"Then I will dismiss my maid," she said; "she robs me of little, it is true, but still too much for my small means. I will tell your maid what food to buy for me every day, and she shall have six sots a week for her pains."
"That will be ample. I should advise you to apply to my cook's wife, who will get your dinner and supper for you as cheaply as you could buy it."
"I hardly think so, for I am ashamed to tell you how little I spend."
"Even if you only spend two sols a day, she will give you two sols' worth. All the same I advise you to be content with what you get from the kitchen, without troubling about the price, for I usually have provision made for four, though I dine alone, and the rest is the cook's perquisite. I merely advise you to the best of my ability, and I hope you will not be offended at my interest in your welfare."
"Really, sir, you are too generous."
"Wait a moment, and you will see how everything will be settled comfortably."
I told Clairmont to order up the maid and the cook's wife, and I said to the latter:
"For how much could you provide dinner and supper for this young lady who is not rich, and only wants to eat to live?"
"I can do it very cheaply; for you usually eat alone, and have enough for four."
"Very good; then I hope you will treat her very well for the sum she gives you."
"I can only afford five sols a day."
"That will do nicely."
I gave orders that the bill should be taken down directly, and that the young lady's room should be made comfortable. When the maid and the cook's wife had left the room, the young lady told me that she should only go out on Sundays to hear mass at the Bavarian ambassador's chapel, and once a month to a person who gave her three guineas to support her.
"You can go out when you like," said I, "and without rendering an account to anybody of your movements."
She begged me not to introduce anyone to her, and to tell the porter to deny her to anyone who might come to the door to make enquiries. I promised that her wishes should be respected, and she went away saying that she was going for her trunk.
I immediately ordered my household to treat her with the utmost respect. The old housekeeper told me that she had paid the first week in advance, taking a receipt, and had gone, as she had come, in a sedan-chair. Then the worthy old woman made free to tell me to be on my guard.
"Against what? If I fall in love with her, so much the better; that is just what I want. What name did she give you?"
"Mistress Pauline. She was quite pale when she came, and she went away covered with blushes."
I was delighted to hear it. I did not want a woman merely to satisfy my natural desires, for such can be found easily enough; I wished for some one whom I could love. I expected beauty, both of the body and the soul; and my love increased with the difficulties and obstacles I saw before me. As to failure, I confess I did not give it a moment's thought, for there is not a woman in the world who can resist constant and loving attentions, especially when her lover is ready to make great sacrifices.
When I got back from the theatre in the evening the maid told me that the lady had chosen a modest closet at the back, which was only suitable for a servant. She had had a moderate supper, only drinking water, and had begged the cook's wife only to send her up soup and one dish, to which the woman had replied that she must take what was served, and what she did not eat would do for the servant.
"When she finished she shut herself up to write, and wished me good evening with much politeness."
"What is she going to take in the morning?"
"I asked her, and she said she would only take a little bread."
"Then you had better tell her that it is the custom of the house for the cook to serve everybody with coffee, chocolate, or tea, according to taste, in the morning, and that I shall be pained if she refuses to fare like the rest of us. But don't tell her I said so. Here's a crown for you, and you shall have one every week if you will wait upon and care for her properly."
Before going to bed I wrote her a polite note, begging her to leave the closet. She did so, but she went into another back room, and consented to take coffee for her breakfast. Wishing to make her dine and sup with me, I was dressing myself, and preparing to proffer my request in such a way as to make a refusal impossible, when young Cornelis was announced. I received him smilingly, and thanked him for the first visit he had paid me in the course of six weeks.
"Mamma hasn't allowed me to come. I have tried to do so a score of times without her leave. Read this letter, and you will find something which will surprise you."
I opened the letter and read as follows:
"Yesterday a bailiff waited for my door to be opened and slipped in and arrested me. I was obliged to go with him, and I am now in the sponging-house, and if I can't get bail by to-day he will take me to Kings Bench Prison. The bail I require is to the amount of two hundred pounds, to pay a bill which has fallen due. Dear friend, come and succour me or else my other creditors will get wind of my imprisonment and I shall be ruined. You surely will not allow that to happen, if not for my sake at least for the sake of my innocent children. You cannot bail me yourself, but you can easily get a householder to do so. If you have the time come and call on me, and I will shew you that I could not help doing the bill, otherwise I could not have given my last ball, as the whole of my plate and china was pledged."
I felt angry with the impudent woman who had hitherto paid me so little attention, and I wrote that I could only pity her, and that I had no time to go and see her, and that I should be ashamed to ask anyone to bail her out.
When young Cornelis had gone away in a melancholy mood, I told Clairmont to ask Pauline if she would allow me to bid her a good day. She sent word that I was at liberty to do so, and on going upstairs to her room I found her sitting at a table on which were several books.
Some linen on a chest of drawers did not give me the idea that she was very poor.
"I am immensely obliged," said she, "for all your goodness to me."
"Say nothing of that, madam; it is I who have need of your goodness."
"What can I do to shew my gratitude?"
"Could you trouble yourself to take your meals with me? When I am alone I eat like an ogre, and my health suffers. If you do not feel inclined to grant me that favour, do not hesitate to refuse, and I assure you you shall fare just as well as if you had acceded to my request."
"I shall be delighted to dine and sup with you; sir, whenever you are alone and you like to send for me. Nevertheless, I am not sure that my society will amuse you."
"Very good, I am grateful to you, and I promise you you shall never repent of your kindness. I will do my best to amuse you, and I hope I shall succeed, for you have inspired me with the liveliest interest. We will dine at one to-day."
I did not sit down or look at her books, or even ask her if she had spent a good night. The only thing I noted was that she had looked pale and careworn when I came in, and when I went out her cheeks were the colour of the rose.
I went for a walk in the park, feeling quite taken with this charming woman, and resolved to make her love me, for I did not want to owe anything to gratitude. I felt curious to know where she came from, and suspected she was an Italian; but I determined to ask her no questions for fear of offending her.
When I got home Pauline came down of her own free will, and I was delighted with this, which I took for a good omen. As we had half an hour before us, I asked her how she found her health.
"Nature," she replied, "has favoured me with such a good constitution that I have never had the least sickness in my life, except on the sea."
"You have made a voyage, then."
"I must have done so to come to England."
"You might be an Englishwoman."
"Yes, for the English language has been familiar to me from my childhood."
We were seated on a sofa, and on the table in front of us was a chess-board. Pauline toyed with
the pawns, and I asked her if she could play chess.
"Yes, and pretty well too from what they tell me."
"Then we will have a game together; my blunders will amuse you."
We began, and in four moves I was checkmated. She laughed, and I admired her play. We began again, and I was checkmated in five moves. My agreeable guest laughed heartily, and while she laughed I became intoxicated with love, watching the play of her features, her exquisite teeth, and her happy expression. We began another game, Pauline played carelessly, and I placed her in a difficult position.
"I think you may conquer me," said she.
"What happiness for me!"
The servant came in to tell us that dinner was ready.
"Interruptions are often extremely inconvenient," said I, as I offered her my arm, feeling quite sure that she had not lost the significance of my last words, for women find a meaning for everything.
We were just sitting down to table when Clairmont announced my daughter and Madame Rancour.
"Tell them that I am at dinner, and that I shall not be disengaged till three o'clock."
Just as my man was leaving the room to carry back my answer, Sophie rushed in and knelt before me, choking with sobs.
This was too much for me, and raising her I took her on my knees, saying I knew what she had come for, and that for love of her I would do it.
Passing from grief to joy the dear child kissed me, calling me her father, and at last made me weep myself.
"Dine with us, dear Sophie," said I, "I shall be the more likely to do what you wish."
She ran from my arms to embrace Pauline, who was weeping out of sympathy, and we all dined happily together. Sophie begged me to give Madame Rancour some dinner.
"It shall be so if you please, but only for your sake, for that woman Rancour deserves that I should leave her standing at the door to punish her for her impertinence to me when I came to London."
The child amused us in an astonishing way all dinnertime, Pauline keeping her ears open and not saying a word, so surprised was she to hear a child of her age talk in a way that would have excited attention in a woman of twenty. Although perfectly respectful she condemned her mother's conduct, and said that she was unfortunate in being obliged to give her a blind obedience.
"I would wager that you don't love her much."
"I respect, but I cannot love her, for I am always afraid. I never see her without fearing her."
"Why do you weep, then, at her fate?"
"I pity her, and her family still more, and the expressions she used in sending me to you were very affecting."
"What were these expressions?"
"'Go,' said she, 'kneel before him, for you and you alone can soften his heart.'"
"Then you knelt before me because your mother told you to do so."
"Yes, for if I had followed my own inclination I should have rushed to your arms."
"You answer well. But are you sure of persuading me?"
"No, for one can never be sure of anything; but I have good hopes of success, remembering what you told me at the Hague. My mother told me that I was only three then, but I know I was five. She it was who told me not to look at you when I spoke to you, but fortunately you made her remove her prohibition. Everybody says that you are my father, and at the Hague she told me so herself; but here she is always dinning it into my ears that I am the daughter of M. de Monpernis."
"But, Sophie dear, your mother does wrong in making you a bastard when you are the legitimate daughter of the dancer Pompeati, who killed himself at Vienna."
"Then I am not your daughter?"
"Clearly, for you cannot have two fathers, can you?"
"But how is it that I am your image?"
"It's a mere chance."
"You deprive me of a dream which has made me happy."
Pauline said nothing, but covered her with kisses, which Sophie returned effusively. She asked me if the lady was my wife, and on my replying in the affirmative she called Pauline her "dear mamma," which made "dear mamma" laugh merrily.
When the dessert was served I drew four fifty-pound notes out of my pocket-book, and giving them to Sophie told her that she might hand them over to her mother if she liked, but that the present was for her and not for her mother.
"If you give her the money," I said, "she will be able to sleep to-night in the fine house where she gave me such a poor reception."
"It makes me unhappy to think of it, but you must forgive her."
"Yes, Sophie; but out of love for you."
"Write to her to the effect that it is to me you give the money, not to her; I dare not tell her so myself."
"I could not do that, my dear; it would be insulting her in her affliction. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, quite well."
"You may tell her that whenever she sends you to dine or sup with me, she will please me very much."
"But you can write that down without wounding her, can you not? Do so, I entreat you. Dear mamma," said she, addressing Pauline, "ask papa to do so, and then I will come and dine with you sometimes."
Pauline laughed with all her heart as she addressed me as husband, and begged me to write the desired epistle. The effect on the mother could only let her know how much I loved her daughter, and would consequently increase her love for her child. I gave in, saying that I could not refuse anything to the adorable woman who had honoured me with the name of husband. Sophie kissed us, and went away in a happy mood.
"It's a long time since I have laughed so much," said Pauline, "and I don't think I have ever had such an agreeable meal. That child is a perfect treasure. She is unhappy, poor little girl, but she would not be so if I were her mother."
I then told her of the true relationship between Sophie and myself, and the reasons I had for despising her mother.
"I wonder what she will say when Sophie tells her that she found you at table with your wife."
"She won't believe it, as she knows my horror for the sacrament of matrimony."
"How is that?"
"I hate it because it is the grave of love."
"Not always."
As she said this Pauline sighed, and lowering her eyes changed the conversation. She asked me how long I intended to stay in London and when I had replied, "Nine or ten months," I felt myself entitled to ask her the same question.
"I really can't say," she answered, "my return to my country depends on my getting a letter."
"May I ask you what country you come from?"
"I see I shall soon have no secrets from you, but let me have a little time. I have only made your acquaintance to-day, and in a manner which makes me have a very high opinion of you."
"I shall try my best to deserve the good opinions you have conceived of my character."
"You have shewn yourself to me in a thoroughly estimable light."
"Give me your esteem, I desire it earnestly, but don't say anything of respect, for that seems to shut out friendship; I aspire to yours, and I warn you that I shall do my best to gain it."
"I have no doubt you are very clever in that way, but you are generous too, and I hope you will spare me. If the friendship between us became too ardent, a parting would be dreadful, and we may be parted at any moment, indeed I ought to be looking forward to it."
Our dialogue was getting rather sentimental, and with that ease which is only acquired in the best society, Pauline turned it to other topics, and soon asked me to allow her to go upstairs. I would have gladly spent the whole day with her, for I have never met a woman whose manners were so distinguished and at the same time so pleasant.
When she left me I felt a sort of void, and went to see Madame Binetti, who asked me for news of Pembroke. She was in a rage with him.
"He is a detestable fellow," said she; "he would like to have a fresh wife every day! What do you think of such conduct?"
"I envy him his happiness."
"He enjoys it because all women are such fools. He caught me throug
h meeting me at your house; he would never have done so otherwise. What are you laughing at?"
"Because if he has caught you, you have also caught him; you are therefore quits."
"You don't know what you are talking about."
I came home at eight o'clock, and as soon as Fanny had told Pauline that I had returned she came downstairs. I fancied she was trying to captivate me by her attentions, and as the prospect was quite agreeable to me I thought we should come to an understanding before very long.
Supper was brought in and we stayed at table till midnight, talking about trifles, but so pleasantly that the time passed away very quickly. When she left me she wished me good night, and said my conversation had made her forget her sorrows.
Pembroke came next morning to ask me to give him breakfast, and congratulated me on the disappearance of the bill from my window.
"I should very much like to see your boarder," said he.
"I daresay, my lord, but I can't gratify your curiosity just now, for the lady likes to be alone, and only puts up with my company because she can't help it."
He did not insist, and to turn the conversation I told him that Madame Binetti was furious with him for his inconstancy, which was a testimony to his merits. That made him laugh, and without giving me any answer he asked me if I dined at home that day.
"No, my lord, not to-day."
"I understand. Well, it's very natural; bring the affair to a happy conclusion."
"I will do my best."
Martinelli had found two or three parodies of my notice in the Advertiser, and came and read them to me. I was much amused with them; they were mostly indecent, for the liberty of the press is much abused in London. As for Martinelli he was too discreet and delicate a man to ask me about my new boarder. As it was Sunday, I begged him to take me to mass at the Bavarian ambassador's chapel; and here I must confess that I was not moved by any feelings of devotion, but by the hope of seeing Pauline. I had my trouble for nothing, for, as I heard afterwards, she sat in a dark corner where no one could see her. The chapel was full, and Martinelli pointed out several lords and ladies who were Catholics, and did not conceal their religion.
The Complete Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt Page 262