my blunders in the french language, my success, my numerous acquaintances — louis xv. — my brother arrives in paris.

all the italian actors in paris insisted upon entertaining me, in order to shew me their magnificence, and they all did it in a sumptuous style. carlin bertinazzi who played harlequin, and was a great favourite of the parisians, reminded me that he had already seen me thirteen years before in padua, at the time of his return from st. petersburg with my mother. he offered me an excellent dinner at the house of madame de la caillerie, where he lodged. that lady was in love with him. i complimented her upon four charming children whom i saw in the house. her husband, who was present, said to me;

“they are m. carlin’s children.”

“that may be, sir, but you take care of them, and as they go by your name, of course they will acknowledge you as their father.”

“yes, i should be so legally; but m. carlin is too honest a man not to assume the care of his children whenever i may wish to get rid of them. he is well aware that they belong to him, and my wife would be the first to complain if he ever denied it.”

the man was not what is called a good, easy fellow, far from it; but he took the matter in a philosophical way, and spoke of it with calm, and even with a sort of dignity. he was attached to carlin by a warm friendship, and such things were then very common in paris amongst people of a certain class. two noblemen, boufflers and luxembourg, had made a friendly exchange of each other’s wives, and each had children by the other’s wife. the young boufflers were called luxembourg, and the young luxembourg were called boufflers. the descendants of those tiercelets are even now known in france under those names. well, those who were in the secret of that domestic comedy laughed, as a matter of course, and it did not prevent the earth from moving according to the laws of gravitation.

the most wealthy of the italian comedians in paris was pantaloon, the father of coraline and camille, and a well-known usurer. he also invited me to dine with his family, and i was delighted with his two daughters. the eldest, coraline, was kept by the prince of monaco, son of the duke of valentinois, who was still alive; and camille was enamoured of the count of melfort, the favourite of the duchess of chartres, who had just become duchess of orleans by the death of her father-in-law.

coraline was not so sprightly as camille, but she was prettier. i began to make love to her as a young man of no consequence, and at hours which i thought would not attract attention: but all hours belong by right to the established lover, and i therefore found myself sometimes with her when the prince of monaco called to see her. at first i would bow to the prince and withdraw, but afterwards i was asked to remain, for as a general thing princes find a tete-a- tete with their mistresses rather wearisome. therefore we used to sup together, and they both listened, while it was my province to eat, and to relate stories.

i bethought myself of paying my court to the prince, and he received my advances very well. one morning, as i called on coraline, he said to me,

“ah! i am very glad to see you, for i have promised the duchess of rufe to present you to her, and we can go to her immediately.”

again a duchess! my star is decidedly in the ascendant. well, let us go! we got into a ‘diable’, a sort of vehicle then very fashionable, and at eleven o’clock in the morning we were introduced to the duchess.

dear reader, if i were to paint it with a faithful pen, my portrait of that lustful vixen would frighten you. imagine sixty winters heaped upon a face plastered with rouge, a blotched and pimpled complexion, emaciated and gaunt features, all the ugliness of libertinism stamped upon the countenance of that creature relining upon the sofa. as soon as she sees me, she exclaims with rapid joy,

“ah! this is a good-looking man! prince, it is very amiable on your part to bring him to me. come and sit near me, my fine fellow!”

i obeyed respectfully, but a noxious smell of musk, which seemed to me almost corpse-like, nearly upset me. the infamous duchess had raised herself on the sofa and exposed all the nakedness of the most disgusting bosom, which would have caused the most courageous man to draw back. the prince, pretending to have some engagement, left us, saying that he would send his carriage for me in a short time.

as soon as we were alone, the plastered skeleton thrust its arms forward, and, without giving me time to know what i was about, the creature gave me a horrible kiss, and then one of her hands began to stray with the most bare-faced indecency.

“let me see, my fine cock,” she said, “if you have a fine . . . ”

i was shuddering, and resisted the attempt.

“well, well! what a baby you are!” said the disgusting messaline; “are you such a novice?”

“no, madam; but. . . . ”

“but what?”

“i have. . . . ”

“oh, the villain!” she exclaimed, loosing her hold; “what was i going to expose myself to!”

i availed myself of the opportunity, snatched my hat, and took to my heels, afraid lest the door-keeper should stop me.

i took a coach and drove to coraline’s, where i related the adventure. she laughed heartily, and agreed with me that the prince had played me a nasty trick. she praised the presence of mind with which i had invented an impediment, but she did not give me an opportunity of proving to her that i had deceived the duchess.

yet i was not without hope, and suspected that she did not think me sufficiently enamoured of her.

three or four days afterwards, however, as we had supper together and alone, i told her so many things, and i asked her so clearly to make me happy or else to dismiss me, that she gave me an appointment for the next day.

“to-morrow,” she said, “the prince goes to versailles, and he will not return until the day after; we will go together to the warren to hunt ferrets, and have no doubt we shall come back to paris pleased with one another.”

“that is right.”

the next day at ten o’clock we took a coach, but as we were nearing the gate of the city a vis-a-vis, with servants in a foreign livery came tip to us, and the person who was in it called out, “stop! stop!”

the person was the chevalier de wurtemburg, who, without deigning to cast even one glance on me, began to say sweet words to coraline, and thrusting his head entirely out of his carriage he whispered to her. she answered him likewise in a whisper; then taking my hand, she said to me, laughingly,

“i have some important business with this prince; go to the warren alone, my dear friend, enjoy the hunt, and come to me to-morrow.”

and saying those words she got out, took her seat in the vis-a-vis, and i found myself very much in the position of lot’s wife, but not motionless.

dear reader, if you have ever been in such a predicament you will easily realize the rage with which i was possessed: if you have never been served in that way, so much the better for you, but it is useless for me to try to give you an idea of my anger; you would not understand me.

i was disgusted with the coach, and i jumped out of it, telling the driver to go to the devil. i took the first hack which happened to pass, and drove straight to patu’s house, to whom i related my adventure, almost foaming with rage. but very far from pitying me or sharing my anger, patu, much wiser, laughed and said,

“i wish with all my heart that the same thing might happen to me; for you are certain of possessing our beautiful coraline the very first time you are with her.”

“i would not have her, for now i despise her heartily.” “your contempt ought to have come sooner. but, now that is too late to discuss the matter, i offer you, as a compensation, a dinner at the hotel du roule.”

“most decidedly yes; it is an excellent idea. let us go.”

the hotel du roule was famous in paris, and i had not been there yet. the woman who kept it had furnished the place with great elegance, and she always had twelve or fourteen well-chosen nymphs, with all the conveniences that could be desired. good cooking, good beds, cleanliness, solitary and beautiful groves. her cook was an artist, and her wine-cellar excellent. her name was madame paris; probably an assumed name, but it was good enough for the purpose. protected by the police, she was far enough from paris to be certain that those who visited her liberally appointed establishment were above the middle class. everything was strictly regulated in her house and every pleasure was taxed at a reasonable tariff. the prices were six francs for a breakfast with a nymph, twelve for dinner, and twice that sum to spend a whole night. i found the house even better than its reputation, and by far superior to the warren.

we took a coach, and patu said to the driver,

“to chaillot.”

“i understand, your honour.”

after a drive of half an hour, we stopped before a gate on which could be read, “hotel du roule.”

the gate was closed. a porter, sporting long mustachioes, came out through a side-door and gravely examined us. he was most likely pleased with our appearance, for the gate was opened and we went in. a woman, blind of one eye, about forty years old, but with a remnant of beauty, came up, saluted us politely, and enquired whether we wished to have dinner. our answer being affirmative, she took us to a fine room in which we found fourteen young women, all very handsome, and dressed alike in muslin. as we entered the room, they rose and made us a graceful reverence; they were all about the same age, some with light hair, some with dark; every taste could be satisfied. we passed them in review, addressing a few words to each, and made our choice. the two we chose screamed for joy, kissed us with a voluptuousness which a novice might have mistaken for love, and took us to the garden until dinner would be ready. that garden was very large and artistically arranged to minister to the pleasures of love. madame paris said to us,

“go, gentlemen, enjoy the fresh air with perfect security in every way; my house is the temple of peace and of good health.”

the girl i had chosen was something like coraline, and that made me find her delightful. but in the midst of our amorous occupations we were called to dinner. we were well served, and the dinner had given us new strength, when our single-eyed hostess came, watch in hand, to announce that time was up. pleasure at the “hotel du roule” was measured by the hour.

i whispered to patu, and, after a few philosophical considerations, addressing himself to madame la gouvernante, he said to her,

“we will have a double dose, and of course pay double.”

“you are quite welcome, gentlemen.”

we went upstairs, and after we had made our choice a second time, we renewed our promenade in the garden. but once more we were disagreeably surprised by the strict punctuality of the lady of the house. “indeed! this is too much of a good thing, madam.”

“let us go up for the third time, make a third choice, and pass the whole night here.”

“a delightful idea which i accept with all my heart.”

“does madame paris approve our plan?”

“i could not have devised a better one, gentlemen; it is a masterpiece.”

when we were in the room, and after we had made a new choice, the girls laughed at the first ones who had not contrived to captivate us, and by way of revenge these girls told their companions that we were lanky fellows.

this time i was indeed astonished at my own choice. i had taken a true aspasia, and i thanked my stars that i had passed her by the first two times, as i had now the certainty of possessing her for fourteen hours. that beauty’s name was saint hilaire; and under that name she became famous in england, where she followed a rich lord the year after. at first, vexed because i had not remarked her before, she was proud and disdainful; but i soon proved to her that it was fortunate that my first or second choice had not fallen on her, as she would now remain longer with me. she then began to laugh, and shewed herself very agreeable.

that girl had wit, education and talent-everything, in fact, that is needful to succeed in the profession she had adopted. during the supper patu told me in italian that he was on the point of taking her at the very moment i chose her, and the next morning he informed me that he had slept quietly all night. the saint hilaire was highly pleased with me, and she boasted of it before her companions. she was the cause of my paying several visits to the hotel du roule, and all for her; she was very proud of my constancy.

those visits very naturally cooled my ardour for coraline. a singer from venice, called guadani, handsome, a thorough musician, and very witty, contrived to captivate her affections three weeks after my quarrel with her. the handsome fellow, who was a man only in appearance, inflamed her with curiosity if not with love, and caused a rupture with the prince, who caught her in the very act. but coraline managed to coax him back, and, a short time after, a reconciliation took place between them, and such a good one, that a babe was the consequence of it; a girl, whom the prince named adelaide, and to whom he gave a dowry. after the death of his father, the duke of valentinois, the prince left her altogether and married mlle. de brignole, from genoa. coraline became the mistress of count de la marche, now prince de conti. coraline is now dead, as well as a son whom she had by the count, and whom his father named count de monreal.

madame la dauphine was delivered of a princess, who received the title of madame de france.

in the month of august the royal academy had an exhibition at the louvre, and as there was not a single battle piece i conceived the idea of summoning my brother to paris. he was then in venice, and he had great talent in that particular style. passorelli, the only painter of battles known in france, was dead, and i thought that francois might succeed and make a fortune. i therefore wrote to m. grimani and to my brother; i persuaded them both, but francois did not come to paris till the beginning of the following year.

louis xv., who was passionately fond of hunting, was in the habit of spending six weeks every year at the chateau of fontainebleau. he always returned to versailles towards the middle of november. that trip cost him, or rather cost france, five millions of francs. he always took with him all that could contribute to the amusement of the foreign ambassadors and of his numerous court. he was followed by the french and the italian comedians, and by the actors and actresses of the opera.

during those six weeks fontainebleau was more brilliant than versailles; nevertheless, the artists attached to the theatres were so numerous that the opera, the french and italian comedies, remained open in paris.

baletti’s father, who had recovered his health, was to go to fontainebleau with silvia and all his family. they invited me to accompany them, and to accept a lodging in a house hired by them.

it was a splendid opportunity; they were my friends, and i accepted, for i could not have met with a better occasion to see the court and all the foreign ministers. i presented myself to m. de morosini, now procurator at st. mark’s, and then ambassador from the republic to the french court.

the first night of the opera he gave me permission to accompany him; the music was by lulli. i had a seat in the pit precisely under the private box of madame de pompadour, whom i did not know. during the first scene the celebrated le maur gave a scream so shrill and so unexpected that i thought she had gone mad. i burst into a genuine laugh, not supposing that any one could possibly find fault with it. but a knight of the order of the holy ghost, who was near the marquise de pompadour, dryly asked me what country i came from. i answered, in the same tone,

“from venice.”

“i have been there, and have laughed heartily at the recitative in your operas.”

“i believe you, sir, and i feel certain that no one ever thought of objecting to your laughing.”

my answer, rather a sharp one, made madame de pompadour laugh, and she asked me whether i truly came from down there.

“what do you mean by down there?”

“i mean venice.”

“venice, madam, is not down there, but up there.”

that answer was found more singular than the first, and everybody in the box held a consultation in order to ascertain whether venice was down or up. most likely they thought i was right, for i was left alone. nevertheless, i listened to the opera without laughing; but as i had a very bad cold i blew my nose often. the same gentleman addressing himself again to me, remarked that very likely the windows of my room did not close well. that gentleman, who was unknown to me was the marechal de richelieu. i told him he was mistaken, for my windows were well ‘calfoutrees’. everyone in the box burst into a loud laugh, and i felt mortified, for i knew my mistake; i ought to have said ‘calfeutrees’. but these ‘eus’ and ‘ous’ cause dire misery to all foreigners.

half an hour afterwards m. de richelieu asked me which of the two actresses pleased me most by her beauty.

“that one, sir.”

“but she has ugly legs.”

“they are not seen, sir; besides, whenever i examine the beauty of a woman, ‘la premiere chose que j’ecarte, ce sont les jambes’.”

that word said quite by chance, and the double meaning of which i did not understand, made at once an important personage of me, and everybody in the box of madame de pompadour was curious to know me. the marshal learned who i was from m. de morosini, who told me that the duke would be happy to receive me. my ‘jeu de mots’ became celebrated, and the marshal honoured me with a very gracious welcome. among the foreign ministers, the one to whom i attached myself most was lord keith, marshal of scotland and ambassador of the king of prussia. i shall have occasion to speak of him.

the day after my arrival in fontainebleau i went alone to the court, and i saw louis xv., the handsome king, go to the chapel with the royal family and all the ladies of the court, who surprised me by their ugliness as much as the ladies of the court of turin had astonished me by their beauty. yet in the midst of so many ugly ones i found out a regular beauty. i enquired who she was.

“she is,” answered one of my neighbours, “madame de brionne, more remarkable by her virtue even than by her beauty. not only is there no scandalous story told about her, but she has never given any opportunity to scandal-mongers of inventing any adventure of which she was the heroine.”

“perhaps her adventures are not known.”

“ah, monsieur! at the court everything is known.”

i went about alone, sauntering through the apartments, when suddenly i met a dozen ugly ladies who seemed to be running rather than walking; they were standing so badly upon their legs that they appeared as if they would fall forward on their faces. some gentleman happened to be near me, curiosity impelled me to enquire where they were coming from, and where they were going in such haste.

“they are coming from the apartment of the queen who is going to dine, and the reason why they walk so badly is that their shoes have heels six inches high, which compel them to walk on their toes and with bent knees in order to avoid falling on their faces.”

“but why do they not wear lower heels?”

“it is the fashion.”

“what a stupid fashion!”

i took a gallery at random, and saw the king passing along, leaning with one arm on the shoulder of m. d’argenson. “oh, base servility!” i thought to myself. “how can a man make up his mind thus to bear the yoke, and how can a man believe himself so much above all others as to take such unwarrantable liberties!”

louis xv. had the most magnificent head it was possible to see, and he carried it with as much grace as majesty. never did even the most skilful painter succeed in rendering justice to the expression of that beautiful head, when the king turned it on one side to look with kindness at anyone. his beauty and grace compelled love at once. as i saw him, i thought i had found the ideal majesty which i had been so surprised not to find in the king of sardinia, and i could not entertain a doubt of madame de pompadour having been in love with the king when she sued for his royal attention. i was greatly mistaken, perhaps, but such a thought was natural in looking at the countenance of louis xv.

i reached a splendid room in which i saw several courtiers walking about, and a table large enough for twelve persons, but laid out only for one.

“for whom is this table?”

“for the queen. her majesty is now coming in.”

it was the queen of france, without rouge, and very simply dressed; her head was covered with a large cap; she looked old and devout. when she was near the table, she graciously thanked two nuns who were placing a plate with fresh butter on it. she sat down, and immediately the courtiers formed a semicircle within five yards of the table; i remained near them, imitating their respectful silence.

her majesty began to eat without looking at anyone, keeping her eyes on her plate. one of the dishes being to her taste, she desired to be helped to it a second time, and she then cast her eyes round the circle of courtiers, probably in order to see if among them there was anyone to whom she owed an account of her daintiness. she found that person, i suppose, for she said,

“monsieur de lowendal!”

at that name, a fine-looking man came forward with respectful inclination, and said,

“your majesty?”

“i believe this is a fricassee of chickens.”

“i am of the same opinion, madam.”

after this answer, given in the most serious tone, the queen continued eating, and the marshal retreated backward to his original place. the queen finished her dinner without uttering a single word, and retired to her apartments the same way as she had come. i thought that if such was the way the queen of france took all her meals, i would not sue for the honour of being her guest.

i was delighted to have seen the famous captain who had conquered bergen-op-zoom, but i regretted that such a man should be compelled to give an answer about a fricassee of chickens in the serious tone of a judge pronouncing a sentence of death.

i made good use of this anecdote at the excellent dinner silvia gave to the elite of polite and agreeable society.

a few days afterwards, as i was forming a line with a crowd of courtiers to enjoy the ever new pleasure of seeing the king go to mass, a pleasure to which must be added the advantage of looking at the naked and entirely exposed arms and bosoms of mesdames de france, his daughters, i suddenly perceived the cavamacchia, whom i had left in cesena under the name of madame querini. if i was astonished to see her, she was as much so in meeting me in such a place. the marquis of saint simon, premier ‘gentilhomme’ of the prince de conde, escorted her.

“madame querini in fontainebleau?”

“you here? it reminds me of queen elizabeth saying,

“‘pauper ubique facet.’”

“an excellent comparison, madam.”

“i am only joking, my dear friend; i am here to see the king, who does not know me; but to-morrow the ambassador will present me to his majesty.”

she placed herself in the line within a yard or two from me, beside the door by which the king was to come. his majesty entered the gallery with m. de richelieu, and looked at the so-called madame querini. but she very likely did not take his fancy, for, continuing to walk on, he addressed to the marshal these remarkable words, which juliette must have overheard,

“we have handsomer women here.”

in the afternoon i called upon the venetian ambassador. i found him in numerous company, with madame querini sitting on his right. she addressed me in the most flattering and friendly manner; it was extraordinary conduct on the part of a giddy woman who had no cause to like me, for she was aware that i knew her thoroughly, and that i had mastered her vanity; but as i understood her manoeuvring i made up my mind not to disoblige her, and even to render her all the good offices i could; it was a noble revenge.

as she was speaking of m. querini, the ambassador congratulated her upon her marriage with him, saying that he was glad m. querini had rendered justice to her merit, and adding,

“i was not aware of your marriage.”

“yet it took place more than two years since,” said juliette.

“i know it for a fact,” i said, in my turn; “for, two years ago, the lady was introduced as madame querini and with the title of excellency by general spada to all the nobility in cesena, where i was at that time.”

“i have no doubt of it,” answered the ambassador, fixing his eyes upon me, “for querini has himself written to me on the subject.”

a few minutes afterwards, as i was preparing to take my leave, the ambassador, under pretense of some letters the contents of which he wished to communicate to me, invited me to come into his private room, and he asked me what people generally thought of the marriage in venice.

“nobody knows it, and it is even rumoured that the heir of the house of querini is on the point of marrying a daughter of the grimani family; but i shall certainly send the news to venice.”

“what news?”

“that juliette is truly madame querini, since your excellency will present her as such to louis xv.”

“who told you so?”

“she did.”

“perhaps she has altered her mind.”

i repeated to the ambassador the words which the king had said to m. de richelieu after looking at juliette.

“then i can guess,” remarked the ambassador, “why juliette does not wish to be presented to the king.”

i was informed some time afterwards that m. de saint quentin, the king’s confidential minister, had called after mass on the handsome venetian, and had told her that the king of france had most certainly very bad taste, because he had not thought her beauty superior to that of several ladies of his court. juliette left fontainebleau the next morning.

in the first part of my memoirs i have spoken of juliette’s beauty; she had a wonderful charm in her countenance, but she had already used her advantages too long, and her beauty was beginning to fade when she arrived in fontainebleau.

i met her again in paris at the ambassador’s, and she told me with a laugh that she had only been in jest when she called herself madame querini, and that i should oblige her if for the future i would call her by her real name of countess preati. she invited me to visit her at the hotel de luxembourg, where she was staying. i often called on her, for her intrigues amused me, but i was wise enough not to meddle with them.

she remained in paris four months, and contrived to infatuate m. ranchi, secretary of the venetian embassy, an amiable and learned man. he was so deeply in love that he had made up his mind to marry her; but through a caprice which she, perhaps, regretted afterwards, she ill-treated him, and the fool died of grief. count de canes. ambassador of maria theresa, had some inclination for her, as well as the count of zinzendorf. the person who arranged these transient and short-lived intrigues was a certain guasco, an abbe not over-favoured with the gifts of plutus. he was particularly ugly, and had to purchase small favours with great services.

but the man whom she really wished to marry was count saint simon. he would have married her if she had not given him false addresses to make enquiries respecting her birth. the preati family of verona denied all knowledge of her, as a matter of course, and m. de saint simon, who, in spite of all his love, had not entirely lost his senses, had the courage to abandon her. altogether, paris did not prove an ‘el dorado’ for my handsome countrywoman, for she was obliged to pledge her diamonds, and to leave them behind her. after her return to venice she married the son of the uccelli, who sixteen years before had taken her out of her poverty. she died ten years ago.

i was still taking my french lessons with my good old crebillon; yet my style, which was full of italianisms, often expressed the very reverse of what i meant to say. but generally my ‘quid pro quos’ only resulted in curious jokes which made my fortune; and the best of it is that my gibberish did me no harm on the score of wit: on the contrary, it procured me fine acquaintances.

several ladies of the best society begged me to teach them italian, saying that it would afford them the opportunity of teaching me french; in such an exchange i always won more than they did.

madame preodot, who was one of my pupils, received me one morning; she was still in bed, and told me that she did not feel disposed to have a lesson, because she had taken medicine the night previous. foolishly translating an italian idiom, i asked her, with an air of deep interest, whether she had well ‘decharge’?

“sir, what a question! you are unbearable.”

i repeated my question; she broke out angrily again.

“never utter that dreadful word.”

“you are wrong in getting angry; it is the proper word.”

“a very dirty word, sir, but enough about it. will you have some breakfast?”

“no, i thank you. i have taken a ‘cafe’ and two ‘savoyards’.”

“dear me! what a ferocious breakfast! pray, explain yourself.”

“i say that i have drunk a cafe and eaten two savoyards soaked in it, and that is what i do every morning.”

“you are stupid, my good friend. a cafe is the establishment in which coffee is sold, and you ought to say that you have drunk ‘use tasse de cafe’”

“good indeed! do you drink the cup? in italy we say a ‘caffs’, and we are not foolish enough to suppose that it means the coffee-house.”

“he will have the best of it! and the two ‘savoyards’, how did you swallow them?”

“soaked in my coffee, for they were not larger than these on your table.”

“and you call these ‘savoyards’? say biscuits.”

“in italy, we call them ‘savoyards’ because they were first invented in savoy; and it is not my fault if you imagined that i had swallowed two of the porters to be found at the corner of the streets — big fellows whom you call in paris savoyards, although very often they have never been in savoy.”

her husband came in at that moment, and she lost no time in relating the whole of our conversation. he laughed heartily, but he said i was right. her niece arrived a few minutes after; she was a young girl about fourteen years of age, reserved, modest, and very intelligent. i had given her five or six lessons in italian, and as she was very fond of that language and studied diligently she was beginning to speak.

wishing to pay me her compliments in italian, she said to me,

“‘signore, sono in cantata di vi vader in bona salute’.”

“i thank you, mademoiselle; but to translate ‘i am enchanted’, you must say ‘ho pacer’, and for to see you, you must say ‘di vedervi’.”

“i thought, sir, that the ‘vi’ was to be placed before.”

“no, mademoiselle, we always put it behind.”

monsieur and madame preodot were dying with laughter; the young lady was confused, and i in despair at having uttered such a gross absurdity; but it could not be helped. i took a book sulkily, in the hope of putting a stop to their mirth, but it was of no use: it lasted a week. that uncouth blunder soon got known throughout paris, and gave me a sort of reputation which i lost little by little, but only when i understood the double meanings of words better. crebillon was much amused with my blunder, and he told me that i ought to have said after instead of behind. ah! why have not all languages the same genius! but if the french laughed at my mistakes in speaking their language, i took my revenge amply by turning some of their idioms into ridicule.

“sir,” i once said to a gentleman, “how is your wife?”

“you do her great honour, sir.”

“pray tell me, sir, what her honour has to do with her health?”

i meet in the bois de boulogne a young man riding a horse which he cannot master, and at last he is thrown. i stop the horse, run to the assistance of the young man and help him up.

“did you hurt yourself, sir?”

“oh, many thanks, sir, au contraire.”

“why au contraire! the deuce! it has done you good? then begin again, sir.”

and a thousand similar expressions entirely the reverse of good sense. but it is the genius of the language.

i was one day paying my first visit to the wife of president de n— — when her nephew, a brilliant butterfly, came in, and she introduced me to him, mentioning my name and my country.

“indeed, sir, you are italian?” said the young man. “upon my word, you present yourself so gracefully that i would have betted you were french.”

“sir, when i saw you, i was near making the same mistake; i would have betted you were italian.”

another time, i was dining at lady lambert’s in numerous and brilliant company. someone remarked on my finger a cornelian ring on which was engraved very beautifully the head of louis xv. my ring went round the table, and everybody thought that the likeness was striking.

a young marquise, who had the reputation of being a great wit, said to me in the most serious tone,

“it is truly an antique?”

“the stone, madam, undoubtedly.”

everyone laughed except the thoughtless young beauty, who did not take any notice of it. towards the end of the dinner, someone spoke of the rhinoceros, which was then shewn for twenty-four sous at the st. germain’s fair.

“let us go and see it!” was the cry.

we got into the carriages, and reached the fair. we took several turns before we could find the place. i was the only gentleman; i was taking care of two ladies in the midst of the crowd, and the witty marquise was walking in front of us. at the end of the alley where we had been told that we would find the animal, there was a man placed to receive the money of the visitors. it is true that the man, dressed in the african fashion, was very dark and enormously stout, yet he had a human and very masculine form, and the beautiful marquise had no business to make a mistake. nevertheless, the thoughtless young creature went up straight to him and said,

“are you the rhinoceros, sir?”

“go in, madam, go in.”

we were dying with laughing; and the marquise, when she had seen the animal, thought herself bound to apologize to the master; assuring him that she had never seen a rhinoceros in her life, and therefore he could not feel offended if she had made a mistake.

one evening i was in the foyer of the italian comedy, where between the acts the highest noblemen were in the habit of coming, in order to converse and joke with the actresses who used to sit there waiting for their turn to appear on the stage, and i was seated near camille, coraline’s sister, whom i amused by making love to her. a young councillor, who objected to my occupying camille’s attention, being a very conceited fellow, attacked me upon some remark i made respecting an italian play, and took the liberty of shewing his bad temper by criticizing my native country. i was answering him in an indirect way, looking all the time at camille, who was laughing. everybody had congregated around us and was attentive to the discussion, which, being carried on as an assault of wit, had nothing to make it unpleasant.

but it seemed to take a serious turn when the young fop, turning the conversation on the police of the city, said that for some time it had been dangerous to walk alone at night through the streets of paris.

“during the last month,” he added, “the place de greve has seen the hanging of seven men, among whom there were five italians. an extraordinary circumstance.”

“nothing extraordinary in that,” i answered; “honest men generally contrive to be hung far away from their native country; and as a proof of it, sixty frenchmen have been hung in the course of last year between naples, rome, and venice. five times twelve are sixty; so you see that it is only a fair exchange.”

the laughter was all on my side, and the fine councillor went away rather crestfallen. one of the gentlemen present at the discussion, finding my answer to his taste, came up to camille, and asked her in a whisper who i was. we got acquainted at once.

it was m. de marigni, whom i was delighted to know for the sake of my brother whose arrival in paris i was expecting every day. m. de marigni was superintendent of the royal buildings, and the academy of painting was under his jurisdiction. i mentioned my brother to him, and he graciously promised to protect him. another young nobleman, who conversed with me, invited me to visit him. it was the duke de matalona.

i told him that i had seen him, then only a child, eight years before in naples, and that i was under great obligations to his uncle, don lelio. the young duke was delighted, and we became intimate friends.

my brother arrived in paris in the spring of 1751, and he lodged with me at madame quinson’s. he began at once to work with success for private individuals; but his main idea being to compose a picture to be submitted to the judgment of the academy, i introduced him to m. de marigni, who received him with great distinction, and encouraged him by assuring him of his protection. he immediately set to work with great diligence.

m. de morosini had been recalled, and m. de mocenigo had succeeded him as ambassador of the republic. m. de bragadin had recommended me to him, and he tendered a friendly welcome both to me and to my brother, in whose favour he felt interested as a venetian, and as a young artist seeking to build up a position by his talent.

m. de mocenigo was of a very pleasant nature; he liked gambling although he was always unlucky at cards; he loved women, and he was not more fortunate with them because he did not know how to manage them. two years after his arrival in paris he fell in love with madame de colande, and, finding it impossible to win her affections, he killed himself.

madame la dauphine was delivered of a prince, the duke of burgundy, and the rejoicings indulged in at the birth of that child seem to me incredible now, when i see what the same nation is doing against the king. the people want to be free; it is a noble ambition, for mankind are not made to be the slaves of one man; but with a nation populous, great, witty, and giddy, what will be the end of that revolution? time alone can tell us.

the duke de matalona procured me the acquaintance of the two princes, don marc antoine and don jean baptiste borghese, from rome, who were enjoying themselves in paris, yet living without display. i had occasion to remark that when those roman princes were presented at the court of france they were only styled “marquis:” it was the same with the russian princes, to whom the title of prince was refused when they wanted to be presented; they were called “knees,” but they did not mind it, because that word meant prince. the court of france has always been foolishly particular on the question of titles, and is even now sparing of the title of monsieur, although it is common enough everywhere every man who was not titled was called sieur. i have remarked that the king never addressed his bishops otherwise than as abbes, although they were generally very proud of their titles. the king likewise affected to know a nobleman only when his name was inscribed amongst those who served him.

yet the haughtiness of louis xv. had been innoculated into him by education; it was not in his nature. when an ambassador presented someone to him, the person thus presented withdrew with the certainty of having been seen by the king, but that was all. nevertheless, louis xv. was very polite, particularly with ladies, even with his mistresses, when in public. whoever failed in respect towards them in the slightest manner was sure of disgrace, and no king ever possessed to a greater extent the grand royal virtue which is called dissimulation. he kept a secret faithfully, and he was delighted when he knew that no one but himself possessed it.

the chevalier d’eon is a proof of this, for the king alone knew and had always known that the chevalier was a woman, and all the long discussions which the false chevalier had with the office for foreign affairs was a comedy which the king allowed to go on, only because it amused him.

louis xv. was great in all things, and he would have had no faults if flattery had not forced them upon him. but how could he possibly have supposed himself faulty in anything when everyone around him repeated constantly that he was the best of kings? a king, in the opinion of which he was imbued respecting his own person, was a being of a nature by far too superior to ordinary men for him not to have the right to consider himself akin to a god. sad destiny of kings! vile flatterers are constantly doing everything necessary to reduce them below the condition of man.

the princess of ardore was delivered about that time of a young prince. her husband, the neapolitan ambassador, entreated louis xv. to be god-father to the child; the king consented and presented his god-son with a regiment; but the mother, who did not like the military career for her son, refused it. the marshal de richelieu told me that he had never known the king laugh so heartily as when he heard of that singular refusal.

at the duchess de fulvie’s i made the acquaintance of mdlle. gaussin, who was called lolotte. she was the mistress of lord albemarle, the english ambassador, a witty and very generous nobleman. one evening he complained of his mistress praising the beauty of the stars which were shining brightly over her head, saying that she ought to know he could not give them to her. if lord albemarle had been ambassador to the court of france at the time of the rupture between france and england, he would have arranged all difficulties amicably, and the unfortunate war by which france lost canada would not have taken place. there is no doubt that the harmony between two nations depends very often upon their respective ambassadors, when there is any danger of a rupture.

as to the noble lord’s mistress, there was but one opinion respecting her. she was fit in every way to become his wife, and the highest families of france did not think that she needed the title of lady albemarle to be received with distinction; no lady considered it debasing to sit near her, although she was well known as the mistress of the english lord. she had passed from her mother’s arms to those of lord albemarle at the age of thirteen, and her conduct was always of the highest respectability. she bore children whom the ambassador acknowledged legally, and she died countess d’erouville. i shall have to mention her again in my memoirs.

i had likewise occasion to become acquainted at the venetian embassy with a lady from venice, the widow of an english baronet named wynne. she was then coming from london with her children, where she had been compelled to go in order to insure them the inheritance of their late father, which they would have lost if they had not declared themselves members of the church of england. she was on her way back to venice, much pleased with her journey. she was accompanied by her eldest daughter — a young girl of twelve years, who, notwithstanding her youth, carried on her beautiful face all the signs of perfection.

she is now living in venice, the widow of count de rosenberg, who died in venice ambassador of the empress-queen maria theresa. she is surrounded by the brilliant halo of her excellent conduct and of all her social virtues. no one can accuse her of any fault, except that of being poor, but she feels it only because it does not allow her to be as charitable as she might wish.

the reader will see in the next chapter how i managed to embroil myself with the french police.