Adventures In The South: Milan

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MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798

ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH, Volume 4e--MILAN

THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO
WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.




MILAN




CHAPTER XVIII

I Give up Agatha to Lord Percy--I Set out for Milan--The Actress at
Pavia--Countess A * * * B * * *--Disappointment--Marquis
Triulzi--Zenobia--The Two Marchionesses Q * * *--The Venetian Barbaro

Far from punishing the Corticelli by making her live with Redegonde, the
Count d'Aglie seemed to have encouraged her; and I was not sorry for it,
since as long as she did not trouble me any more I did not care how many
lovers she had. She had become a great friend of Redegonde's, and did
exactly as she pleased, for their duenna was much more easy going than
the Pacienza.

Nobody knew of the trick which Lord Percy had played me, and I took care
to say nothing about it. However, he did not give up his designs on
Agatha, his passion for her was too violent. He hit upon an ingenious
method for carrying out his plans. I have already said that Percy was
very rich, and spent his money wildly, not caring at what expenditure he
gratified his passion. I was the last person to reproach him for his
extravagance, and in a country where money is always scarce his guineas
opened every door to him.

Four or five days after the ball night, Agatha came to tell me that the
manager of the Alexandria Theatre had asked her if she would take the
part of second dancer throughout the carnival time.

"He offered me sixty sequins," she added, "and I told him I would let him
know by to-morrow. Do you advise me to accept his offer?"

"If you love me, dearest Agatha, you will prove it by refusing all
engagements for a year. You know I will let you want for nothing.

"I will get you the best masters, and in that time you can perfect your
dancing, and will be able to ask for a first-class appointment, with a
salary of five hundred sequins a year."

"Mamma thinks that I should accept the offer, as the dancing on the stage
will improve my style, and I can study under a good master all the same.
I think myself that dancing in public would do me good."

"There is reason in what you say, but you do not need the sixty sequins.
You will dishonour me by accepting such a poor offer, and you will do
yourself harm too, as you will not be able to ask for a good salary after
taking such a small one."

"But sixty sequins is not so bad for a carnival engagement."

"But you don't want sixty sequins; you can have them without dancing at
all. If you love me, I repeat, you will tell the manager that you are
going to rest for a year."

"I will do what you please, but it seems to me the best plan would be to
ask an exorbitant sum."

"You are right; that is a good idea. Tell him you must be first dancer,
and that your salary must be five hundred sequins."

"I will do so, and am only too happy to be able to prove that I love
you."

Agatha had plenty of inborn common sense, which only needed development.
With that and the beauty which Heaven had given her her future was
assured.

She was eventually happy, and she deserved her happiness.

The next day she told me that the manager did not appear at all
astonished at her demands.

"He reflected a few minutes," said she, "and told me he must think it
over, and would see me again. It would be amusing if he took me at my
word, would it not?"

"Yes, but we should then have to enquire whether he is a madman or a
beggar on the verge of bankruptcy."

"And if he turns out to be a man of means?"

"In that case you would be obliged to accept."

"That is easily said and easily done, but have I sufficient talent? Where
shall I find an actor to dance with me?"

"I will engage to find you one. As to talent, you have enough and to
spare; but you will see that it will come to nothing."

All the time I felt a presentiment that she would be engaged, and I was
right. The manager came to her the next day, and offered her the
agreement for her signature. She was quite alarmed, and sent for me. I
called at her house, and finding the manager there asked him what
security he could give for the fulfilment of his part of the engagement.

He answered by naming M. Martin, a banker of my acquaintance, who would
be his surety. I could make no objection to this, and the agreement was
made out in duplicate in good form.

On leaving Agatha I went to M. Raiberti and told him the story. He shared
my astonishment that M. Martin should become surety for the manager whom
he knew, and whose financial position was by no means good; but the next
day the problem was solved, for in spite of the secrecy that had been
observed we found out that it was Lord Percy who was behind the manager.
I might still bar the Englishman's way by continuing to keep Agatha, in
spite of his five hundred sequins, but I was obliged to return to France
after Easter to wait on Madame d'Urfe, and afterwards, peace having been
concluded, I thought it would be a good opportunity for seeing England. I
therefore determined to abandon Agatha, taking care to bind her new lover
to provide for her, and I proceeded to make a friend of the nobleman.

I was curious to see how he would win Agatha's good graces, for she did
not love him, and physically he was not attractive.

In less than a week we had become intimate. We supped together every
night either at his house or mine, and Agatha and her mother were always
of the party. I concluded that his attentions would soon touch Agatha's
heart, and that finding herself so beloved she would end by loving. This
was enough to make me determine not to put any obstacles in their way,
and I resolved to leave Turin earlier than I had intended. In consequence
I spoke as follows to Lord Percy, while we were breakfasting together:

"My lord, you know that I love Agatha, and that she loves me,
nevertheless I am your friend, and since you adore her I will do my best
to hasten your bliss. I will leave you in possession of this treasure,
but you must promise that when you abandon her you will give her two
thousand guineas."

"My dear sir," said he, "I will give them her now if you like."

"No, my lord, I do not wish her to know anything about our agreement
while you are living happily together."

"Then I will give you a bond binding myself to pay her the two thousand
guineas when we separate."

"I don't want that, the word of an Englishman is enough; but since we
cannot command the fates, and may die without having time to put our
affairs in order, I wish you to take such steps as may seem convenient to
you, whereby that sum would go to her after your death."

"I give you my word on it."

"That is enough; but I have one other condition to make."

"Say on."

"It is that you promise to say nothing to Agatha before my departure."

"I swear I will not."

"Very good; and on my part I promise to prepare her for the change:"

The same day the Englishman, whose love grew hotter and hotter, made
Agatha and her mother rich presents, which under any other circumstances
I should not have allowed them to accept.

I lost no time in preparing Agatha and her mother for the impending
change. They seemed affected, but I knew they would soon get reconciled
to the situation. Far from giving me any cause for complaint, Agatha was
more affectionate than ever. She listened attentively to my advice as to
her conduct towards her new lover and the world in general, and promised
to follow it. It was to this advice that she owed her happiness, for
Percy made her fortune. However, she did not leave the theatre for some
years, when we shall hear more of her.

I was not the man to take presents from my equals, and Percy no doubt
being aware of that succeeded in making me a handsome present in a very
singular way. I told him that I thought of paying a visit to England and
requested him to give me a letter of introduction to the duchess, his
mother, whereon he drew out a portrait of her set with magnificent
diamonds, and gave it to me, saying,--

"This is the best letter I can give you. I will write and tell her that
you will call and give her the portrait, unless, indeed, she likes to
leave it in your hands."

"I hope my lady will think me worthy of such an honour."

There are certain ideas, it seems to me, which enter no head but an
Englishman's.

I was invited by Count A---- B---- to Milan, and the countess wrote me a
charming letter, begging me to get her two pieces of sarcenet, of which
she enclosed the patterns.

After taking leave of all my friends and acquaintances I got a letter of
credit on the banker, Greppi, and started for the capital of Lombardy.

My separation from Agatha cost me many tears, but not so many as those
shed by her. Her mother wept also, for she loved me, and was grateful for
all my kindness to her daughter. She said again and again that she could
never have borne any rival but her own daughter, while the latter sobbed
out that she wished she had not to part from me.

I did not like Passano, so I sent him to his family at Genoa, giving him
the wherewithal to live till I came for him. As to my man, I dismissed
him for good reasons and took another, as I was obliged to have somebody;
but since I lost my Spaniard I have never felt confidence in any of my
servants.

I travelled with a Chevalier de Rossignan, whose acquaintance I had made,
and we went by Casal to see the opera-bouffe there.

Rossignan was a fine man, a good soldier, fond of wine and women, and,
though he was not learned, he knew the whole of Dante's Divine Comedy by
heart. This was his hobby-horse, and he was always quoting it, making the
passage square with his momentary feelings. This made him insufferable in
society, but he was an amusing companion for anyone who knew the sublime
poet, and could appreciate his numerous and rare beauties. Nevertheless
he made me privately give in my assent to the proverb, Beware of the man
of one book. Otherwise he was intelligent, statesmanlike, and
good-natured. He made himself known at Berlin by his services as
ambassador to the King of Sardinia.

There was nothing interesting in the opera at Casal, so I went to Pavia,
where, though utterly unknown, I was immediately welcomed by the
Marchioness Corti, who received all strangers of any importance. In 1786
I made the acquaintance of her son, an admirable man, who honoured me
with his friendship, and died quite young in Flanders with the rank of
major-general. I wept bitterly for his loss, but tears, after all, are
but an idle tribute to those who cause them to flow. His good qualities
had endeared him to all his acquaintances, and if he had lived longer he
would undoubtedly have risen to high command in the army.

I only stopped two days at Pavia, but it was decreed that I should get
myself talked of, even in that short time.

At the second ballet at the opera an actress dressed in a tippet held out
her cap to the bones as if to beg an alms, while she was dancing a pas de
deux. I was in the Marchioness of Corti's box, and when the girl held out
her cap to me I was moved by feelings of ostentation and benevolence to
draw forth my purse and drop it in. It contained about twenty ducats. The
girl took it, thanked me with a smile, and the pit applauded loudly. I
asked the Marquis Belcredi, who was near me, if she had a lover.

"She has a penniless French officer, I believe," he replied; "there he
is, in the pit."

I went back to my inn, and was supping with M. Basili, a Modenese
colonel, when the ballet girl, her mother, and her younger sister came to
thank me for my providential gift. "We are so poor," said the girl.

I had almost done supper, and I asked them all to sup with me after the
performance the next day. This offer was quite a disinterested one, and
it was accepted.

I was delighted to have made a woman happy at so little expense and
without any ulterior objects, and I was giving orders to the landlord for
the supper, when Clairmont, my man, told me that a French officer wanted
to speak to me. I had him in, and asked what I could do for him.

"There are three courses before you, Mr. Venetian," said he, "and you can
take which you like. Either countermand this supper, invite me to come to
it, or come and measure swords with me now."

Clairmont, who was attending to the fire, did not give me time to reply,
but seized a burning brand and rushed on the officer, who thought it best
to escape. Luckily for him the door of my room was open. He made such a
noise in running downstairs that the waiter came out and caught hold of
him, thinking he had stolen something; but Clairmont, who was pursuing
him with his firebrand, had him released.

This adventure became town talk directly. My servant, proud of his
exploit and sure of my approval, came to tell me that I need not be
afraid of going out, as the officer was only a braggart. He did not even
draw his sword on the waiter who had caught hold of him, though the man
only had a knife in his belt.

"At all events," he added, "I will go out with you."

I told him that he had done well this time, but that for the future he
must not interfere in my affairs.

"Sir," he replied, "your affairs of this kind are mine too, I shall take
care not to go beyond my duty."

With this speech, which I thought very sensible, though I did not tell
him so, he took one of my pistols and saw to the priming, smiling at me
significantly.

All good French servants are of the same stamp as Clairmont; they are
devoted and intelligent, but they all think themselves cleverer than
their masters, which indeed is often the case, and when they are sure of
it they become the masters of their masters, tyrannize over them, and
give them marks of contempt which the foolish gentlemen endeavour to
conceal. But when the master knows how to make himself respected, the
Clairmonts are excellent.

The landlord of my inn sent a report of the affair to the police, and the
French officer was banished from the town the same day. At dinner Colonel
Basili asked to hear the story, and said that no one but a French officer
would think of attacking a man in his own room in such a foolish manner.
I differed from him.

"The French are brave," I replied, "but generally they are perfectly
polite and have wonderful tact. Wretchedness and love, joined to a false
spirit of courage, makes a fool of a man all the world over."

At supper the ballet-girl thanked me for ridding her of the poor devil,
who (as she said) was always threatening to kill her, and wearied her
besides. Though she was not beautiful, there was something captivating
about this girl. She was graceful, well-mannered, and intelligent, her
mouth was well-shaped, and her eyes large and expressive. I think I
should have found her a good bargain, but as I wanted to get away from
Pavia, and piqued myself on having been good-natured without ulterior
motive, I bade her farewell after supper, with many thanks for her
kindness in coming. My politeness seemed rather to confuse her, but she
went away reiterating her gratitude.

Next day I dined at the celebrated Chartreuse, and in the evening I
reached Milan, and got out at Count A---- B----'s, who had not expected me
till the following day.

The countess, of whom my fancy had made a perfect woman, disappointed me
dreadfully. It is always so when passion gives reins to the imagination.
The Countess was certainly pretty, though too small, and I might still
have loved her, in spite of my disappointment, but at our meeting she
greeted me with a gravity that was not to my taste, and which gave me a
dislike to her.

After the usual compliments, I gave her the two pieces of sarcenet she
had commissioned me to get. She thanked me, telling me that her confessor
would reimburse me for my expenditure. The count then took me to my room,
and left me there till supper. It was nicely furnished, but I felt ill at
ease, and resolved to leave in a day or two if the countess remained
immovable. Twenty-four hours was as much as I cared to give her.

We made a party of four at supper; the count talking all the time to draw
me out, and to hide his wife's sulkiness. I answered in the same gay
strain, speaking to his wife, however, in the hope of rousing her. It was
all lost labour. The little woman only replied by faint smiles which
vanished almost as they came, and by monosyllabic answers of the briefest
description, without taking her eyes off the dishes which she thought
tasteless; and it was to the priest, who was the fourth person present,
that she addressed her complaints, almost speaking affably to him.

Although I liked the count very well, I could not help pronouncing his
wife decidedly ungracious. I was looking at her to see if I could find
any justification for her ill humour on her features, but as soon as she
saw me she turned away in a very marked manner, and began to speak about
nothing to the priest. This conduct offended me, and I laughed heartily
at her contempt, or her designs on me, for as she had not fascinated me
at all I was safe from her tyranny.

After supper the sarcenet was brought in; it was to be used for a dress
with hoops, made after the extravagant fashion then prevailing.

The count was grieved to see her fall so short of the praises he had
lavished on her, and came to my room with me, begging me to forgive her
Spanish ways, and saying that she would be very pleasant when she knew me
better.

The count was poor, his house was small, his furniture shabby, and his
footman's livery threadbare; instead of plate he had china, and one of
the countess's maids was chief cook. He had no carriages nor horses, not
even a saddle horse of any kind. Clairmont gave me all this information,
and added that he had to sleep in a little kitchen, and was to share his
bed with the man who had waited at table.

I had only one room, and having three heavy trunks found myself very
uncomfortable, and I decided on seeking some other lodging more agreeable
to my tastes.

The count came early in the morning to ask what I usually took for
breakfast.

"My dear count," I replied, "I have enough fine Turin chocolate to go all
round. Does the countess like it?"

"Very much, but she won't take it unless it is made by her woman."

"Here are six pounds: make her accept it, and tell her that if I hear
anything about payment I shall take it back."

"I am sure she will accept it, and thank you too. Shall I have your
carriage housed?"

"I shall be extremely obliged to you, and I shall be glad if you would
get me a hired carriage, and a guide for whom you can answer."

"It shall be done."

The count was going out when the priest, who had supped with us the night
before, came in to make his bow. He was a man of forty-one of the tribe
of domestic chaplains who are so common in Italy--who, in return for
keeping the accounts of the house, live with its master and mistress. In
the morning this priest said mass in a neighbouring church, for the rest
of the day he either occupied himself with the cares of the house, or was
the lady's obedient servant.

As soon as We were alone he begged me to say that he had paid me the
three hundred Milanese crowns for the sarcenet, if the countess asked me
about it.

"Dear, dear, abbe!" said I, laughing, "this sort of thing is not exactly
proper in a man of your sacred profession. How can you advise me to tell
a lie? No, sir; if the countess asks me any such impertinent question, I
shall tell her the truth."

"I am sure she will ask you, and if you answer like that I shall suffer
for it."

"Well, sir, if you are in the wrong you deserve to suffer."

"But as it happens, I should be blamed for nothing."

"Well, go and tell her it's a present; and if she won't have that, tell
her I am in no hurry to be paid."

"I see, sir, that you don't know the lady or the way in which this house
is managed. I will speak to her husband."

In a quarter of an hour the count told me that he owed me a lot of money,
which he hoped to pay back in the course of Lent, and that I must add the
sarcenet to the account. I embraced him and said that he would have to
keep the account himself, as I never noted down any of the moneys that I
was only too happy to lend to my friends.

"If your wife asks me whether I have received the money, be sure I will
answer in the affirmative."

He went out shedding grateful tears, while I felt indebted to him for
having given me the opportunity of doing him a service; for I was very
fond of him.

In the morning, the countess being invisible, I watched my man spreading
out my suits over the chairs, amongst them being some handsome women's
cloaks, and a rich red dress deeply trimmed with fur, which had been
originally intended for the luckless Corticelli. I should no doubt have
given it to Agatha, if I had continued to live with her, and I should
have made a mistake, as such a dress was only fit for a lady of rank.

At one o'clock I received another visit from the count, who told me that
the countess was going to introduce me to their best friend. This was the
Marquis Triuizi, a man of about, my own age, tall, well made, squinting
slightly, and with all the manner of a nobleman. He told me that besides
coming to have the honour of my acquaintance, he also came to enjoy the
fire, "for," said he, "there's only one fireplace in the house and that's
in your room."

As all the chairs were covered, the marquis drew the countess on to his
knee and made her sit there like a baby; but she blushed, and escaped
from his grasp. The marquis laughed heartily at her confusion, and she
said,--

"Is it possible that a man of your years has not yet learnt to respect a
woman?"

"Really, countess," said he, "I thought it would be very disrespectful to
continue sitting while you were standing."

While Clairmont was taking the clothes off the chairs, the marquis
noticed the mantles and the beautiful dress, and asked me if I were
expecting a lady.

"No," said I, "but I hope to find someone at Milan who will be worthy of
such presents." I added, "I know the Prince Triulzi, at Venice; I suppose
he is of your family?"

"He says he is, and it may be so; but I am certainly not a member of his
family."

This let me know that I should do well to say no more about the prince.

"You must stay to dinner, marquis," said Count A---- B----; "and as you
only like dishes prepared by your own cook you had better send for them."

The marquis agreed, and we made good cheer. The table was covered with
fair linen and handsome plate, the wine was good and plentiful, and the
servants quick and well dressed. I could now understand the marquis's
position in the house. It was his wit and mirth which kept the
conversation going, and the countess came in for a share of his
pleasantries, while she scolded him for his familiarity.

I could see, however, that the marquis did not want to humiliate her; on
the contrary, he was fond of her, and only wished to bring down her
exaggerated pride. When he saw her on the point of bursting into tears of
rage and shame, he quieted her down by saying that no one in Milan
respected her charms and her high birth more than he.

After dinner the tailor who was to measure the countess for a domino for
the ball was announced. On the marquis's praising the colours and the
beauty of the materials, she told him that I had brought her the sarcenet
from Turin, and this reminded her to ask me whether I had been paid.

"Your husband settled with me," said I, "but you have given me a lesson I
can never forget."

"What lesson?" said the marquis.

"I had hoped that the countess would have deigned to receive this poor
present at my hands."

"And she wouldn't take it? It's absurd, on my life."

"There is nothing to laugh at," said the countess, "but you laugh at
everything."

While the man was measuring her, she complained of feeling cold, as she
was in her stays, and her beautiful breast was exposed. Thereupon, the
marquis put his hands on it, as if he were quite accustomed to use such
familiarities. But the Spaniard, no doubt ashamed because of my presence,
got into a rage, and abused him in the most awful manner, while he
laughed pleasantly, as if he could calm the storm when he pleased. This
was enough to inform me of the position in which they stood to one
another, and of the part I ought to take.

We remained together till the evening, when the countess and the marquis
went to the opera, and the count came with me to my room, till my
carriage was ready to take us there too. The opera had begun when we got
in, and the first person I noticed on the stage was my dear Therese
Palesi, whom I had left at Florence. It was a pleasant surprise to me,
and I foresaw that we should renew our sweet interviews while I remained
at Milan I was discreet enough to say nothing to the count about his
wife's charms, or the way their house was managed. I saw that the place
was taken, and the odd humours of the lady prevented my falling in love
with her. After the second act we went to the assembly rooms, where five
or six banks at faro were being held; I staked and lost a hundred ducats
as if to pay for my welcome, and then rose from the table.