Back Again to Paris | Page 9

wore the cross of the Knights of Malta. Several other girls I had known
were widowed and in the country, or had become inaccessible in other
ways.
Such was the Paris of my day. The actors on its stage changed as
rapidly as the fashions.
I devoted a whole day to my old friend Baletti, who had left the theatre
and married a pretty ballet-girl on the death of his father; he was
making experiments with a view to finding the philosopher's stone.
I was agreeably surprised at meeting the poet Poinsinet at the Comedic
Francaise. He embraced me again and again, and told me that M. du
Tillot had overwhelmed him with kindness at Parma.
"He would not get me anything to do," said Poinsinet, "because a
French poet is rather at a discount in Italy."
"Have you heard anything of Lord Lismore?"
"Yes, he wrote to his mother from Leghorn, telling her that he was

going to the Indies, and that if you had not been good enough to give
him a thousand Louis he would have been a prisoner at Rome."
"His fate interests me extremely, and I should be glad to call on his
lady-mother with you."
"I will tell her that you are in Paris, and I am sure that she will invite
you to supper, for she has the greatest desire to talk to you."
"How are you getting on here? Are you still content to serve Apollo?"
"He is not the god of wealth by any means. I have no money and no
room, and I shall be glad of a supper, if you will ask me. I will read you
my play, the 'Cercle', which has been accepted. I am sure it will be
successful?"
The 'Cercle' was a short prose play, in which the poet satirised the
jargon of Dr. Herrenschwand, brother of the doctor I had consulted at
Soleure. The play proved to be a great success.
I took Poinsinet home to supper, and the poor nursling of the muses ate
for four. In the morning he came to tell me that the Countess of
Lismore expected me to supper.
I found the lady, still pretty, in company with her aged lover, M. de St.
Albin, Archbishop of Cambrai, who spent all the revenues of his see on
her. This worthy prelate was one of the illegitimate children of the Duc
d'Orleans, the famous Regent, by an actress. He supped with us, but he
only opened his mouth to eat, and his mistress only spoke of her son,
whose talents she lauded to the skies, though he was in reality a mere
scamp; but I felt in duty bound to echo what she said. It would have
been cruel to contradict her. I promised to let her know if I saw
anything more of him.
Poinsinet, who was hearthless and homeless, as they say, spent the
night in my room, and in the morning I gave him two cups of chocolate
and some money wherewith to get a lodging. I never saw him again,
and a few years after he was drowned, not in the fountain of

Hippocrene, but in the Guadalquivir. He told me that he had spent a
week with M. de Voltaire, and that he had hastened his return to Paris
to obtain the release of the Abbe Morellet from the Bastile.
I had nothing more to do at Paris, and I was only waiting for some
clothes to be made and for a cross of the order, with which the Holy
Father had decorated me, to be set with diamonds and rubies.
I had waited for five or six days when an unfortunate incident obliged
me to take a hasty departure. I am loth to write what follows, for it was
all my own fault that I was nearly losing my life and my honour. I pity
those simpletons who blame fortune and not themselves for their
misfortunes.
I was walking in the Tuileries at ten o'clock in the morning, when I was
unlucky enough to meet the Dangenancour and another girl. This
Dangenancour was a dancer at the opera-house, whom I had desired to
meet previously to my last departure from Paris. I congratulated myself
on the lucky chance which threw her in my way, and accosted her, and
had not much trouble in inducing her to dine with me at Choisi.
We walked towards the Pont-Royal, where we took a coach. After
dinner had been ordered we were taking a turn in the garden, when I
saw a carriage stop and two adventurers whom I knew getting out of it,
with two girls, friends of the ones I had with me. The wretched
landlady, who was standing at the door, said that if we liked to