Choisy had not imagined that Rose de Montprofit's feelings would lead her to such extremities.
— Does she love me really that much? he wondered. And she a former dancer: usually dancers are not so spiteful or at least spite does not take such sanguinary forms.
Placed between an ex-mistress who would perhaps attempt to murder him, having failed the first time, and another mistress with such extraordinary sensuality, Choisy began to find his stay in Rome unpleasant and even dangerous. The sittings at the Conclave continued without any sign that they would come to an end. True, there had been no scandal, but the threat was still there. Choisy even had the impression that Lydie was expecting such an incident to happen again, for the blood had given her an appetite for it.
She was now unconcerned with public opinion and even felt proud to show herself with Choisy in society.
The result was that Choisy was now the object of a competition among women that could very well lead to a drama. He could not venture into a salon without having a lot of women flirting around him. And that, of course, only made Lydie more possessive than ever.
— Did you see that woman Genoa, she told Choisy. She wouldn't hesitate to wear a dress with the neckline as low as her navel, to try to seduce you. And that French girl-what is she doing in Rome anyway? Women are not admitted in conclaves. And did you see the way she looked at you. Shameful I call it.
Choisy protested as a matter of course. And he was naturally innocent, as he did absolutely nothing to encourage women, for indeed, he had quite enough with Lydie, who consumed all his energy. He had lost not only all his physical energy but also the mental stimulation necessary for love-making. When he saw Lydie undress with unseemly haste, she no longer looked to him like a nude model who could inspire painters and sculptors, but rather like a devilish female, and he started criticising to himself her too pronounced curves. As for the sight of her sex, it assumed an obscene aspect that disgusted him.
But Lydie failed to diagnose Choisy's disgust. She taunted him for his “local” laziness, and it began to become more and more difficult for her to make his sex stiffen for the benefit of her insatiable sex.
She had finally condescended to use her fingers to caress Choisy's sex and make him stiff enough for her taste. But it was becoming more and more difficult and one night, she got nothing out of her caresses, except a cramp in her fingers. So she started abusing him.
— So you've become an angel, have you? At your age, it's a shame. Do you intend going into retirement like an old soldier?
— I think I've deserved it, I've proved myself enough as it is, Choisy answered, not in the least humiliated by Lydie's biting remark.
— You haven't proved yourself long, as you say, a mere three of four weeks. Call that endurance!
— If you had been less demanding I could have gone on, Choisy retorted.
— Enough! she cried, exasperated, you fooled me. For you I broke my widowhood. What's going to become of me now?
— Get married again.
— With whom? With a man like you who will soon be emptied and flaccid like you. You're a criminal.
— But Uppa, your bull of a husband — I forbid you to insult his memory. Go into retirement since you're good for nothing now.
Choisy got dressed again, without haste, and with a secret inner joy of being free again, at last. But Lydie had not finished with her taunts.
— Your Montprofit must be waiting for you. She'll be fine for you-no breasts, a petty behind and the appetite of a bird.
— And a brown beauty spot on her right buttock, Choisy added.
— That's what you like: kids' stuff. Your blood is as weak as — You found it to your taste one night.
That thought made Lydie become tender again, and she clung to him.
— Do become strong again, please. Don't go and flirt with the Montprofit woman, she whispered tenderly, I could never forgive you that, caro.
— You would avenge yourself if I did? Asked Choisy.
For an answer, she bit his lips and pushed him outside.
The cool night air gave back to Choisy, if not his ardour, at least his liking for life, now that he was out of reach of that fiend.
He gathered information and was told that the whole Roman population was looking anxiously at the “sfumata” (wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney of the room in which the election was taking place, and which, according to its colour, would announce that the new Pope had been nominated), but, so far the electors were still wrangling, so that Choisy had to stay in Rome.
So he went back to see Lydie, for he feared her vindictive humour. She grumbled and pampered him so that he should regain his old form.
One evening, he went to Lydie's house unexpectedly and found it closed. He did not insist but his curiosity incited him to walk round the house and thus he came under the window of her room and saw that it was half-lit, with the sort of lighting that is reserved for love-making.
So he stopped and listened carefully and soon he heard sighs and moans that were quite unmistakable. Yes, Lydie had found a successor. He heard her whisper ecstatically:
— Caro, caro, more more!
Choisy pictured the scene easily in his imagination: Lydie, a loving fury, in the arms of a stapling whom she gradually emptied of all his sap till he cried mercy. Poor fellow! Choisy felt sorry for him — that chap had got intricaded in a mesh out of which there was no honourable exit. Soon he would be, like him, emptied of all his sap. Like him? No, for Choisy was now free and would slowly recover.
But that replacing male had no such luck: he would try his hardest till he became too weak. Uppa, Lydie's deceased husband, had probably died of that kind of exhaustion, he thought, for even a bull of a man cannot for a long time survive such an unceasing rhythm of love-making.
— One gets tired of everything, even of making a mistress vibrate in one's arms, reflected Choisy. It's always the same in the long run.
Yes, the same gestures, the same movements, over and over again. In a dream he saw a covey of naked females, dishevelled and wriggling their buttocks, who ran away from him uttering foul oaths.
The next day there was a great effervescence in the holy city for a white sfumata was rising from the room of the Papal palace. The cardinals had at last agreed on a successor to Clement X, and that was Innocent XI, Choisy felt glad that the election had taken place at last, but for personal reasons.
He ran to the Cardinal of Bouillon's who narrated to him in detail all the wrangles that had taken place in the elector's room. Choisy found it quite interesting, for now he did not think of women any more.
— And you, my son, what did you do while we were writing a page out of History of Religion? the cardinal asked.
— If I told you, Eminence, you wouldn't believe me, Choisy replied.
— Do tell me, the cardinal urged.
— Being idle, I meditated a lot and now you have before you a repented sinner.
The cardinal smiled skeptically.
— Let God hear you, my son, but I fear you'll find Him a little hard of hearing.
— The climate of Rome doesn't agree with me, Choisy said.
— You do look tired. Is it due to having done penance?
— In my way, Eminence.
And he asked for permission to go back to France. The cardinal, who had to stay in Rome for a little while more, granted it.
As soon as he had finished dealing with a few papers, Choisy left Rome.
Up to the last moment, he had feared that Lydie should try to hold him back and he prayed that the fellow who was replacing him would last until his own departure. Heaven heard his prayer for he could go without any hindrance from the luxurious beast that Lydie was.
He arrived in Paris without mishap or incident and saluted with emotion this land of France where love remains the privilege of civilized people and does not degenerate into savagery.
He at once went to Versailles to report before Mr. de Chamillard.
— Ah, Choisy! the latter exclaimed genially, you had quite disappeared for a time-and that's a good thing, haha! Rut then your last mission gives you impunity. You're welcome here.
And he told Choisy the good news: he had been pardoned for having killed a man in a duel, and now he had no necessity to hide or disguise himself.
Louise XIV had a royal memory but he had forgiven. Few people remembered Choisy, who used to be the best friend of the frivolous brother of the king, whom they called “Monsieur.” Even that “Monsieur” had by now renounced his doubtful habits, for he had got married for the second time, and he found his new wife to his taste. His companion of debauch, the knight of Lorraine, had gone away. So Choisy was now nearly unknown in Versailles, and, at least, free from the temptations that his former companions might have put in his way. Lydie had given him an enduring disgust for love-making.
Providentially, Louis XIV confided to Choisy the task of accompanying the knight of Chaumont, who had recently been appointed Ambassador to the King of Siam, to that country. So Choisy left France aboard a ship in Brest. It was one of the best ships of the fleet, reconstituted by Colbert.
After four months they arrived in Siam where the king greeted them with sumptuousness. But something unexpected happened then. Perhaps his long sea voyage had had its influence on Choisy? The fact is that he was ordained Priest in Siam. So far he had been only an abbot, and that merely because he had inherited the grounds of an abbey.
Within a few days he received the minor orders, soon followed by the superior ones. The bishop of Metellopolis consecrated him, and, aboard the ship on her return voyage, Choisy held his first mass.
Gone for ever were Mrs. de Sancy, the countess of Barres, as well as the frivolous Choisy of old. After his return to France he was appointed Dean-Canon of Bayeux, entered the French Academy and his main occupation became the study of history-It is to be wondered whether he was merciful enough to pray God that He should grant His pardon to that Lydie Uppa who had providentially cured him of his bad habits. Without her over-demanding character, who knows how long he would have continued his life of sin? Now, his luxurious visions were but a memory.
The French of the twentieth century still read the writings of the countess of Barres and are delighted with them, but how many of them have read or even heard of the learned works left by the Abbot of Choisy? The pages that are best remembered by posterity are, alas, those saucy ones left by the countess of Barres who was in reality a man-a man who had know the best flowers among women and who, now wise and becalmed, like the sea after a storm, had drawn out of his lewd experiences the ultimate wisdom.
Posterity knows nothing of the respectable side of Choisy, that of his old age (he died at the age of eighty-four!), but only knows about the dissipated years of his youth. Readers probably vicariously enjoy his many adventures which they cannot experience themselves, and that is who such writings as the memoirs of the countess of Barres, or those of Casanova, command such a large readership.