I had scarcely been there a quarter of an hour when the noise made by the
oars of a gondola striking the water heralded the prodigal marquis. We all
rose from our seats, and M. Querini hastened, somewhat blushing, to quit
his place on the sofa. M. de Sanvitali, a man of middle age, who had
travelled much, took a seat near Juliette, but not on the sofa, so she was
compelled to turn round. It gave me the opportunity of seeing her full
front, while I had before only a side view of her face.
After my introduction to Juliette, I paid her four or five visits, and I
thought myself justified, by the care I had given to the examination of
her beauty, in saying in M. de Malipiero's draw-room, one evening, when my
opinion about her was asked, that she could please only a glutton with
depraved tastes; that she had neither the fascination of simple nature nor
any knowledge of society, that she was deficient in well-bred, easy
manners as well as in striking talents and that those were the qualities
which a thorough gentleman liked to find in a woman. This opinion met the
general approbation of his friends, but M. de Malipiero kindly whispered
to me that Juliette would certainly be informed of the portrait I had
drawn of her, and that she would become my sworn enemy. He had guessed
I thought Juliette very singular, for she seldom spoke to me, and whenever
she looked at me she made use of an eye-glass, or she contracted her
eye-lids, as if she wished to deny me the honour of seeing her eyes, which
were beyond all dispute very beautiful. They were blue, wondrously large
and full, and tinted with that unfathomable variegated iris which nature
only gives to youth, and which generally disappears, after having worked
miracles, when the owner reaches the shady side of forty. Frederick the
Great preserved it until his death.
Juliette was informed of the portrait I had given of her to M. de
Malipiero's friends by the indiscreet pensioner, Xavier Cortantini. One
evening I called upon her with M. Manzoni, and she told him that a
wonderful judge of beauty had found flaws in hers, but she took good care
not to specify them. It was not difficult to make out that she was
indirectly firing at me, and I prepared myself for the ostracism which I
was expecting, but which, however, she kept in abeyance fully for an hour.
At last, our conversation falling upon a concert given a few days before
by Imer, the actor, and in which his daughter, Therese, had taken a
brilliant part, Juliette turned round to me and inquired what M. de
Malipiero did for Therese. I said that he was educating her. "He can well
do it," she answered, "for he is a man of talent; but I should like to
know what he can do with you?"
"Whatever he can."
"I am told that he thinks you rather stupid."
As a matter of course, she had the laugh on her side, and I, confused,
uncomfortable and not knowing what to say, took leave after having cut a
very sorry figure, and determined never again to darken her door. The next
day at dinner the account of my adventure caused much amusement to the old
Throughout the summer, I carried on a course of Platonic love with my
charming Angela at the house of her teacher of embroidery, but her extreme
reserve excited me, and my love had almost become a torment to myself.
With my ardent nature, I required a mistress like Bettina, who knew how to
satisfy my love without wearing it out. I still retained some feelings of
purity, and I entertained the deepest veneration for Angela. She was in my
eyes the very palladium of Cecrops. Still very innocent, I felt some
disinclination towards women, and I was simple enough to be jealous of
even their husbands.
Angela would not grant me the slightest favour, yet she was no flirt; but
the fire beginning in me parched and withered me. The pathetic entreaties
which I poured out of my heart had less effect upon her than upon two
young sisters, her companions and friends: had I not concentrated every
look of mine upon the heartless girl, I might have discovered that her
friends excelled her in beauty and in feeling, but my prejudiced eyes saw
no one but Angela. To every outpouring of my love she answered that she
was quite ready to become my wife, and that such was to be the limit of my
wishes; when she condescended to add that she suffered as much as I did
myself, she thought she had bestowed upon me the greatest of favours.
Such was the state of my mind, when, in the first days of autumn, I
received a letter from the Countess de Mont-Real with an invitation to
spend some time at her beautiful estate at Pasean. She expected many
guests, and among them her own daughter, who had married a Venetian
nobleman, and who had a great reputation for wit and beauty, although she
had but one eye; but it was so beautiful that it made up for the loss of
the other. I accepted the invitation, and Pasean offering me a constant
round of pleasures, it was easy enough for me to enjoy myself, and to
forget for the time the rigours of the cruel Angela.
I was given a pretty room on the ground floor, opening upon the gardens of
Pasean, and I enjoyed its comforts without caring to know who my
The morning after my arrival, at the very moment I awoke, my eyes were
delighted with the sight of the charming creature who brought me my
coffee. She was a very young girl, but as well formed as a young person of
seventeen; yet she had scarcely completed her fourteenth year. The snow of
her complexion, her hair as dark as the raven's wing, her black eyes
beaming with fire and innocence, her dress composed only of a chemise and
a short petticoat which exposed a well-turned leg and the prettiest tiny
foot, every detail I gathered in one instant presented to my looks the
most original and the most perfect beauty I had ever beheld. I looked at
her with the greatest pleasure, and her eyes rested upon me as if we had
been old acquaintances.
"How did you find your bed?" she asked.
"Very comfortable; I am sure you made it. Pray, who are you?"
"I am Lucie, the daughter of the gate-keeper: I have neither brothers nor
sisters, and I am fourteen years old. I am very glad you have no servant
with you; I will be your little maid, and I am sure you will be pleased
Delighted at this beginning, I sat up in my bed and she helped me to put
on my dressing-gown, saying a hundred things which I did not understand. I
began to drink my coffee, quite amazed at her easy freedom, and struck
with her beauty, to which it would have been impossible to remain
indifferent. She had seated herself on my bed, giving no other apology for
that liberty than the most delightful smile.
I was still sipping my coffee, when Lucie's parents came into my room. She
did not move from her place on the bed, but she looked at them, appearing
very proud of such a seat. The good people kindly scolded her, begged my
forgiveness in her favour, and Lucie left the room to attend to her other
duties. The moment she had gone her father and mother began to praise
"She is," they said, "our only child, our darling pet, the hope of our old
age. She loves and obeys us, and fears God; she is as clean as a new pin,
and has but one fault."
"What is that?"
"She is too young."
"That is a charming fault which time will mend."
I was not long in ascertaining that they were living specimens of honesty,
of truth, of homely virtues, and of real happiness. I was delighted at
this discovery, when Lucie returned as gay as a lark, prettily dressed,
her hair done in a peculiar way of her own, and with well-fitting shoes.
She dropped a simple courtesy before me, gave a couple of hearty kisses to
both her parents, and jumped on her father knees. I asked her to come and
sit on my bed, but she answered that she could not take such a liberty now
that she was dressed, The simplicity, artlessness, and innocence of the
answer seemed to me very enchanting, and brought a smile on my lips. I
examined her to see whether she was prettier in her new dress or in the
morning's negligee, and I decided in favour of the latter. To speak the
truth, Lucie was, I thought, superior in everything, not only to Angela,
but even to Bettina.
The hair-dresser made his appearance, and the honest family left my room.
When I was dressed I went to meet the countess and her amiable daughter.
The day passed off very pleasantly, as is generally the case in the
country, when you are amongst agreeable people.
In the morning, the moment my eyes were opened,
I rang the bell, and pretty Lucie came in, simple and natural as before,
with her easy manners and wonderful remarks. Her candour, her innocence
shone brilliantly all over her person. I could not conceive how, with her
goodness, her virtue and her intelligence, she could run the risk of
exciting me by coming into my room alone, and with so much familiarity. I
fancied that she would not attach much importance to certain slight
liberties, and would not prove over-scrupulous, and with that idea I made
up my mind to shew her that I fully understood her. I felt no remorse of
conscience on the score of her parents, who, in my estimation, were as
careless as herself; I had no dread of being the first to give the alarm
to her innocence, or to enlighten her mind with the gloomy light of
malice, but, unwilling either to be the dupe of feeling or to act against
it, I resolved to reconnoitre the ground. I extend a daring hand towards
her person, and by an involuntary movement she withdraws, blushes, her
cheerfulness disappears, and, turning her head aside as if she were in
search of something, she waits until her agitation has subsided. The whole
affair had not lasted one minute. She came back, abashed at the idea that
she had proved herself rather knowing, and at the dread of having perhaps
given a wrong interpretation to an action which might have been, on my
part, perfectly innocent, or the result of politeness. Her natural laugh
soon returned, and, having rapidly read in her mind all I have just
described, I lost no time in restoring her confidence, and, judging that I
would venture too much by active operations, I resolved to employ the
following morning in a friendly chat during which I could make her out
In pursuance of that plan, the next morning, as we were talking, I told
her that it was cold, but that she would not feel it if she would lie down
"Shall I disturb you?" she said.
"No; but I am thinking that if your mother happened to come in, she would
"Mother would not think of any harm."
"Come, then. But Lucie, do you know what danger you are exposing yourself
"Certainly I do; but you are good, and, what is more, you are a priest."
"Come; only lock the door."
"No, no, for people might think.... I do not know what." She laid down
close by me, and kept on her chatting, although I did not understand a
word of what she said, for in that singular position, and unwilling to
give way to my ardent desires, I remained as still as a log.
Her confidence in her safety, confidence which was certainly not feigned,
worked upon my feelings to such an extent that I would have been ashamed
to take any advantage of it. At last she told me that nine o'clock had
struck, and that if old Count Antonio found us as we were, he would tease
her with his jokes. "When I see that man," she said, "I am afraid and I
run away." Saying these words, she rose from the bed and left the room.
I remained motionless for a long while, stupefied, benumbed, and mastered
by the agitation of my excited senses as well as by my thoughts. The next
morning, as I wished to keep calm, I only let her sit down on my bed, and
the conversation I had with her proved without the shadow of a doubt that
her parents had every reason to idolize her, and that the easy freedom of
her mind as well as of her behaviour with me was entirely owing to her
innocence and to her purity. Her artlessness, her vivacity, her eager
curiosity, and the bashful blushes which spread over her face whenever her
innocent or jesting remarks caused me to laugh, everything, in fact,
convinced me that she was an angel destined to become the victim of the
first libertine who would undertake to seduce her. I felt sufficient
control over my own feelings to resist any attempt against her virtue
which my conscience might afterwards reproach me with. The mere thought of
taking advantage of her innocence made me shudder, and my self-esteem was
a guarantee to her parents, who abandoned her to me on the strength of the
good opinion they entertained of me, that Lucie's honour was safe in my
hands. I thought I would have despised myself if I had betrayed the trust
they reposed in me. I therefore determined to conquer my feelings, and,
with perfect confidence in the victory, I made up my mind to wage war
against myself, and to be satisfied with her presence as the only reward
of my heroic efforts. I was not yet acquainted with the axiom that "as
long as the fighting lasts, victory remains uncertain."
As I enjoyed her conversation much, a natural instinct prompted me to tell
her that she would afford me great pleasure if she could come earlier in
the morning, and even wake me up if I happened to be asleep, adding, in
order to give more weight to my request, that the less I slept the better
I felt in health. In this manner I contrived to spend three hours instead
of two in her society, although this cunning contrivance of mine did not
prevent the hours flying, at least in my opinion, as swift as lightning.
Her mother would often come in as we were talking, and when the good woman
found her sitting on my bed she would say nothing, only wondering at my
kindness. Lucie would then cover her with kisses, and the kind old soul
would entreat me to give her child lessons of goodness, and to cultivate
her mind; but when she had left us Lucie did not think herself more
unrestrained, and whether in or out of her mother's presence, she was
always the same without the slightest change.
If the society of this angelic child afforded me the sweetest delight, it
also caused me the most cruel suffering. Often, very often, when her face
was close to my lips, I felt the most ardent temptation to smother her
with kisses, and my blood was at fever heat when she wished that she had
been a sister of mine. But I kept sufficient command over myself to avoid
the slightest contact, for I was conscious that even one kiss would have
been the spark which would have blown up all the edifice of my reserve.
Every time she left me I remained astounded at my own victory, but, always
eager to win fresh laurels, I longed for the following morning, panting
for a renewal of this sweet yet very dangerous contest.
At the end of ten or twelve days, I felt that there was no alternative but
to put a stop to this state of things, or to become a monster in my own
eyes; and I decided for the moral side of the question all the more easily
that nothing insured me success, if I chose the second alternative. The
moment I placed her under the obligation to defend herself Lucie would
become a heroine, and the door of my room being open, I might have been
exposed to shame and to a very useless repentance. This rather frightened
me. Yet, to put an end to my torture, I did not know what to decide. I
could no longer resist the effect made upon my senses by this beautiful
girl, who, at the break of day and scarcely dressed, ran gaily into my
room, came to my bed enquiring how I had slept, bent familiarly her head
towards me, and, so to speak, dropped her words on my lips. In those
dangerous moments I would turn my head aside; but in her innocence she
would reproach me for being afraid when she felt herself so safe, and if I
answered that I could not possibly fear a child, she would reply that a
difference of two years was of no account.
Standing at bay, exhausted, conscious that every instant increased the
ardour which was devouring me, I resolved to entreat from herself the
discontinuance of her visits, and this resolution appeared to me sublime
and infallible; but having postponed its execution until the following
morning, I passed a dreadful night, tortured by the image of Lucie, and by
the idea that I would see her in the morning for the last time. I fancied
that Lucie would not only grant my prayer, but that she would conceive for
me the highest esteem. In the morning, it was barely day-light, Lucie
beaming, radiant with beauty, a happy smile brightening her pretty mouth,
and her splendid hair in the most fascinating disorder, bursts into my
room, and rushes with open arms towards my bed; but when she sees my pale,
dejected, and unhappy countenance, she stops short, and her beautiful face
taking an expression of sadness and anxiety:
"What ails you?" she asks, with deep sympathy.
"I have had no sleep through the night:"
"Because I have made up my mind to impart to you a project which, although
fraught with misery to myself, will at least secure me your esteem."
"But if your project is to insure my esteem it ought to make you very
cheerful. Only tell me, reverend sir, why, after calling me 'thou'
yesterday, you treat me today respectfully, like a lady? What have I done?
I will get your coffee, and you must tell me everything after you have
drunk it; I long to hear you."
She goes and returns, I drink the coffee, and seeing that my countenance
remains grave she tries to enliven me, contrives to make me smile, and
claps her hands for joy. After putting everything in order, she closes the
door because the wind is high, and in her anxiety not to lose one word of
what I have to say, she entreats artlessly a little place near me. I
cannot refuse her, for I feel almost lifeless.
I then begin a faithful recital of the fearful state in which her beauty
has thrown me, and a vivid picture of all the suffering I have experienced
in trying to master my ardent wish to give her some proof of my love; I
explain to her that, unable to endure such torture any longer, I see no
other safety but in entreating her not to see me any more. The importance
of the subject, the truth of my love, my wish to present my expedient in
the light of the heroic effort of a deep and virtuous passion, lend me a
peculiar eloquence. I endeavour above all to make her realize the fearful
consequences which might follow a course different to the one I was
proposing, and how miserable we might be.
At the close of my long discourse Lucie, seeing my eyes wet with tears,
throws off the bed-clothes to wipe them, without thinking that in so doing
she uncovers two globes, the beauty of which might have caused the wreck
of the most experienced pilot. After a short silence, the charming child
tells me that my tears make her very unhappy, and that she had never
supposed that she could cause them.
"All you have just told me," she added, "proves the sincerity of your
great love for me, but I cannot imagine why you should be in such dread of
a feeling which affords me the most intense pleasure. You wish to banish
me from your presence because you stand in fear of your love, but what
would you do if you hated me? Am I guilty because I have pleased you? If
it is a crime to have won your affection, I can assure you that I did not
think I was committing a criminal action, and therefore you cannot
conscientiously punish me. Yet I cannot conceal the truth; I am very happy
to be loved by you. As for the danger we run, when we love, danger which I
can understand, we can set it at defiance, if we choose, and I wonder at
my not fearing it, ignorant as I am, while you, a learned man, think it so
terrible. I am astonished that love, which is not a disease, should have
made you ill, and that it should have exactly the opposite effect upon me.
Is it possible that I am mistaken, and that my feeling towards you should
not be love? You saw me very cheerful when I came in this morning; it is
because I have been dreaming all night, but my dreams did not keep me
awake; only several times I woke up to ascertain whether my dream was
true, for I thought I was near you; and every time, finding that it was
not so, I quickly went to sleep again in the hope of continuing my happy
dream, and every time I succeeded. After such a night, was it not natural
for me to be cheerful this morning? My dear abbe, if love is a torment for
you I am very sorry, but would it be possible for you to live without
love? I will do anything you order me to do, but, even if your cure
depended upon it, I would not cease to love you, for that would be
impossible. Yet if to heal your sufferings it should be necessary for you
to love me no more, you must do your utmost to succeed, for I would much
rather see you alive without love, than dead for having loved too much.
Only try to find some other plan, for the one you have proposed makes me
very miserable. Think of it, there may be some other way which will be
less painful. Suggest one more practicable, and depend upon Lucie's
These words, so true, so artless, so innocent, made me realize the immense
superiority of nature's eloquence over that of philosophical intellect.
For the first time I folded this angelic being in my arms, exclaiming,
"Yes, dearest Lucie, yes, thou hast it in thy power to afford the sweetest
relief to my devouring pain; abandon to my ardent kisses thy divine lips
which have just assured me of thy love."
An hour passed in the most delightful silence, which nothing interrupted
except these words murmured now and then by Lucie, "Oh, God! is it true?
is it not a dream?" Yet I respected her innocence, and the more readily
that she abandoned herself entirely and without the slightest resistance.
At last, extricating herself gently from my arms, she said, with some
uneasiness, "My heart begins to speak, I must go;" and she instantly rose.
Having somewhat rearranged her dress she sat down, and her mother, coming
in at that moment, complimented me upon my good looks and my bright
countenance, and told Lucie to dress herself to attend mass. Lucie came
back an hour later, and expressed her joy and her pride at the wonderful
cure she thought she had performed upon me, for the healthy appearance I
was then shewing convinced her of my love much better than the pitiful
state in which she had found me in the morning. "If your complete
happiness," she said, "rests in my power, be happy; there is nothing that
I can refuse you."
The moment she left me, still wavering between happiness and fear, I
understood that I was standing on the very brink of the abyss, and that
nothing but a most extraordinary determination could prevent me from
falling headlong into it.
I remained at Pasean until the end of September, and the last eleven
nights of my stay were passed in the undisturbed possession of Lucie, who,
secure in her mother's profound sleep, came to my room to enjoy in my arms
the most delicious hours. The burning ardour of my love was increased by
the abstinence to which I condemned myself, although Lucie did everything
in her power to make me break through my determination. She could not
fully enjoy the sweetness of the forbidden fruit unless I plucked it
without reserve, and the effect produced by our constantly lying in each
other's arms was too strong for a young girl to resist. She tried
everything she could to deceive me, and to make me believe that I had
already, and in reality, gathered the whole flower, but Bettina's lessons
had been too efficient to allow me to go on a wrong scent, and I reached
the end of my stay without yielding entirely to the temptation she so
fondly threw in my way. I promised her to return in the spring; our
farewell was tender and very sad, and I left her in a state of mind and of
body which must have been the cause of her misfortunes, which, twenty
years after, I had occasion to reproach myself with in Holland, and which
will ever remain upon my conscience.
A few days after my return to Venice, I had fallen back into all my old
habits, and resumed my courtship of Angela in the hope that I would obtain
from her, at least, as much as Lucie had granted to me. A certain dread
which to-day I can no longer trace in my nature, a sort of terror of the
consequences which might have a blighting influence upon my future,
prevented me from giving myself up to complete enjoyment. I do not know
whether I have ever been a truly honest man, but I am fully aware that the
feelings I fostered in my youth were by far more upright than those I
have, as I lived on, forced myself to accept. A wicked philosophy throws
down too many of these barriers which we call prejudices.
The two sisters who were sharing Angela's embroidery lessons were her
intimate friends and the confidantes of all her secrets. I made their
acquaintance, and found that they disapproved of her extreme reserve
towards me. As I usually saw them with Angela and knew their intimacy with
her, I would, when I happened to meet them alone, tell them all my
sorrows, and, thinking only of my cruel sweetheart, I never was conceited
enough to propose that these young girls might fall in love with me; but I
often ventured to speak to them with all the blazing inspiration which was
burning in me—a liberty I would not have dared to take in the
presence of her whom I loved. True love always begets reserve; we fear to
be accused of exaggeration if we should give utterance to feelings
inspired, by passion, and the modest lover, in his dread of saying too
much, very often says too little.
The teacher of embroidery, an old bigot, who at first appeared not to mind
the attachment I skewed for Angela, got tired at last of my too frequent
visits, and mentioned them to the abbe, the uncle of my fair lady. He told
me kindly one day that I ought not to call at that house so often, as my
constant visits might be wrongly construed, and prove detrimental to the
reputation of his niece. His words fell upon me like a thunder-bolt, but I
mastered my feelings sufficiently to leave him without incurring any
suspicion, and I promised to follow his good advice.
Three or four days afterwards, I paid a visit to the teacher of
embroidery, and, to make her believe that my visit was only intended for
her, I did not stop one instant near the young girls; yet I contrived to
slip in the hand of the eldest of the two sisters a note enclosing another
for my dear Angela, in which I explained why I had been compelled to
discontinue my visits, entreating her to devise some means by which I
could enjoy the happiness of seeing her and of conversing with her. In my
note to Nanette, I only begged her to give my letter to her friend, adding
that I would see them again the day after the morrow, and that I trusted
to her to find an opportunity for delivering me the answer. She managed it
all very cleverly, and, when I renewed my visit two days afterwards, she
gave me a letter without attracting the attention of anyone. Nanette's
letter enclosed a very short note from Angela, who, disliking
letter-writing, merely advised me to follow, if I could, the plan proposed
by her friend. Here is the copy of the letter written by Nanette, which I
have always kept, as well as all other letters which I give in these
"There is nothing in the world, reverend sir, that I would not readily do
for my friend. She visits at our house every holiday, has supper with us,
and sleeps under our roof. I will suggest the best way for you to make the
acquaintance of Madame Orio, our aunt; but, if you obtain an introduction
to her, you must be very careful not to let her suspect your preference
for Angela, for our aunt would certainly object to her house being made a
place of rendezvous to facilitate your interviews with a stranger to her
family. Now for the plan I propose, and in the execution of which I will
give you every assistance in my power. Madame Orio, although a woman of
good station in life, is not wealthy, and she wishes to have her name
entered on the list of noble widows who receive the bounties bestowed by
the Confraternity of the Holy Sacrament, of which M. de Malipiero is
president. Last Sunday, Angela mentioned that you are in the good graces
of that nobleman, and that the best way to obtain his patronage would be
to ask you to entreat it in her behalf. The foolish girl added that you
were smitten with me, that all your visits to our mistress of embroidery
were made for my special benefit and for the sake of entertaining me, and
that I would find it a very easy task to interest you in her favour. My
aunt answered that, as you are a priest, there was no fear of any harm,
and she told me to write to you with an invitation to call on her; I
refused. The procurator Rosa, who is a great favourite of my aunt's, was
present; he approved of my refusal, saying that the letter ought to be
written by her and not by me, that it was for my aunt to beg the honour of
your visit on business of real importance, and that, if there was any
truth in the report of your love for me, you would not fail to come. My
aunt, by his advice, has therefore written the letter which you will find
at your house. If you wish to meet Angela, postpone your visit to us until
next Sunday. Should you succeed in obtaining M. de Malipiero's good will
in favour of my aunt, you will become the pet of the household, but you
must forgive me if I appear to treat you with coolness, for I have said
that I do not like you. I would advise you to make love to my aunt, who is
sixty years of age; M. Rosa will not be jealous, and you will become dear
to everyone. For my part, I will manage for you an opportunity for some
private conversation with Angela, and I will do anything to convince you
of my friendship. Adieu."
This plan appeared to me very well conceived, and, having the same evening
received Madame Orio's letter, I called upon her on the following day,
Sunday. I was welcomed in a very friendly manner, and the lady, entreating
me to exert in her behalf my influence with M. de Malipiero, entrusted me
with all the papers which I might require to succeed. I undertook to do my
utmost, and I took care to address only a few words to Angela, but I
directed all my gallant attentions to Nanette, who treated me as coolly as
could be. Finally, I won the friendship of the old procurator Rosa, who,
in after years, was of some service to me.
I had so much at stake in the success of Madame Orio's petition, that I
thought of nothing else, and knowing all the power of the beautiful
Therese Imer over our amorous senator, who would be but too happy to
please her in anything, I determined to call upon her the next day, and I
went straight to her room without being announced. I found her alone with
the physician Doro, who, feigning to be on a professional visit, wrote a
prescription, felt her pulse, and went off. This Doro was suspected of
being in love with Therese; M. de Malipiero, who was jealous, had
forbidden Therese to receive his visits, and she had promised to obey him.
She knew that I was acquainted with those circumstances, and my presence
was evidently unpleasant to her, for she had certainly no wish that the
old man should hear how she kept her promise. I thought that no better
opportunity could be found of obtaining from her everything I wished.
I told her in a few words the object of my visit, and I took care to add
that she could rely upon my discretion, and that I would not for the world
do her any injury. Therese, grateful for this assurance, answered that she
rejoiced at finding an occasion to oblige me, and, asking me to give her
the papers of my protege, she shewed me the certificates and testimonials
of another lady in favour of whom she had undertaken to speak, and whom,
she said, she would sacrifice to the person in whose behalf I felt
interested. She kept her word, for the very next day she placed in my
hands the brevet, signed by his excellency as president of the
confraternity. For the present, and with the expectation of further
favours, Madame Orio's name was put down to share the bounties which were
distributed twice a year.
Nanette and her sister Marton were the orphan daughters of a sister of
Madame Orio. All the fortune of the good lady consisted in the house which
was her dwelling, the first floor being let, and in a pension given to her
by her brother, member of the council of ten. She lived alone with her two
charming nieces, the eldest sixteen, and the youngest fifteen years of
age. She kept no servant, and only employed an old woman, who, for one
crown a month, fetched water, and did the rough work. Her only friend was
the procurator Rosa; he had, like her, reached his sixtieth year, and
expected to marry her as soon as he should become a widower.
The two sisters slept together on the third floor in a large bed, which
was likewise shared by Angela every Sunday.
As soon as I found myself in possession of the deed for Madame Orio, I
hastened to pay a visit to the mistress of embroidery, in order to find an
opportunity of acquainting Nanette with my success, and in a short note
which I prepared, I informed her that in two days I would call to give the
brevet to Madame Orio, and I begged her earnestly not to forget her
promise to contrive a private interview with my dear Angela.
When I arrived, on the appointed day, at Madame Orio's house, Nanette, who
had watched for my coming, dexterously conveyed to my hand a billet,
requesting me to find a moment to read it before leaving the house. I
found Madame Orio, Angela, the old procurator, and Marton in the room.
Longing to read the note, I refused the seat offered to me, and presenting
to Madame Orio the deed she had so long desired, I asked, as my only
reward, the pleasure of kissing her hand, giving her to understand that I
wanted to leave the room immediately.
"Oh, my dear abbe!" said the lady, "you shall have a kiss, but not on my
hand, and no one can object to it, as I am thirty years older than you."
She might have said forty-five without going much astray. I gave her two
kisses, which evidently satisfied her, for she desired me to perform the
same ceremony with her nieces, but they both ran away, and Angela alone
stood the brunt of my hardihood. After this the widow asked me to sit
"I cannot, Madame."
"Why, I beg?"
"I understand. Nanette, shew the way."
"Dear aunt, excuse me."
"Well, then, Marton."
"Oh! dear aunt, why do you not insist upon my sister obeying your orders?"
"Alas! madame, these young ladies are quite right. Allow me to retire."
"No, my dear abbe, my nieces are very foolish; M. Rosa, I am sure, will
The good procurator takes me affectionately by the hand, and leads me to
the third story, where he leaves me. The moment I am alone I open my
letter, and I read the following:
"My aunt will invite you to supper; do not accept. Go away as soon as we
sit down to table, and Marton will escort you as far as the street door,
but do not leave the house. When the street door is closed again, everyone
thinking you are gone, go upstairs in the dark as far as the third floor,
where you must wait for us. We will come up the moment M. Rosa has left
the house, and our aunt has gone to bed. Angela will be at liberty to
grant you throughout the night a tete-a-tete which, I trust, will prove a
Oh! what joy-what gratitude for the lucky chance which allowed me to read
this letter on the very spot where I was to expect the dear abject of my
love! Certain of finding my way without the slightest difficulty, I
returned to Madame Orio's sitting-room, overwhelmed with happiness.