious to know who you are, but you need not be afraid. I promise you faithfully never to take any steps to find it out myself. And I promise you likewise not to try to find out who is this wonderful man, as wonderful as you are yourself. I am very miserable when I think of the sorrow I have caused you. Do not mention that subject any more. When I consider the matter I see that only a conceited man would have acted differently. Before leaving her she granted me another token of her affection through the little window, and her gaze followed me as far as the door. In the evening, at the time named by her, I repaired to the casino, and obeying all her instructions, I reached a sitting-room in which I found my new conquest, dressed in a most elegant costume. The room was alighted up by gir and dolls, which were reflected by the looking-glasses and by four splendid candlesticks placed on a table covered with books. M.M. struck me as entirely different in her beauty to what she had seemed in the garb of a nun. She wore no cap, and her hair was fastened behind in a thick twist. But I passed rapidly over that part of her person, because I could not bear the idea of a wig, and I could not compliment her about it. I threw myself at her feet to show her my deep gratitude, and I kissed with rapture her beautiful hands, waiting impatiently for the amorous contest which I was longing for. But M.M. thought fit to oppose some resistance. Oh, how sweet they are! Those denials of a loving mistress who delays the happy moment only for the sake of enjoying its delights better. As a lover, respectful, tender, but bold, enterprising, certain of victory, I blended delicately the gentleness of my proceedings with the ardent fire which was consuming me, and stealing the most voluptuous kisses from the most beautiful mouth I felt as if my soul would burst from my body. We spent two hours in the preliminary contest, at the end of which we congratulated one another, on her part for having contrived to resist, on mine for having controlled my impatience. Wanting a little rest and understanding each other as if by a natural instinct, she said to me, My friend, I have an appetite which promises to do honour to the supper. Are you able to keep me good company? Yes, I said, knowing well what I could do in that line. Yes, I can, and afterwards you shall judge whether I am able to sacrifice to love as well as to commerce. She rang the bell, and a woman, middle-aged, but well-dressed and respectable-looking, laid out a table for two persons. She then placed on another table close by all that was necessary to enable us to do without attendance, and she brought, one after the other, eight different dishes in sev porcelain placed on silver-heaters. It was a delicate and plentiful supper. When I tasted the first dish, I at once recognized the French style of cooking, and she did not deny it. We drank nothing but burgundy and champagne. She dressed the salad cleverly and quickly, and in everything she did I had to admire the graceful ease of her manners. It was evident that she owed her education to a lover who was a first-rate connoisseur. I was curious to know him, and as we were drinking some punch, I told her that if she would gratify my curiosity in that respect I was ready to tell her my name. Let time, dearest, she answered, satisfy our mutual curiosity. M.M. had, amongst the charms and trinkets, bassened to the chain of her watch a small crystal bottle exactly similar to one that I wore myself. I called her attention to that fact, and as mine was filled with cotton soaked in auto of roses I made her smell it. I have the same she observed, and she made me inhale its fragrance. It is a very scarce perfume, I said, and very expensive. Yes, in fact it cannot be bought. Very true. The inventor of that essence wears a crown. It is the king of France. His majesty made a pound of it, which cost him thirty thousand crowns. Mine was a gift presented to my lover, and he gave it to me. M. de Pompadour sent a small file of it to M. de Mosenigo, the Venetian ambassador in Paris, through M. de Be, now French ambassador here. Do you know him? I have had the honour to dine with him on the very day he came to take leave of the ambassador by whom I had been invited. M. de Be is a man whom Fortune has smiled upon, but he has captivated it by his merit. He is not less distinguished by his talents than by his birth. He is, I believe, Count de Lyon. I recollect that he was nicknamed Belle Babet on account of his handsome face. There is a small collection of poetry written by him which does him great honour. It was near midnight. We had made an excellent supper, and we were near a good fire. Besides I was in love with a beautiful woman, and thinking that time was precious I became very pressing, but she resisted. Cruel darling, have you promised me happiness only to make me suffer the tortures of tantalus? If you will not give way to love, at least obey the laws of nature after such a delicious supper, go to bed. Are you sleepy? Of course I am not, but it is late enough to go to bed. Allow me to undress you. I will remain by your bedside, or even go away if you wish it. If you were to leave me, you would grieve me. My grief would be as great as yours, believe me, but if I remain what shall we do? We can lie down in our clothes on this sofa. With our clothes? Well let it be so. I will let you sleep if you wish it, but you must forgive me if I do not sleep myself, for to sleep near you and without undressing would be impossible. Wait a little. She rose from her seat, turned the sofa crosswise, opened it, took out pillows, sheets, blankets, and in one minute we had a splendid bed, wide and convenient. She took a large handkerchief which she wrapped around my head, and she gave me another, asking me to render her the same service. I began my task, dissembling my disgust for the wig, but a precious discovery caused me the most agreeable surprise, for instead of the wig my hands found the most magnificent hair I had ever seen. I uttered a scream of delight and admiration which made her laugh, and she told me that a nun was under no other obligation than to conceal her hair from the uninitiated. Thereupon she pushed me adroitly and made me fall on the sofa. I got up again, and having thrown off my clothes as quick as lightning, I threw myself on her rather than near her. She was very strong, and folding me in her arms she thought that I ought to forgive her for all the torture she was condemning me to. I had not obtained any essential favor. I was burning, but I was trying to master my impatience, for I did not think that I had yet the right to be exacting. I contrived to undo five or six bows or ribbons, and, satisfied with her not opposing any resistance in that quarter, my heart throbbed with pleasure. And I possessed myself of the most beautiful bosom which I smothered under my kisses, but her favors went no further, and my excitement increasing in proportion to the new perfections I discovered in her I doubled my efforts, all in vain. At last, compelled to give way to fatigue, I fell asleep in her arms, holding her tightly against me, a noisy chime of bells awoke us. What is the matter, I exclaimed? Let us get up, dearest, it is time for me to return to the convent. Dress yourself, and let me have the pleasure of seeing you in the garb of the saint, since you are going away a virgin. Be satisfied for this time, dearest, and learn from me how to practice abstinence. We shall be happier another time, when I have gone, if you have nothing to hurry you, you can rest here. She rang the bell, and the same woman who had appeared in the evening, and was most likely the secret minister and the confidant of her amorous mysteries, came in. After her hair had been dressed, she took off her gown, locked up her jewelry in her bureau, put on the stays of a nun in which she hid the two magnificent globes which had been during that fatiguing night the principal agents of my happiness, and assumed her monastic robes. The woman, having gone out to call the gondoliers, mm kissed me warmly and tenderly, and said to me, I expect to see you the day after tomorrow, so as to hear from you which night I am to meet you in Venice, and then, my beloved lover, you shall be happy and I too. Farewell. Pleased without being satisfied, I went to bed and slept soundly until noon. I left the casino without seeing any one, and being well masked I repaired to the house of Laura, who gave me a letter from my dear C.C. Here is a copy of it. I am going to give you, my best beloved, a specimen of my way of thinking, and I trust that, far from lowering me in your estimation, you will judge me, in spite of my youth, capable of keeping a secret and worthy of being your wife. Certain that your heart is mine, I do not blame you for having made a mystery of certain things, and not being jealous of what can divert your mind and help you to bear patiently our cruel separation. I can only delight in whatever procures you some pleasure. Listen now. Yesterday, as I was going along one of the halls, I dropped a toothpick which I held in my hand, and to get it again I was compelled to displace a stool, which happened to be in front of a crack in the partition. I have already become as curious as a nun, a fault very natural to idle people. I placed my eye against the small opening, and whom did I see? You in person, my darling, conversing in the most lively manner with my charming friend, Sister M.M. It would be difficult for you to imagine my surprise and joy, but those two feelings gave way soon to the fear of being seen and of exciting the curiosity of some inquisitive nun. I quickly replaced the stool, and I went away. Tell me, all dearest friend, you will make me happy. How could I cherish you with all my soul and not be anxious to know the history of your adventure? Tell me if she knows you and how you have made her acquaintance. She is my best friend, the one whom I have spoken so often to you in my letters. Without thinking it necessary to tell you her name. She is the friend who teaches me French and has lent me books which gave me a great deal of information on a matter generally little known to women. If it had not been for her, the cause of the accident which had been so near costing me my life would have been discovered. She gave me sheets and linen immediately. To her I owe my honour, but she has necessarily learned in that way that I have a lover as I know that she has one, but neither of us has shown any anxiety to know the secrets of the other. Sister M.M. is a rare woman. I feel certain, dearest, that you love one another. It cannot be otherwise since you are acquainted, but as I am not jealous of that affection I deserve that you should tell me all. I pity you both, however, for all you may do will, I fear, only irritate your passion. Everyone in the convent thinks that you are ill, and I am longing to see you. Come at least once, adieu. The letter of C.C. inspired me with the deepest esteem for her, but it caused me great anxiety, because, although I felt every confidence in my dear little wife, the small crack in the wall might expose M.M. and myself to the inquisitive looks of other persons. Besides, I found myself compelled to deceive that amiable, trusting friend, and to tell falsehood for delicacy and honor forbade me to tell her the truth. I wrote to her immediately that her friendship for M.M. made at her duty to warn her friend at once that she had seen her in the parlor with a masked gentleman. I added that, having heard a great deal of M.M.'s merit and wishing to make her acquaintance, I had called on her under an assumed name, that I entreated her not to tell her friend who I was, but she might say that she had recognized in me the gentleman who attended their church. I assured her, with bare-faced impudence, that there was no love between M.M. and me, but without concealing that I thought her a superior woman. On St. Catherine's Day, the patroness of my dear C.C., I betthought myself of affording that lovely prisoner the pleasure of seeing me. As I was leaving the church after mass, and just as I was going to take a gondola, I observed that a man was following me. It looked suspicious, and I determined to ascertain whether I was right. The man took a gondola and followed mine. It might have been purely accidental, but keeping on my guard for fear of surprise. I alighted in Venice at the Morosini Palace. The fellow alighted at the same place. His intentions were evident. I left the palace, and turning towards the Flanders Gate, I stopped in a narrow street, took my knife in hand, and waited for the spy, seized him by the collar, and pushing him against the wall with a knife at his throat I commanded him to tell me what business he had with me. Trembling all over he would have confessed everything, but unluckily someone entered the street. The spy escaped, and I was no wiser, but I had no doubt that for the future that fellow at least would keep at a respectful distance. It showed me how easy it would be for an obstinate spy to discover my identity, and I made up my mind never to go to Muren, but with a mask, or at night. The next day I had to see my beautiful nun in order to ascertain which day she would suck with me in Venice, and I went early to the convent. She did not keep me waiting, and her face was radiant with joy. She complimented me upon my having resumed my attendance at their church. All the nuns had been delighted to see me again after an absence of three weeks. The abbess, she said, told me how glad she was to see you, and that she was certain to find out who you are. I then related to her the adventure of the spy, and we both thought that it was most likely the means taken by the sainted woman to gratify her curiosity about me. I have resolved not to attend your church any more. That will be a great deprivation to me, but in our common interest I can but approve your resolution. She related the affair of the treacherous crack in the partition, and added, It is already repaired, and there is no longer any fear in that quarter. I heard of it from a young boarder whom I loved dearly, and who is much attached to me. I am not curious to know her name, and she has never mentioned it to me. Now, darling angel, tell me whether my happiness will be postponed. Yes, but only for twenty-four hours. The new professed sister has invited me to supper in her room, and you must understand I cannot invent any plausible excuse for refusing her invitation. You would not, then, tell her in confidence the very legitimate obstacle which makes me wish that the new sisters never take supper? Certainly not. We never trust anyone so far in a convent. Besides, dearest, such an invitation cannot be declined unless I wish to gain a most bitter enemy. Could you not say that you are ill? Yes, but then the visits. I understand. If you should refuse, the escape might be suspected. The escape? Impossible. Here no one admits the possibility of breaking out of the convent. Then you are the only one able to perform that miracle? You may be sure of that, but as is always the case, it is gold which performs that miracle. And many others, perhaps. Oh, the time has gone by for them, but tell me, my love, where will you wait for me to-morrow, two hours after the setting of the sun? Should I not wait for you at your casino? No, because my lover will take me himself to Venice. Your lover? Yes, himself. It is not possible. Yes, it is true. I can wait for you in St. John and St. Paul's Square behind the pedestal of the statue of Bartholomew of Bergamo. I have never seen either the square or the statue except in engravings. It is enough, however, and I will not fail. Nothing but very stormy weather could prevent me from coming to a rendezvous for which my heart is panting. And if the weather were bad? Then, dearest, there would be nothing lost, and you would come here again in order to appoint another day. I had no time to lose, for I had no casino. I took a second rower so as to reach St. Mark's Square more rapidly, and I immediately set to work looking for what I wanted. When a mortal is so lucky as to be in the good graces of the God Plutus and is not crack-brained, he is pretty sure to succeed in everything. I had not to search very long before I found a casino suiting my purpose exactly. It was the finest in the neighborhood of Venice, but as a natural consequence it was likewise the most expensive. It had belonged to the English ambassador, who had sold it cheap to his cook before leaving Venice. The owner led it to me until Easter for one hundred sequins, which I paid in advance on condition that he would himself cook the dinners and the suppers I might order. I had five rooms furnished in the most elegant style, and everything seemed to be calculated for love, pleasure, and good cheer. The service of the dining room was made through a sham window in the wall, provided with a dumb waiter revolving upon itself and fitting the window so exactly that master and servants could not see each other. The drawing room was decorated with magnificent looking glasses, crystal chandeliers, gyrindoles in gilt, bronze, and with a splendid pier glass placed on a chimney of white marble. The walls were covered with small squares of real china, representing little cupids and naked amorous couples in all sorts of positions, well calculated to excite the imagination. Elegant and very comfortable sofas were placed on every side. Next to it was an octagonal room. The walls, the ceiling, and the floor of which were entirely covered with splendid Venetian glass, arranged in such a manner as to reflect on all sides every position of the amorous couple enjoying the pleasures of love. Close by was a beautiful alcove with two secret outlets, on the right an elegant dressing room, on the left a boudoir which seemed to have been arranged by the mother of love, with a bath and carara marble, everywhere the Wayne Scots were embossed in ormalou or painted with flowers and arabesques. After I had given my orders for all the chandeliers to be filled with wax candles and the finest linen to be provided wherever necessary, I ordered a most delicate and sumptuous supper for two without regard to expense, and especially the most exquisite wines. I then took possession of the key of the principal entrance and warned the master that I did not want to be seen by anyone when I came in or went out. I observed with pleasure that the clock in the alcove had an alarm, for I was beginning in spite of love to be easily influenced by the power of sleep. Everything being arranged according to my wishes I went as a careful and delicate lover to purchase the finest slippers I could find and a cap in Alencon Point. I trust my reader does not think me too particular, let him recollect that I was to receive the most accomplished of the sultanas of the master of the universe, and I had told that fourth grace that I had a casino. Was I to begin by giving her a bad idea of my truthfulness? At the appointed time, that is two hours after sunset, I repaired to my palace, and it would be difficult to imagine the surprise of his honor the French cook when he saw me arrive alone. Not finding all the chandeliers lighted up as I had ordered, I scolded him well, giving him notice that I did not like to repeat an order. I shall not fail, sir, another time to execute your commands. Let the supper be served. Your honor ordered it for two. Yes, for two, and this time be present during my supper so that I can tell you which dishes I find good or bad. The supper came through the revolving dumb-waiter in very good order, two dishes at a tune. I passed some remarks upon everything, but to tell the truth everything was excellent. Game, fish, oysters, truffles, wine, dessert, and the whole served in a very fine dressed in china with silver-guilt plate. I told him that he had forgotten hard eggs, anchovies, and prepared vinegar to dress a salad. He lifted his eyes towards heaven as if to plead guilty to a very heinous crime. After a supper which lasted two hours, and during which I must certainly have won the admiration of my host, I asked him to bring me the bill. He presented it to me shortly afterwards, and I found it reasonable. I then dismissed him and lay down in the splendid bed in the alcove. My excellent supper brought on very soon the most delicious sleep which, without the burgundy and the champagne, might very likely not have visited me, if I had thought that the following night would see me in the same place and in possession of a lovely divinity. It was broad daylight when I awoke, and after ordering the finest fruit and some ices for the evening I left the casino. In order to shorten a day which my impatient desires would have caused me to find very long, I went to the pharaoh table, and I saw with pleasure that I was as great a favorite with fortune as with love. Everything proceeded according to my wishes, and I delighted in ascribing my happy success to the influence of my none. I was at the place of meeting one hour before the time appointed, and although the night was cold I did not feel it. Only as the hour struck I saw a two-ord gondola reach the shore, and a mask come out of it, speak a few words to the gondolier, and take the direction of the statue. My heart was beating quickly, but seeing that it was a man I avoided him and regretted not having brought my pistols. The mask, however, turning round the statue came up to me without stretched hands. I then recognized my angel, who was amused at my surprise and took my arm. Without speaking we went toward St. Mark's Square and reached my casino, which was only one hundred yards from the St. Moses Theatre. I found everything in good order. We went upstairs, and I threw off my mask and my disguise. But M.M. took delight in walking about the rooms and examining every nook of the charming place in which she was received. Highly gratifying to see me admire the grace of her person, she wanted me likewise to admire in her attire the taste and generosity of her lover. She was surprised at the almost magic spell which, although she remained motionless, showed her lovely person in a thousand different manners. Her multiplied portraits, reproduced by the looking glasses, and the numerous wax candles disposed to that effect, offered to her sight a spectacle entirely new to her, and from which she could not withdraw her eyes. Sitting down on a stool I contemplated her elegant person with rapture, a coat of rosy velvet embroidered with gold spangles, a vest to match, embroidered likewise in the richest fashion, breeches of black satin, diamond buckles, a solitaire of great value on her little finger, and on the other hand, a ring. Such was her toilet. Her black lace mask was remarkable for its fineness and the beauty of the design, to enable me to see her better as she stood before me. I looked in her pockets, in which I found a gold snuff box, a sweet-meat box adorned with pearls, a gold case, a splendid opera glass, handkerchiefs of the finest camber soaked rather than perfumed with the most precious essences. I examined attentively the richness and the workmanship of her two watches, of her chains, of her trinkets, brilliant with diamonds. The last article I found was a pistol, it was an English weapon of fine steel and of the most beautiful finish. While I see my divine angel is not worthy of you, yet I cannot refrain from expressing my admiration for the wonderful, I might almost say, adorable being who wants to convince you that you are truly his mistress. That is what he said when I asked him to bring me to Venice, and to leave me. Amuse yourself, he said, and I hope that the man whom you are going to make happy will convince you that he is worthy of it. He is indeed an extraordinary man, and I do not think there is another like him. Being to love her is a unique being, and I feel that I could not be like him, as deeply as I fear to be unworthy of a happiness which dazzles me. Allow me to leave you, and to take off these clothes alone. Do anything you please. A quarter of an hour afterwards my mistress came back to me. Her hair was dressed like a man's. The front locks came down her cheeks, and the black hair fastened with a knot of blue ribbon reached the bend of her legs. Her form was that of Antonus. Her clothes alone, being cut in the French style, prevented the illusion from being complete. I was in a state of ecstatic delight, and I could not realize my happiness. No adorable woman, I exclaimed, you are not made for a mortal, and I do not believe that you will ever be mine. At the very moment of possessing you, some miracle will rest you from my arms. Your divine spouse, perhaps, jealous of a simple mortal, will annihilate all my hope. It is possible that in a few minutes I shall no longer exist. Are you mad, dearest? I am yours this very instant, if you wish it. Ah, if I wish it. Although fasting, come, love and happiness will be my food. She felt cold. We sat near the fire, and unable to master my impatience I infastened a diamond brooch which pinned her ruffle. Dear reader, there are some sensations so powerful and so sweet that years cannot weaken the remembrance of them. My mouth had already covered with kisses that ravishing bosom, but then the troublesome corset had not allowed me to admire all its perfection. Now I felt it free from all restraint and from all unnecessary support. I have never seen, never touched, anything more beautiful, and the two magnificent globes of the Venus Dometisus, even if they had been animated by the spark of life given by Prometheus, would have yielded the palm to those of my divine none. I was burning with ardent desires, and I would have satisfied them on the spot if my adorable mistress had not calmed my impatience by these simple words. Wait until after supper. I rang the bell. She shuddered. Do not be anxious, dearest. And I showed her the secret of this sham window. You will be able to tell your lover that no one saw you. You will appreciate your delicate attention, and that will prove to him that you are not a novice in the art of love, but it is evident that I am not the only one who enjoys with you the delights of this charming residence. You are wrong, believe me. You are the first woman I have seen here. You are not adorable creature, my first love, but you shall be the last. I shall be happy if you are faithful. My lover is constant, kind, gentle, and amiable, yet my heart has never been fancy free with him. And his own heart must be the same, for if his love was of the same nature as mine, you would never have made me happy. He loves me as I love you. Do you believe in my love for you? Yes, I want to believe in it, but you would not allow me to— Do not say any more, for I feel that I could forgive you in anything provided you told me all. The joy I experience at this moment is caused more by the hope I have of gratifying your desires than by the idea that I am going to pass a delightful night with you. It will be the first in my life. What? Have you never passed such a night with your lover? Several, but friendship, compliance, and gratitude, perhaps, were then the only contributors to our pleasures. The most essential, love, was never present. In spite of that my lover is like you. His wit is lively, very much the same as yours, and, as far as his features are concerned, he is very handsome. But it is not you. I believe him more wealthy than you, although this casino almost convinces me that I am mistaken. But what does love care for riches? Do not imagine that I consider you endowed with less merit than he, because you can best yourself incapable of his heroism in allowing me to enjoy another love. Quite the contrary. I know that you would not love me as you do if you told me that you could be as indulgent as he is for one of my caprices. Will he be curious to hear the particulars of this night? Most likely he will think that he will please me by asking what has taken place, and I will tell him everything, except such particulars as might humiliate him. After the supper which she found excellent, she made some punch, and she was a very good hand at it, but I felt my impatience growing stronger every moment, and I said, Recall after that we have only seven hours before us, and that we should be very foolish to waste them in this room. You reason better than Socrates, she answered, and your eloquence has convinced me. Come. She led me to the elegant dressing-room, and I offered her the fine night-cap which I had bought for her, asking her at the same time to dress her hair like a woman. She took it with great pleasure, and begged me to go and undress myself in the drawing-room, promising to call me as soon as she was in bed. I had not long to wait. When pleasure is waiting for us, we all go quickly to work. I fell into her arms, intoxicated with love and happiness, and during seven hours I gave her the most positive proofs of my ardor and of the feelings I entertained for her. It is true that she taught me nothing new, materially speaking, but a great deal in size, in ecstasies, in enjoyments which can have their full development only in a sensitive soul in the sweetest of all moments. I varied our pleasures in a thousand different ways, and I astonished her by making her feel that she was susceptible of greater enjoyment that she had any idea of. At last the fatal alarm was heard. We had to stop our amorous transports, but before she left my arms she raised her eyes towards heaven as if to thank her divine master for having given her the courage to declare her passion to me. We dressed ourselves and, observing that I put the lace night-cap in her pocket, she assured me that she would keep it all her life as a witness of the happiness which overwhelmed her. After drinking a cup of coffee we went out, and I left her at St. John and St. Paul's Square, promising to call on her the day after the morrow. I watched her until I saw her safe in her gondola, and then I went to bed. Ten hours of profound sleep restored me to my usual state of vigor.