"It was reserved for us to find at the back of the Adriatic the tomb of two king's daughters[127] whose funeral oration we had heard delivered in an attic in London. Ah, at least the grave that holds those noble ladies will have once heard its silence broken; the sound of a Frenchman's foot-steps will have made two Frenchwomen start in their coffins! The respects of a poor gentleman, at Versailles, would have been nothing to princesses; the prayer of a Christian, on foreign soil, will perhaps have been agreeable to saints."

Some few years, it seems to me, have passed, since I began to serve the Bourbons: they have enlightened my fidelity, but they will not tire it I am breakfasting on the Riva degli Schiavoni, while waiting for the exile.

Venice, September 1833.

From the little table at which I sit, my eyes wander over all the roads: a breeze from the offing cools the air; the tide is rising; a three-master is coming in. The Lido on one side, the Doge's Palace on the other, the lagoons in the middle: that is the picture. It is from this port that so many glorious fleets set sail; old Dandolo sallied forth in all the pomp of naval chivalry, of which Villehardouin[128], who began our language and our Memoirs, has left us a description:

"And when the ships were laden with arms, and meats, and knights, and sergeants, and the shields were arrayed all round in the form of a frieze, and the banners waved, of which there were so many fair ones, never did fairer fleets sail from any port."

The morning scene in Venice also puts me in mind of the story of Captain Olivet and Zulietta, which was so well told:

"The gondola lay to, and I saw a dazzlingly beautiful young woman step out, coquettishly dressed and very nimble. In three bounds she was in the cabin and seated at my side, before I perceived that a place had been laid for her. She was a brunette of twenty years at the most, as charming as she was lively. She could speak only Italian; her accent alone would have been enough to turn my head. While eating and chatting, she fixed her eyes on me and then, exclaiming, 'Holy Virgin! O my dear Brémond, how long it is since I saw you!1 she threw herself into my arms, sealed her lips to mine and pressed me almost to suffocation. Her large, black, Oriental eyes darted shafts of fire into my heart; and although surprise at first diverted my senses, my amorous feelings very rapidly overcame me.... She told us that I was the image of M. de Brémond, the director of the Tuscan custom-house; that she had been madly in love with this M. de Brémond; that she was still madly in love with him; that she had left him because she was a fool; that she took me in his place; that she wanted to love me, since it suited her; that, for the same reason, I must love her as long as it suited her; and that, when she left me in the lurch, I must bear it patiently as her dear Brémond had done. No sooner said than done....

"In the evening, we escorted her back to her apartments. While we were talking, I noticed two pistols on her dressing-table.

"'Ah, ah!' said I, taking one up, 'here is a patch-box of a new construction; may I ask what it is used for?'

"She said, with an ingenuous pride which made her still more charming:

"'When I am complaisant to those whom I do not love, I make them pay for the weariness they cause me: nothing can be fairer; but, although I endure their caresses, I will not endure their insults, and I shall not miss the first man who shall be wanting in respect to me.'

'When I left her, I made an appointment for the next day. I did not keep her waiting. I found her in vestito di confidenza, in a more than wanton undress, which is known only in southern countries and which I will not amuse myself with describing, although I remember it too well.... I had no idea of the delights that awaited me. I have spoken of Madame de Larnage, in the transports which the recollection of her still sometimes awakens in me; but how old, ugly, and cold she was, compared with my Zulietta! Do not attempt to imagine the charms and graces of this bewitching girl; you would be too far from the truth. The young virgins of the cloister are not so fresh, the beauties of the harem are not so lively, the houris of paradise are not so piquant.[129]"

This adventure ended with an eccentricity on the part of Rousseau and Zulietta's phrase:

"Lascia le donne e studia la matematica."