In London And Moscow: Flight from London to Berlin

J >> Jacques Casanova de Seingalt >> In London And Moscow: Flight from London to Berlin

MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798

IN LONDON AND MOSCOW, Volume 5d--LONDON TO BERLIN
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA DE SEINGALT

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




FLIGHT FROM LONDON TO BERLIN




CHAPTER XIV

Bottarelli--A Letter from Pauline--The Avenging Parrot--Pocchini--Guerra,
the Venetian--I Meet Sara Again; My Idea of Marrying Her and Settling in
Switzerland--The Hanoverians

Thus ended the first act of the comedy; the second began the next
morning. I was just getting up, when I heard a noise at the street door,
and on putting my head out of the window I saw Pocchini, the scoundrel
who had robbed me at Stuttgart trying to get into my house. I cried out
wrathfully that I would have nothing to do with him, and slammed down my
window.

A little later Goudar put in an appearance. He had got a copy of the St.
James's Chronicle, containing a brief report of my arrest, and of my
being set a liberty under a bail of eighty guineas. My name and the
lady's were disguised, but Rostaing and Bottarelli were set down plainly,
and the editor praised their conduct. I felt as if I should like to know
Bottarelli, and begged Goudar to take me to him, and Martinelli,
happening to call just then, said he would come with us.

We entered a wretched room on the third floor of a wretched house, and
there we beheld a picture of the greatest misery. A woman and five
children clothed in rags formed the foreground, and in the background was
Bottarelli, in an old dressing-gown, writing at a table worthy of
Philemon and Baucis. He rose as we came in, and the sight of him moved me
to compassion. I said,--

"Do you know me, sir?"

"No, sir, I do not."

"I am Casanova, against whom you bore false witness; whom you tried to
cast into Newgate."

"I am very sorry, but look around you and say what choice have I? I have
no bread to give my children. I will do as much in your favour another
time for nothing."

"Are you not afraid of the gallows?"

"No, for perjury is not punished with death; besides it is very difficult
to prove."

"I have heard you are a poet."

"Yes. I have lengthened the Didone and abridged the Demetrio."

"You are a great poet, indeed!"

I felt more contempt than hatred for the rascal, and gave his wife a
guinea, for which she presented me with a wretched pamphlet by her
husband: "The Secrets of the Freemasons Displayed." Bottarelli had been a
monk in his native city, Pisa, and had fled to England with his wife, who
had been a nun.

About this time M. de Saa surprised me by giving me a letter from my fair
Portuguese, which confirmed the sad fate of poor Clairmont. Pauline said
she was married to Count Al----. I was astonished to hear M. de Saa
observe that he had known all about Pauline from the moment she arrived
in London. That is the hobby of all diplomatists; they like people to
believe that they are omniscient. However, M. de Saa was a man of worth
and talent, and one could excuse this weakness as an incident inseparable
from his profession; while most diplomatists only make themselves
ridiculous by their assumption of universal knowledge.

M. de Saa had been almost as badly treated by the Charpillon as myself,
and we might have condoled with one another, but the subject was not
mentioned.

A few days afterwards, as I was walking idly about, I passed a place
called the Parrot Market. As I was amusing myself by looking at these
curious birds, I saw a fine young one in a cage, and asked what language
it spoke. They told me that it was quite young and did not speak at all
yet, so I bought it for ten guineas. I thought I would teach the bird a
pretty speech, so I had the cage hung by my bed, and repeated dozens of
times every day the following sentence: "The Charpillon is a bigger wh--e
than her mother."

The only end I had in view was my private amusement, and in a fortnight
the bird had learnt the phrase with the utmost exactness; and every time
it uttered the words it accompanied them with a shriek of laughter which
I had not taught it, but which made me laugh myself.

One day Gondar heard the bird, and told me that if I sent it to the
Exchange I should certainly get fifty guineas for it. I welcomed the
idea, and resolved to make the parrot the instrument of my vengeance
against the woman who had treated me so badly. I secured myself from fear
of the law, which is severe in such cases, by entrusting the bird to my
negro, to whom such merchandise was very suitable.

For the first two or three days my parrot did not attract much attention,
its observations being in French; but as soon as those who knew the
subject of them had heard it, its audience increased and bids were made.
Fifty guineas seemed rather too much, and my negro wanted me to lower the
price, but I would not agree, having fallen in love with this odd
revenge.

In the course of a week Goudar came to inform me of the effect the
parrot's criticism had produced in the Charpillon family. As the vendor
was my negro, there could be no doubt as to whom it belonged, and who had
been its master of languages. Goudar said that the Charpillon thought my
vengeance very ingenious, but that the mother and aunts were furious.
They had consulted several counsel, who agreed in saying that a parrot
could not be indicted for libel, but that they could make me pay dearly
for my jest if they could prove that I had been the bird's instructor.
Goudar warned me to be careful of owning to the fact, as two witnesses
would suffice to undo me.

The facility with which false witnesses may be produced in London is
something dreadful. I have myself seen the word evidence written in large
characters in a window; this is as much as to say that false witnesses
may be procured within.

The St. James's Chronicle contained an article on my parrot, in which the
writer remarked that the ladies whom the bird insulted must be very poor
and friendless, or they would have bought it at once, and have thus
prevented the thing from becoming the talk of the town. He added,--

"The teacher of the parrot has no doubt made the bird an instrument of
his vengeance, and has displayed his wit in doing so; he ought to be an
Englishman."

I met my good friend Edgar, and asked him why he had not bought the
little slanderer.

"Because it delights all who know anything about the object of the
slander," said he.

At last Jarbe found a purchaser for fifty guineas, and I heard afterwards
that Lord Grosvenor had bought it to please the Charpillon, with whom he
occasionally diverted himself.

Thus my relations with that girl came to an end. I have seen her since
with the greatest indifference, and without any renewal of the old pain.

One day, as I was going into St. James's Park, I saw two girls drinking
milk in a room on the ground floor of a house. They called out to me, but
not knowing them I passed on my way. However, a young officer of my
acquaintance came after me and said they were Italians, and being curious
to see them I retracted my steps.

When I entered the room I was accosted by the scoundrelly Pocchini,
dressed in a military uniform, who said he had the honour of introducing
me to his daughters.

"Indeed," said I, "I remember two other daughters of yours robbing me of
a snuff-box and two watches at Stuttgart."

"You lie!" said the impudent rascal.

I gave him no verbal answer, but took up a glass of milk and flung it in
his face, and then left the room without more ado.

I was without my sword. The young officer who had brought me into the
place followed me and told me I must not go without giving his friend
some satisfaction.

"Tell him to come out, and do you escort him to the Green Park, and I
shall have the pleasure of giving him a caning in your presence, unless
you would like to fight for him; if so, you must let me go home and get
my sword. But do you know this man whom you call your friend?"

"No, but he is an officer, and it is I that brought him here."

"Very good, I will fight to the last drop of my blood; but I warn you
your friend is a thief. But go; I will await you."

In the course of a quarter of an hour they all came out, but the
Englishman and Pocchini followed me alone. There were a good many people
about, and I went before them till we reached Hyde Park. Pocchini
attempted to speak to me, but I replied, lifting my cane,--

"Scoundrel, draw your sword, unless you want me to give you a thrashing!"

"I will never draw upon a defenceless man."

I gave him a blow with my cane by way of answer, and the coward, instead
of drawing his sword, began to cry out that I wished to draw him into a
fight. The Englishman burst out laughing and begged me to pardon his
interference, and then, taking me by the arm, said,--

"Come along, sir, I see you know the gentleman."

The coward went off in another direction, grumbling as he went.

On the way I informed the officer of the very good reasons I had for
treating Pocchini as a rogue, and he agreed that I had been perfectly
right. "Unfortunately," he added, "I am in love with one of his
daughters."

When we were in the midst of St. James's Park we saw them, and I could
not help laughing when I noticed Goudar with one of them on each side.

"How did you come to know these ladies?" said I.

"Their father the captain," he answered, "has sold me jewels; he
introduced me to them."

"Where did you leave our father?" asked one.

"In Hyde Park, after giving him a caning."

"You served him quite right."

The young Englishman was indignant to hear them approving my
ill-treatment of their father, and shook my hand and went away, swearing
to me that he would never be seen in their company again.

A whim of Goudar's, to which I was weak enough to consent, made me dine
with these miserable women in a tavern on the borders of London. The
rascally Goudar made them drunk, and in this state they told some
terrible truths about their pretended father. He did not live with them,
but paid them nocturnal visits in which he robbed them of all the money
they had earned. He was their pander, and made them rob their visitors
instructing them to pass it off as a joke if the theft was discovered.
They gave him the stolen articles, but he never said what he did with
them. I could not help laughing at this involuntary confession,
remembering what Goudar had said about Pocchini selling him jewels.

After this wretched meal I went away leaving the duty of escorting them
back to Goudar. He came and saw me the next day, and informed me that the
girls had been arrested and taken to prison just as they were entering
their house.

"I have just been to Pocchini's," said he, "but the landlord tells me he
has not been in since yesterday."

The worthy and conscientious Goudar added that he did not care if he
never saw him again, as he owed the fellow ten guineas for a watch, which
his daughters had probably stolen, and which was well worth double.

Four days later I saw him again, and he informed me that the rascal had
left London with a servant-maid, whom he had engaged at a registry office
where any number of servants are always ready to take service with the
first comer. The keeper of the office answers for their fidelity.

"The girl he has gone with is a pretty one, from what the man tells me,
and they have taken ship from London. I am sorry he went away before I
could pay him for the watch; I am dreading every moment to meet the
individual from whom it was stolen."

I never heard what became of the girls, but Pocchini will re-appear on
the scene in due course.

I led a tranquil and orderly life, which I should have been pleased to
continue for the remainder of my days; but circumstances and my destiny
ordered it otherwise, and against these it is not becoming in a Christian
philosopher to complain. I went several times to see my daughter at her
school, and I also frequented the British Museum, where I met Dr. Mati.
One day I found an Anglican minister with him, and I asked the clergyman
how many different sects there were in England.

"Sir," he replied in very tolerable Italian, "no one can give a positive
answer to that question, for every week some sect dies and some new one
is brought into being. All that is necessary is for a man of good faith,
or some rogue desirous of money or notoriety, to stand in some frequented
place and begin preaching. He explains some texts of the Bible in his own
fashion, and if he pleases the gapers around him they invite him to
expound next Sunday, often in a tavern. He keeps the appointment and
explains his new doctrines in a spirited manner. Then people begin to
talk of him; he disputes with ministers of other sects; he and his
followers give themselves a name, and the thing is done. Thus, or almost
thus, are all the numerous English sects produced."

About this time M. Steffano Guerra, a noble Venetian who was travelling
with the leave of his Government, lost a case against an English painter
who had executed a miniature painting of one of the prettiest ladies in
London, Guerra having given a written promise to pay twenty-five guineas.
When it was finished Guerra did not like it, and would not take it or pay
the price. The Englishman, in accordance with the English custom, began
by arresting his debtor; but Guerra was released on bail, and brought the
matter before the courts, which condemned him to pay the twenty-five
guineas. He appealed, lost again, and was in the end obliged to pay.
Guerra contented that he had ordered a portrait, that a picture bearing
no likeness to the lady in question was not a portrait, and that he had
therefore a right to refuse payment. The painter replied that it was a
portrait as it had been painted from life. The judgment was that the
painter must live by his trade, and that as Guerra had given him painting
to do he must therefore provide him with the wherewithal to live, seeing
that the artist swore he had done his best to catch the likeness.
Everybody thought this sentence just, and so did I; but I confess it also
seemed rather hard, especially to Guerra, who with costs had to pay a
hundred guineas for the miniature.

Malingan's daughter died just as her father received a public box on the
ear from a nobleman who liked piquet, but did not like players who
corrected the caprices of fortune. I gave the poor wretch the wherewithal
to bury his daughter and to leave England. He died soon after at Liege,
and his wife told me of the circumstance, saying that he had expired
regretting his inability to pay his debts.

M. M---- F---- came to London as the representative of the canton of Berne,
and I called, but was not received. I suspected that he had got wind of
the liberties I had taken with pretty Sara, and did not want me to have
an opportunity for renewing them. He was a somewhat eccentric man, so I
did not take offence, and had almost forgotten all about it when chance
led me to the Marylebone Theatre one evening. The spectators sat at
little tables, and the charge for admittance was only a shilling, but
everyone was expected to order something, were it only a pot of ale.

On going into the theatre I chanced to sit down beside a girl whom I did
not notice at first, but soon after I came in she turned towards me, and
I beheld a ravishing profile which somehow seemed familiar; but I
attributed that to the idea of perfect beauty that was graven on my soul.
The more I looked at her the surer I felt that I had never seen her
before, though a smile of inexpressible slyness had begun to play about
her lips. One of her gloves fell, and I hastened to restore it to her,
whereupon she thanked me in a few well-chosen French sentences.

"Madam is not English, then?" said I, respectfully.

"No, sir, I am a Swiss, and a friend of yours."

At this I looked round, and on my right hand sat Madame M---- F----, then
her eldest daughter, then her husband. I got up, and after bowing to the
lady, for whom I had a great esteem, I saluted her husband, who only
replied by a slight movement of the head. I asked Madame M---- F---- what
her husband had against me, and she said that Possano had written to him
telling some dreadful stories about me.

There was not time for me to explain and justify myself, so I devoted all
my energies to the task of winning the daughter's good graces. In three
years she had grown into a perfect beauty: she knew it, and by her
blushes as she spoke to me I knew she was thinking of what had passed
between us in the presence of my housekeeper. I was anxious to find out
whether she would acknowledge the fact, or deny it altogether. If she had
done so I should have despised her. When I had seen her before, the
blossom of her beauty was still in the bud, now it had opened out in all
its splendour.

"Charming Sara," I said, "you have so enchanted me that I cannot help
asking you a couple of questions, which if you value my peace of mind you
will answer. Do you remember what happened at Berne?"

"Yes."

"And do you repent of what you did?"

"No."

No man of any delicacy could ask the third question, which may be
understood. I felt sure that Sara would make me happy-nay, that she was
even longing for the moment, and gave reins to my passions, determined to
convince her that I was deserving of her love. The waiter came to enquire
if we had any orders, and I begged Madame M---- F---- to allow me to offer
her some oysters. After the usual polite refusals she gave in, and I
profited by her acceptance to order all the delicacies of the season,
including a hare (a great delicacy in London), champagne, choice
liqueurs, larks, ortolans, truffles, sweetmeats--everything, in fact,
that money could buy, and I was not at all surprised when the bill proved
to amount to ten guineas. But I was very much surprised when M.
M---- F----, who had eaten like a Turk and drunk like a Swiss, said calmly
that it was too dear.

I begged him politely not to trouble himself about the cost; and by way
of proving that I did not share his opinion, I gave the waiter
half-a-guinea; the worthy man looked as if he wished that such customers
came more often. The Swiss, who had been pale and gloomy enough a short
while before; was rubicund and affable. Sara glanced at me and squeezed
my hand; I had conquered.

When the play was over, M---- F---- asked me if I would allow him to call
on me. I embraced him in reply. His servant came in, and said that he
could not find a coach; and I, feeling rather surprised that he had not
brought his carriage, offered him the use of mine, telling my man to get
me a sedan-chair.

"I accept your kind offer," said he, "on the condition that you allow me
to occupy the chair."

I consented to this arrangement, and took the mother and the two
daughters with me in the carriage.

On the way, Madame M---- F---- was very polite, gently blaming her husband
for the rudeness of which I had to complain. I said that I would avenge
myself by paying an assiduous court to him in the future; but she pierced
me to the heart by saying that they were on the point of departing. "We
wanted to go on the day after next," she said, "and to-morrow we shall
have to leave our present rooms to their new occupants. A matter of
business which my husband was not able to conclude will oblige us to stay
for another week, and to-morrow we shall have the double task of moving
and finding new apartments."

"Then you have not yet got new rooms?"

"No, but my husband says he is certain to find some to-morrow morning."

"Furnished, I suppose, for as you intend to leave you will be selling,
your furniture."

"Yes, and we shall have to pay the expenses of carriage to the buyer."

On hearing that M. M---- F---- was sure of finding lodgings, I was
precluded from offering to accommodate them in my own house, as the lady
might think that I only made the offer because I was sure it would not be
accepted.

When we got to the door of their house we alighted, and the mother begged
me to come in. She and her husband slept on the second floor, and the two
girls on the third. Everything was upside down, and as Madame
M---- F---- had something to say to the landlady she asked me to go up with
her daughters. It was cold, and the room we entered had no fire in it.
The sister went into the room adjoining and I stayed with Sara, and all
of a sudden I clasped her to my breast, and feeling that her desires were
as ardent as mine I fell with her on to a sofa where we mingled our
beings in all the delights of voluptuous ardours. But this happiness was
short lived; scarcely was the work achieved when we heard a footstep on
the stair. It was the father.

If M---- F---- had had any eyes he must have found us out, for my face bore
the marks of agitation, the nature of which it was easy to divine. We
exchanged a few brief compliments; I shook his hand and disappeared. I
was in such a state of excitement when I got home that I made up my mind
to leave England and to follow Sara to Switzerland. In the night I formed
my plans, and resolved to offer the family my house during the time they
stayed in England, and if necessary to force them to accept my offer.

In the morning I hastened to call on M---- F----, and found him on his
doorstep.

"I am going to try and get a couple of rooms," said he.

"They are already found," I replied. "My house is at your service, and
you must give me the preference. Let us come upstairs."

"Everybody is in bed."

"Never mind," said I, and we proceeded to go upstairs.

Madame M---- F---- apologized for being in bed. Her husband told her that I
wanted to let them some rooms, but I laughed and said I desired they
would accept my hospitality as that of a friend. After some polite
denials my offer was accepted, and it was agreed that the whole family
should take up their quarters with me in the evening.

I went home, and was giving the necessary orders when I was told that two
young ladies wished to see me. I went down in person, and I was agreeably
surprised to see Sara and her sister. I asked them to come in, and Sara
told me that the landlady would not let their belongings out of the house
before her father paid a debt of forty guineas, although a city merchant
had assured her it should be settled in a week. The long and snort of it
was that Sara's father had sent me a bill and begged me to discount it.

I took the bill and gave her a bank note for fifty pounds in exchange,
telling her that she could give me the change another time. She thanked
me with great simplicity and went her way, leaving me delighted with the
confidence she had placed in me.

The fact of M. M---- F----'s wanting forty guineas did not make me divine
that he was in some straits, for I looked at everything through
rose-coloured glasses, and was only too happy to be of service to him.

I made a slight dinner in order to have a better appetite for supper, and
spent the afternoon in writing letters. In the evening M. M---- F----'s
man came with three great trunks and innumerable card-board boxes,
telling me that the family would soon follow; but I awaited them in vain
till nine o'clock. I began to get alarmed and went to the house, where I
found them all in a state of consternation. Two ill-looking fellows who
were in the room enlightened me; and assuming a jovial and unconcerned
air, I said,--

"I'll wager, now, that this is the work of some fierce creditor."

"You are right," answered the father, "but I am sure of discharging the
debt in five or six days, and that's why I put off my departure."

"Then you were arrested after you had sent on your trunks."

"Just after."

"And what have you done?"

"I have sent for bail."

"Why did you not send to me?"

"Thank you, I am grateful for your kindness, but you are a foreigner, and
sureties have to be householders."

"But you ought to have told me what had happened, for I have got you an
excellent supper, and I am dying of hunger."

It was possible that this debt might exceed my means, so I did not dare
to offer to pay it. I took Sara aside, and on hearing that all his
trouble was on account of a debt of a hundred and fifty pounds, I asked
the bailiff whether we could go away if the debt was paid.

"Certainly," said he, shewing me the bill of exchange.

I took out three bank notes of fifty pounds each, and gave them to the
man, and taking the bill I said to the poor Swiss,--

"You shall pay me the money before you leave England."

The whole family wept with joy, and after embracing them all I summoned
them to come and sup with me and forget the troubles of life.

We drove off to my house and had a merry supper, though the worthy mother
could not quite forget her sadness. After supper I took them to the rooms
which had been prepared for them, and with which they were delighted, and
so I wished them good night, telling them that they should be well
entertained till their departure, and that I hoped to follow them into
Switzerland.

When I awoke the next day I was in a happy frame of mind. On examining my
desires I found that they had grown too strong to be overcome, but I did
not wish to overcome them. I loved Sara, and I felt so certain of
possessing her that I put all desires out of my mind; desires are born
only of doubt, and doubt torments the soul. Sara was mine; she had given
herself to me out of pure passion, without any shadow of self-interest.