The Charpillon--Dreadful Consequences of My Acquaintance With Her The name Charpillon reminded me that I was the bearer of a letter for her, and drawing it from my pocket-book I gave it her, saying that the document ought to cement our acquaintance.
"What!" she exclaimed, "a letter from the dear ambassador Morosini.
How delighted I am to have it! And you have actually been all these months in London without giving it me?"
"I confess I am to blame, but, as you see, the note has no address on it. I am grateful for the chance which has enabled me to discharge my commission to-day."
"Come and dine with us to-morrow."
"I cannot do so, as I am expecting Lord Pembroke to dinner."
"Will you be alone?"
"I expect so."
"I am glad to hear it; you will see my aunt and myself appearing on the scene."
"Here is my address; and I shall be delighted if you will come and see me."
She took the address, and I was surprised to see her smile as she read it.
"Then you are the Italian," she said, "who put up that notice that amused all the town?"
"I am."
"They say the joke cost you dear."
"Quite the reverse; it resulted in the greatest happiness."
"But now that the beloved object has left you, I suppose you are unhappy?"
"I am; but there are sorrows so sweet that they are almost joys."
"Nobody knows who she was, but I suppose you do?"
"Yes."
"Do you make a mystery of it?"
"Surely, and I would rather die than reveal it."
"Ask my aunt if I may take some rooms in your house; but I am afraid my mother would not let me."
"Why do you want to lodge cheaply?"
"I don't want to lodge cheaply, but I should like to punish the audacious author of that notice."
"How would you punish me?"
"By ****** you fall in love with me, and then tormenting you. It would have amused me immensely."
"Then you think that you can inspire me with love, and at the same time form the dreadful plan of tyrannising over the victim of your charms. Such a project is monstrous, and unhappily for us poor men, you do not look a monster. Nevertheless, I am obliged to you for your frankness, and I shall be on my guard."
"Then you must take care never to see me, or else all your efforts will be in vain."
As the Charpillon had laughed merrily through the whole of this dialogue, I took it all as a jest, but I could not help admiring her manner, which seemed made for the subjugation of men. But though I
knew it not, the day I made that woman's acquaintance was a luckless one for me, as my readers will see.
It was towards the end of the month of September, 1763, when I met the Charpillon, and from that day I began to die. If the lines of ascent and declination are equal, now, on the first day of November, 1797, I have about four more years of life to reckon on, which will pass by swiftly, according to the axiom 'Motus in fine velocior'.
The Charpillon, who was well known in London, and I believe is still alive, was one of those beauties in whom it is difficult to find any positive fault. Her hair was chestnut coloured, and astonishingly long and thick, her blue eyes were at once languorous and brilliant, her skin, faintly tinged with a rosy hue, was of a dazzling whiteness; she was tall for her age, and seemed likely to become as tall as Pauline. Her breast was perhaps a little small, but perfectly shaped, her hands were white and plump, her feet small, and her gait had something noble and gracious. Her features were of that exquisite sensibility which gives so much charm to the fair ***, but nature had given her a beautiful body and a deformed soul. This siren had formed a design to wreck my happiness even before she knew me, and as if to add to her triumph she told me as much.
I left Malingan's house not like a man who, fond of the fair ***, is glad to have made the acquaintance of a beautiful woman, but in a state of stupefaction that the image of Pauline, which was always before me, was not strong enough to overcome the influence of a creature like the Charpillon, whom in my heart I could not help despising.
I calmed myself by saying that this strong impression was due to novelty, and by hoping that I should soon be disenchanted.
"She will have no charm," said I, "when I have once possessed her, and that will not be long in coming." Perhaps the reader will think that I was too presumptuous, but why should I suppose that there would be any difficulty? She had asked me to dinner herself, she had surrendered herself entirely to Morosini, who was not the man to sigh for long at any woman's feet, and must have paid her, for he was not young enough nor handsome enough to inspire her with a fancy for him.
Without counting my physical attractions, I had plenty of money, and I was not afraid of spending it; and so I thought I could count on an easy victory.
Pembroke had become an intimate friend of mine since my proceedings with regard to Schwerin. He admired my conduct in not ****** any claim on the general for half my loss. He had said we would make a pleasant day of it together, and when he saw that my table was laid for four he asked who the other guests were to be. He was extremely surprised when he heard that they were the Charpillon and her aunt, and that the girl had invited herself when she heard he was to dine with me.
"I once took a violent fancy for the little hussy," said he. "It was one evening when I was at Vauxhall, and I offered her twenty guineas if she would come and take a little walk with me in a dark alley.
She said she would come if I gave her the money in advance, which I
was fool enough to do. She went with me, but as soon as we were alone she ran away, and I could not catch her again, though I looked for her all the evening."
"You ought to have boxed her ears before everybody."
"I should have got into trouble, and people would have laughed at me besides. I preferred to despise her and the money too. Are you in love with her?"
"No; but I am curious, as you were."
"Take care! she will do all in her power to entrap you."
She came in and went up to my lord with the most perfect coolness, and began to chatter away to him without taking any notice of me.
