I had accidentally observed that an affair with this despicable breed is the more dangerous since most of them have a sweet and ingratiating character which allows them to combine an indulging and easy-going temper with the most courtly and obliging manners. To make it brief, they possess to a great extent that which is improperly considered perfect manners in polite society. I must add that this experience has taught me to beware of personages with impeccable manners and extravagant courtliness, because people like that are very seldom honorable and trustworthy.
Let me tell you about this fortune hunter. For a long time now, I had coveted the gorgeous diamond ring on his finger. The chiseler had quite frequently hinted that he deemed it too slight a payment for even the smallest of my attentions. Even though I pretended that I did not trust him, I had too high an opinion of my own charms to believe that he was merely joking. I therefore did not doubt in the least that this beautiful ring would sooner or later be mine. I was only waiting for the proper opportunity to strip him of his possession. One fine Sunday morning, during Mass in the Hospital of the Blind, I thought I finally had my chance. My cavalier found a place next to me and after he had started a gallant conversation, spiked with all sorts of sweet nothings, I answered that I considered his flattering talk very delightful if I could only be convinced that it came from his heart.
“Ah!” he exclaimed with a deep sigh, “do your eyes only have the capacity to discover great possibilities in others, and are they closed to your own great qualities?”
“Let us assume that I have any,” I countered, “would that give me less reason to mistrust the palaver of gentlemen? Is that not precisely the way you daily flatter women into submission, women that are far worthier than I am? Oh, Monsieur le Chevalier, if I were to put you on the spot and desire a token of your sincerity, I am sure it would greatly embarrass you!”
“What?” he exclaimed. “Do you believe I am capable of double-dealing…?”
“I believe you,” I interrupted him, “as much as I do all the others who half of the time say what they don't mean and often make promises which they have not the slightest intention of keeping. For instance — yes, yes, and I am not joking now — you must admit that you would be greatly embarrassed if I were to take you up on your promise when you offered me your diamond.”
“Madame,” he answered in a deeply hurt tone of voice. “Ere you make up your mind about people in such a derogatory manner, I think it would be only fair if you were to put me to the test.”
“What do you expect?” I said smilingly. “The good ones must suffer for the deeds of the bad ones. In general, men are so deceitful that I do not consider it an injustice when we girls do not have a better opinion of your ilk. But since I do not really have any true reason which forces me to pass judgment upon you personally, I am more than willing to make an exception in your favor and assume that you have none of the bad qualities of your sex but only those which make it so desirable. But I do not think that this is the proper place to go any further into such speculations. Why don't you come with me and have a small cup of soup during which we can continue this metaphysical discussion to our heart's content.”
That was exactly what this cheat had hoped I would do. The first thing he did when we entered my home, was to put the ring on my finger. The rapture into which the possession of this precious jewel brought me, made it impossible for me not to give in to any and all of his wishes and desires. Before and after dinner I gave him as many tokens of my gratitude as he wanted. But do you think I had gained anything out of this affair? The diamond was a fake. I discovered that one of my most valuable gold snuff boxes was missing; the scoundrel had absconded with it. My only real gain consisted of one of those infirmities which the doctors at Saint-Come generally treat with cooling diuretics and blood cleansing potions. And the worst thing of this whole miserable adventure was that I did not dare to take vengeance or to complain about the infamous behavior of this swindler. I was far more afraid that he would talk, and I believe that I would have paid him for keeping the whole sordid affair a secret. But I was smart enough to patiently swallow my pride and to go on the prescribed diet without crying over spilled milk. And to make sure that I would derive the greatest benefit from my medicine, I pretended to suffer from chest pains so that Monsieur Thuret allowed me a leave of absence from my dancing chores. Of course, I still sought out the Opera, but I pretended that I wished to remain incognito and seated myself in the amphitheater, now and then glancing at the stage with a bored expression on my face. My good Lord, the number of absurdities with which I enriched the audience by answering all the stupid and boring proposals and suggestions is simply staggering! From the left and from the right, a whole flock of chatterers, whispering every single absurdity into my ears! Is it really possible that men are so frivolous, and do they have to go into such detailed descriptions? And is it truly possible that we hanker after these superficial flatteries and lowly compliments, and do we enjoy listening to these inanities so much that we are the cause of them being uttered in the first place?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE ABBE
Among the enormous number of lamebrains was a banker with a rather blemished complexion, but of a tall build, who whispered with incredible daring the most unspeakable obscenities into my ears. These stupidities could only be the inventions of a demented mind. And an old, toothless commander — a real flatterer who would be capable of making even the most boring people fall asleep — tried his best to make me fall for his reddish, charming little slit-eyes by repeating an uncounted number of lines and phrases from the Roman d'Astree. Seated at some distance from these two champion roosters was a younger generation of idiots who threw passionate glances in my direction and whispered so softly to one another that their carefully phrased compliments made me dizzy. I was enchanting, a divine beauty, I surpassed the angels and my glitter was more brilliant than the stars. And whenever I looked in their direction, they glanced demurely at their fingertips to convince me of the sincerity of their remarks concerning my charms and to make sure that I would understand they were not meant to be overheard by me.
And the more I thought about so much impudence, the more I was tempted to believe that either creatures like us had an incredible magnetic influence or that men had to be utterly blind beings. But, however this may be, the ridiculous desire, which is rampant throughout France, to have an affair with a girl from the theater rather than with the women of the kingdom who fully deserve male attention by right of birth or merit, is widespread and has become a symbol of status. Is it possible that such shortsightedness can be ascribed to mere vanity, to the ridiculous desire to be talked about? It really seems to me that our existence gives substance to the lives of our lovers. Even though many of them do not distinguish themselves from the masses, even if they bring themselves to ruin — the moment they let themselves in with one of us, they can no longer be ignored. They have become men a la mode. How many despicable leaseholders would have gone through life completely unnoticed if they had not taken part in our piracies and embezzlements. It is we that pull these people out of their obscurity and give them a halo of fame, and who consecrate their names with the incredible amounts of money we make them spend on us. Is not the fame of Duliz entirely due to Mademoiselle Pelissier? And it is without doubt this incomparable siren who has enriched our courtly status with the history of this famous Israelite. Thanks to the number of diamonds she swindled out of him and thanks to all the adventures which were a direct result of this, his memory will live on throughout eternity. It is not only enough to know that such an incredibly wealthy man really existed, it is far better to have the knowledge that the wretched devil, so to speak, died in the poorhouse on a straw bed. This is the fabulous fame one can acquire: utter ruination through frequently visiting us. Of course, it has its compensations — public renown and the inner delight of having created a stir in respectable society. But, let us return to my own story.