The Memoires of Casanova, Complete

J >> Jacques Casanova de Seingalt >> The Memoires of Casanova, Complete


"I undertake to walk six miles, instead of three, today," he said, "if
you will carry my cloak, which I find very heavy."

The proposal struck me as a rather funny one; I put on his cloak, and he
took my great-coat, but, after the exchange, we cut such a comical figure
that every peasant we met laughed at us. His cloak would truly have
proved a load for a mule. There were twelve pockets quite full, without
taken into account a pocket behind, which he called 'il batticulo', and
which contained alone twice as much as all the others. Bread, wine, fresh
and salt meat, fowls, eggs, cheese, ham, sausages--everything was to be
found in those pockets, which contained provisions enough for a
fortnight.

I told him how well I had been treated in Loretto, and he assured me that
I might have asked Monsignor Caraffa to give me letters for all the
hospitals on my road to Rome, and that everywhere I would have met with
the same reception. "The hospitals," he added, "are all under the curse
of Saint-Francis, because the mendicant friars are not admitted in them;
but we do not mind their gates being shut against us, because they are
too far apart from each other. We prefer the homes of the persons
attached to our order; these we find everywhere."

"Why do you not ask hospitality in the convents of your order?"

"I am not so foolish. In the first place, I should not be admitted,
because, being a fugitive, I have not the written obedience which must be
shown at every convent, and I should even run the risk of being thrown
into prison; your monks are a cursed bad lot. In the second place, I
should not be half so comfortable in the convents as I am with our devout
benefactors."

"Why and how are you a fugitive?"

He answered my question by the narrative of his imprisonment and flight,
the whole story being a tissue of absurdities and lies. The fugitive
Recollet friar was a fool, with something of the wit of harlequin, and he
thought that every man listening to him was a greater fool than himself.
Yet with all his folly he was not went in a certain species of cunning.
His religious principles were singular. As he did not wish to be taken
for a bigoted man he was scandalous, and for the sake of making people
laugh he would often make use of the most disgusting expressions. He had
no taste whatever for women, and no inclination towards the pleasures of
the flesh; but this was only owing to a deficiency in his natural
temperament, and yet he claimed for himself the virtue of continence. On
that score, everything appeared to him food for merriment, and when he
had drunk rather too much, he would ask questions of such an indecent
character that they would bring blushes on everybody's countenance. Yet
the brute would only laugh.

As we were getting within one hundred yards from the house of the devout
friend whom he intended to honour with his visit, he took back his heavy
cloak. On entering the house he gave his blessing to everybody, and
everyone in the family came to kiss his hand. The mistress of the house
requested him to say mass for them, and the compliant monk asked to be
taken to the vestry, but when I whispered in his ear,---

"Have you forgotten that we have already broken our fast to-day?" he
answered, dryly,---

"Mind your own business."

I dared not make any further remark, but during the mass I was indeed
surprised, for I saw that he did not understand what he was doing. I
could not help being amused at his awkwardness, but I had not yet seen
the best part of the comedy. As soon as he had somehow or other finished
his mass he went to the confessional, and after hearing in confession
every member of the family he took it into his head to refuse absolution
to the daughter of his hostess, a girl of twelve or thirteen, pretty and
quite charming. He gave his refusal publicly, scolding her and
threatening her with the torments of hell. The poor girl, overwhelmed
with shame, left the church crying bitterly, and I, feeling real sympathy
for her, could not help saying aloud to Stephano that he was a madman. I
ran after the girl to offer her my consolations, but she had disappeared,
and could not be induced to join us at dinner. This piece of extravagance
on the part of the monk exasperated me to such an extent that I felt a
very strong inclination to thrash him. In the presence of all the family
I told him that he was an impostor, and the infamous destroyer of the
poor child's honour; I challenged him to explain his reasons for refusing
to give her absolution, but he closed my lips by answering very coolly
that he could not betray the secrets of the confessional. I could eat
nothing, and was fully determined to leave the scoundrel. As we left the
house I was compelled to accept one paolo as the price of the mock mass
he had said. I had to fulfil the sorry duty of his treasurer.

The moment we were on the road, I told him that I was going to part
company, because I was afraid of being sent as a felon to the galleys if
I continued my journey with him. We exchanged high words; I called him an
ignorant scoundrel, he styled me beggar. I struck him a violent slap on
the face, which he returned with a blow from his stick, but I quickly
snatched it from him, and, leaving him, I hastened towards Macerata. A
carrier who was going to Tolentino took me with him for two paoli, and
for six more I might have reached Foligno in a waggon, but unfortunately
a wish for economy made me refuse the offer. I felt well, and I thought I
could easily walk as far as Valcimare, but I arrived there only after
five hours of hard walking, and thoroughly beaten with fatigue. I was
strong and healthy, but a walk of five hours was more than I could bear,
because in my infancy I had never gone a league on foot. Young people
cannot practise too much the art of walking.

The next day, refreshed by a good night's rest, and ready to resume my
journey, I wanted to pay the innkeeper, but, alas! a new misfortune was
in store for me! Let the reader imagine my sad position! I recollected
that I had forgotten my purse, containing seven sequins, on the table of
the inn at Tolentino. What a thunderbolt! I was in despair, but I gave up
the idea of going back, as it was very doubtful whether I would find my
money. Yet it contained all I possessed, save a few copper coins I had in
my pocket. I paid my small bill, and, deeply grieved at my loss,
continued my journey towards Seraval. I was within three miles of that
place when, in jumping over a ditch, I sprained my ankle, and was
compelled to sit down on one side of the road, and to wait until someone
should come to my assistance.

In the course of an hour a peasant happened to pass with his donkey, and
he agreed to carry me to Seraval for one paolo. As I wanted to spend as
little as possible, the peasant took me to an ill-looking fellow who, for
two paoli paid in advance, consented to give me a lodging. I asked him to
send for a surgeon, but I did not obtain one until the following morning.
I had a wretched supper, after which I lay down in a filthy bed. I was in
hope that sleep would bring me some relief, but my evil genius was
preparing for me a night of torments.

Three men, armed with guns and looking like banditti, came in shortly
after I had gone to bed, speaking a kind of slang which I could not make
out, swearing, raging, and paying no attention to me. They drank and sang
until midnight, after which they threw themselves down on bundles of
straw brought for them, and my host, who was drunk, came, greatly to my
dismay, to lie down near me. Disgusted at the idea of having such a
fellow for my bed companion, I refused to let him come, but he answered,
with fearful blasphemies, that all the devils in hell could not prevent
him from taking possession of his own bed. I was forced to make room for
him, and exclaimed "Heavens, where am I?" He told me that I was in the
house of the most honest constable in all the papal states.

Could I possibly have supposed that the peasant would have brought me
amongst those accursed enemies of humankind!

He laid himself down near me, but the filthy scoundrel soon compelled me
to give him, for certain reasons, such a blow in his chest that he rolled
out of bed. He picked himself up, and renewed his beastly attempt. Being
well aware that I could not master him without great danger, I got out of
bed, thinking myself lucky that he did not oppose my wish, and crawling
along as well as I could, I found a chair on which I passed the night. At
day-break, my tormentor, called up by his honest comrades, joined them in
drinking and shouting, and the three strangers, taking their guns,
departed. Left alone by the departure of the vile rabble, I passed
another unpleasant hour, calling in vain for someone. At last a young boy
came in, I gave him some money and he went for a surgeon. The doctor
examined my foot, and assured me that three or four days would set me to
rights. He advised me to be removed to an inn, and I most willingly
followed his counsel. As soon as I was brought to the inn, I went to bed,
and was well cared for, but my position was such that I dreaded the
moment of my recovery. I feared that I should be compelled to sell my
coat to pay the inn-keeper, and the very thought made me feel ashamed. I
began to consider that if I had controlled my sympathy for the young girl
so ill-treated by Stephano, I should not have fallen into this sad
predicament, and I felt conscious that my sympathy had been a mistake. If
I had put up with the faults of the friar, if this and if that, and every
other if was conjured up to torment my restless and wretched brain. Yet I
must confess that the thoughts which have their origin in misfortune are
not without advantage to a young man, for they give him the habit of
thinking, and the man who does not think never does anything right.

The morning of the fourth day came, and I was able to walk, as the
surgeon had predicted; I made up my mind, although reluctantly, to beg
the worthy man to sell my great coat for me--a most unpleasant necessity,
for rain had begun to fall. I owed fifteen paoli to the inn-keeper and
four to the surgeon. Just as I was going to proffer my painful request,
Brother Stephano made his appearance in my room, and burst into loud
laughter enquiring whether I had forgotten the blow from his stick!

I was struck with amazement! I begged the surgeon to leave me with the
monk, and he immediately complied.

I must ask my readers whether it is possible, in the face of such
extraordinary circumstances, not to feel superstitious! What is truly
miraculous in this case is the precise minute at which the event took
place, for the friar entered the room as the word was hanging on my lips.
What surprised me most was the force of Providence, of fortune, of
chance, whatever name is given to it, of that very necessary combination
which compelled me to find no hope but in that fatal monk, who had begun
to be my protective genius in Chiozza at the moment my distress had
likewise commenced. And yet, a singular guardian angel, this Stephano! I
felt that the mysterious force which threw me in his hands was a
punishment rather than a favour.

Nevertheless he was welcome, because I had no doubt of his relieving me
from my difficulties,--and whatever might be the power that sent him to
me, I felt that I could not do better than to submit to its influence;
the destiny of that monk was to escort me to Rome.

"Chi va piano va sano," said the friar as soon as we were alone. He had
taken five days to traverse the road over which I had travelled in one
day, but he was in good health, and he had met with no misfortune. He
told me that, as he was passing, he heard that an abbe, secretary to the
Venetian ambassador at Rome, was lying ill at the inn, after having been
robbed in Valcimara. "I came to see you," he added, "and as I find you
recovered from your illness, we can start again together; I agree to walk
six miles every day to please you. Come, let us forget the past, and let
us be at once on our way."

"I cannot go; I have lost my purse, and I owe twenty paoli."

"I will go and find the amount in the name of Saint-Francis."

He returned within an hour, but he was accompanied by the infamous
constable who told me that, if I had let him know who I was, he would
have been happy to keep me in his house. "I will give you," he continued,
"forty paoli, if you will promise me the protection of your ambassador;
but if you do not succeed in obtaining it for me in Rome, you will
undertake to repay me. Therefore you must give me an acknowledgement of
the debt."

"I have no objection." Every arrangement was speedily completed; I
received the money, paid my debts, and left Seraval with Stephano.

About one o'clock in the afternoon, we saw a wretched-looking house at a
short distance from the road, and the friar said, "It is a good distance
from here to Collefiorito; we had better put up there for the night." It
was in vain that I objected, remonstrating that we were certain of having
very poor accommodation! I had to submit to his will. We found a decrepit
old man lying on a pallet, two ugly women of thirty or forty, three
children entirely naked, a cow, and a cursed dog which barked
continually. It was a picture of squalid misery; but the niggardly monk,
instead of giving alms to the poor people, asked them to entertain us to
supper in the name of Saint-Francis.

"You must boil the hen," said the dying man to the females, "and bring
out of the cellar the bottle of wine which I have kept now for twenty
years." As he uttered those few words, he was seized with such a fit of
coughing that I thought he would die. The friar went near him, and
promised him that, by the grace of Saint-Francis, he would get young and
well. Moved by the sight of so much misery, I wanted to continue my
journey as far as Collefiorito, and to wait there for Stephano, but the
women would not let me go, and I remained. After boiling for four hours
the hen set the strongest teeth at defiance, and the bottle which I
uncorked proved to be nothing but sour vinegar. Losing patience, I got
hold of the monk's batticaslo, and took out of it enough for a plentiful
supper, and I saw the two women opening their eyes very wide at the sight
of our provisions.

We all ate with good appetite, and, after our supper the women made for
us two large beds of fresh straw, and we lay down in the dark, as the
last bit of candle to be found in the miserable dwelling was burnt out.
We had not been lying on the straw five minutes, when Stephano called out
to me that one of the women had just placed herself near him, and at the
same instant the other one takes me in her arms and kisses me. I push her
away, and the monk defends himself against the other; but mine, nothing
daunted, insists upon laying herself near me; I get up, the dog springs
at my neck, and fear compels me to remain quiet on my straw bed; the monk
screams, swears, struggles, the dog barks furiously, the old man coughs;
all is noise and confusion. At last Stephano, protected by his heavy
garments, shakes off the too loving shrew, and, braving the dog, manages
to find his stick. Then he lays about to right and left, striking in
every direction; one of the women exclaims, "Oh, God!" the friar answers,
"She has her quietus." Calm reigns again in the house, the dog, most
likely dead, is silent; the old man, who perhaps has received his
death-blow, coughs no more; the children sleep, and the women, afraid of
the singular caresses of the monk, sheer off into a corner; the remainder
of the night passed off quietly.

At day-break I rose; Stephano was likewise soon up. I looked all round,
and my surprise was great when I found that the women had gone out, and
seeing that the old man gave no sign of life, and had a bruise on his
forehead, I shewed it to Stephano, remarking that very likely he had
killed him.

"It is possible," he answered, "but I have not done it intentionally."

Then taking up his batticulo and finding it empty he flew into a violent
passion; but I was much pleased, for I had been afraid that the women had
gone out to get assistance and to have us arrested, and the robbery of
our provisions reassured me, as I felt certain that the poor wretches had
gone out of the way so as to secure impunity for their theft. But I laid
great stress upon the danger we should run by remaining any longer, and I
succeeded in frightening the friar out of the house. We soon met a
waggoner going to Folligno; I persuaded Stephano to take the opportunity
of putting a good distance between us and the scene of our last
adventures; and, as we were eating our breakfast at Folligno, we saw
another waggon, quite empty, got a lift in it for a trifle, and thus rode
to Pisignano, where a devout person gave us a charitable welcome, and I
slept soundly through the night without the dread of being arrested.

Early the next day we reached Spoleti, where Brother Stephano had two
benefactors, and, careful not to give either of them a cause of jealousy,
he favoured both; we dined with the first, who entertained us like
princes, and we had supper and lodging in the house of the second, a
wealthy wine merchant, and the father of a large and delightful family.
He gave us a delicious supper, and everything would have gone on
pleasantly had not the friar, already excited by his good dinner, made
himself quite drunk. In that state, thinking to please his new host, he
began to abuse the other, greatly to my annoyance; he said the wine he
had given us to drink was adulterated, and that the man was a thief. I
gave him the lie to his face, and called him a scoundrel. The host and
his wife pacified me, saying that they were well acquainted with their
neighbour, and knew what to think of him; but the monk threw his napkin
at my face, and the host took him very quietly by the arm and put him to
bed in a room in which he locked him up. I slept in another room.

In the morning I rose early, and was considering whether it would not be
better to go alone, when the friar, who had slept himself sober, made his
appearance and told me that we ought for the future to live together like
good friends, and not give way to angry feelings; I followed my destiny
once more. We resumed our journey, and at Soma, the inn-keeper, a woman
of rare beauty, gave us a good dinner, and some excellent Cyprus wine
which the Venetian couriers exchanged with her against delicious truffles
found in the vicinity of Soma, which sold for a good price in Venice. I
did not leave the handsome inn-keeper without losing a part of my heart.

It would be difficult to draw a picture of the indignation which
overpowered me when, as we were about two miles from Terni, the infamous
friar shewed me a small bag full of truffles which the scoundrel had
stolen from the amiable woman by way of thanks for her generous
hospitality. The truffles were worth two sequins at least. In my
indignation I snatched the bag from him, saying that I would certainly
return it to its lawful owner. But, as he had not committed the robbery
to give himself the pleasure of making restitution, he threw himself upon
me, and we came to a regular fight. But victory did not remain long in
abeyance; I forced his stick out of his hands, knocked him into a ditch,
and went off. On reaching Terni, I wrote a letter of apology to our
beautiful hostess of Soma, and sent back the truffles.

From Terni I went on foot to Otricoli, where I only stayed long enough to
examine the fine old bridge, and from there I paid four paoli to a
waggoner who carried me to Castel-Nuovo, from which place I walked to
Rome. I reached the celebrated city on the 1st of September, at nine in
the morning.

I must not forget to mention here a rather peculiar circumstance, which,
however ridiculous it may be in reality, will please many of my readers.

An hour after I had left Castel-Nuovo, the atmosphere being calm and the
sky clear, I perceived on my right, and within ten paces of me, a
pyramidal flame about two feet long and four or five feet above the
ground. This apparition surprised me, because it seemed to accompany me.
Anxious to examine it, I endeavoured to get nearer to it, but the more I
advanced towards it the further it went from me. It would stop when I
stood still, and when the road along which I was travelling happened to
be lined with trees, I no longer saw it, but it was sure to reappear as
soon as I reached a portion of the road without trees. I several times
retraced my steps purposely, but, every time I did so, the flame
disappeared, and would not shew itself again until I proceeded towards
Rome. This extraordinary beacon left me when daylight chased darkness
from the sky.

What a splendid field for ignorant superstition, if there had been any
witnesses to that phenomenon, and if I had chanced to make a great name
in Rome! History is full of such trifles, and the world is full of people
who attach great importance to them in spite of the so-called light of
science. I must candidly confess that, although somewhat versed in
physics, the sight of that small meteor gave me singular ideas. But I was
prudent enough not to mention the circumstance to any one.

When I reached the ancient capital of the world, I possessed only seven
paoli, and consequently I did not loiter about. I paid no attention to
the splendid entrance through the gate of the polar trees, which is by
mistake pompously called of the people, or to the beautiful square of the
same name, or to the portals of the magnificent churches, or to all the
stately buildings which generally strike the traveller as he enters the
city. I went straight towards Monte-Magnanopoli, where, according to the
address given to me, I was to find the bishop. There I was informed that
he had left Rome ten days before, leaving instructions to send me to
Naples free of expense. A coach was to start for Naples the next day; not
caring to see Rome, I went to bed until the time for the departure of the
coach. I travelled with three low fellows to whom I did not address one
word through the whole of the journey. I entered Naples on the 6th day of
September.

I went immediately to the address which had been given to me in Rome; the
bishop was not there. I called at the Convent of the Minims, and I found
that he had left Naples to proceed to Martorano. I enquired whether he
had left any instructions for me, but all in vain, no one could give me
any information. And there I was, alone in a large city, without a
friend, with eight carlini in my pocket, and not knowing what to do! But
never mind; fate calls me to Martorano, and to Martorano I must go. The
distance, after all, is only two hundred miles.

I found several drivers starting for Cosenza, but when they heard that I
had no luggage, they refused to take me, unless I paid in advance. They
were quite right, but their prudence placed me under the necessity of
going on foot. Yet I felt I must reach Martorano, and I made up my mind
to walk the distance, begging food and lodging like the very reverend
Brother Stephano.

First of all I made a light meal for one fourth of my money, and, having
been informed that I had to follow the Salerno road, I went towards
Portici where I arrived in an hour and a half. I already felt rather
fatigued; my legs, if not my head, took me to an inn, where I ordered a
room and some supper. I was served in good style, my appetite was
excellent, and I passed a quiet night in a comfortable bed. In the
morning I told the inn-keeper that I would return for my dinner, and I
went out to visit the royal palace. As I passed through the gate, I was
met by a man of prepossessing appearance, dressed in the eastern fashion,
who offered to shew me all over the palace, saying that I would thus save
my money. I was in a position to accept any offer; I thanked him for his
kindness.

Happening during the conversation to state that I was a Venetian, he told
me that he was my subject, since he came from Zante. I acknowledged his
polite compliment with a reverence.

"I have," he said, "some very excellent muscatel wine 'grown in the East,
which I could sell you cheap."

"I might buy some, but I warn you I am a good judge."

"So much the better. Which do you prefer?"

"The Cerigo wine."

"You are right. I have some rare Cerigo muscatel, and we can taste it if
you have no objection to dine with me."

"None whatever."

"I can likewise give you the wines of Samos and Cephalonia. I have also a
quantity of minerals, plenty of vitriol, cinnabar, antimony, and one
hundred quintals of mercury."

"Are all these goods here?"

"No, they are in Naples. Here I have only the muscatel wine and the
mercury."

It is quite naturally and without any intention to deceive, that a young
man accustomed to poverty, and ashamed of it when he speaks to a rich
stranger, boasts of his means--of his fortune. As I was talking with my
new acquaintance, I recollected an amalgam of mercury with lead and
bismuth, by which the mercury increases one-fourth in weight. I said
nothing, but I bethought myself that if the mystery should be unknown to
the Greek I might profit by it. I felt that some cunning was necessary,
and that he would not care for my secret if I proposed to sell it to him
without preparing the way. The best plan was to astonish my man with the
miracle of the augmentation of the mercury, treat it as a jest, and see
what his intentions would be. Cheating is a crime, but honest cunning may
be considered as a species of prudence. True, it is a quality which is
near akin to roguery; but that cannot be helped, and the man who, in time
of need, does not know how to exercise his cunning nobly is a fool. The
Greeks call this sort of wisdom Cerdaleophyon from the word cerdo; fox,
and it might be translated by foxdom if there were such a word in
English.