The Memoires of Casanova, Complete

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


"What, he never turned?"

"I never let him take any liberties."

"Such virtue is incomprehensible to me."

"You see the count was to be my husband, and I was to be his wife, and in
such cases a young woman is careful. Besides, I believe that if one will
but refrain from taking the first step, continence is easy. Then the
count was naturally timid, and would never have taken any liberties
without my encouraging him, which I took care not to do. For this once,
you will allow me to sleep with you in my clothes."

"Certainly, if you wish me to be dressed also, otherwise it would be
unbearable for both of us."

"You are very cruel."

"But, dearest, are you not ashamed of these foolish scruples?"

"Well, well, put out the candles, and in a minute I will be beside you."

"Very good; though the want of light will deprive me of a great pleasure.
Quick, out with them!"

My charming Portuguese did not reflect that the moon shone full into the
room, and that the muslin curtains would not prevent my seeing her
exquisite figure, which shewed to greater advantage in the position she
happened to take. If Pauline had been a coquette I should have considered
her scruples as mere artifice calculated to increase my ardour; but she
had no need to use such stratagems. At last she was within my arms, and
we clasped each other closely and in silence that was only broken by the
murmur of our kisses. Soon our union became closer, and her sighs and the
ardour of her surrender shewed me that her passion was more in need of
relief than mine. I was sufficiently master of myself to remember that I
must have a care for her honour, greatly to her astonishment, for she
confessed she had never thought of such a thing, and had given herself up
freely, resolved to brave the consequences which she believed to be
inevitable. I explained the mystery and made her happy.

Till this moment love alone had swayed me, but now that the bloody
sacrifice was over I felt full of respect and gratitude. I told her
effusively that I knew how great was my happiness, and that I was ready
to sacrifice my life to her to prove my love.

The thought that our embraces would have no dangerous result had put
Pauline at her ease, and she have reins to her ardent temperament, while
I did valiant service, till at last we were exhausted and the last
sacrifice was not entirely consummated. We abandoned ourselves to a
profound and peaceful sleep. I was the first to awake; the sun was
shining in through the window, and I gazed on Pauline. As I looked at
this woman, the first beauty in Portugal, the only child of an
illustrious family, who had given herself to me all for love, and whom I
should possess for so short a time, I could not restrain a profound sigh.

Pauline awoke, and her gaze, as bright as the rising sun in springtime,
fixed itself on me truthfully and lovingly.

"What are you thinking of, dearest?"

"I am trying to convince myself that my happiness is not a dream, and if
it be real I want it to last for ever. I am the happy mortal to whom you
have given up your great treasure, of which I am unworthy, though I love
you tenderly."

"Sweetheart, you are worthy of all my devotion and affection, if you have
not ceased to respect me."

"Can you doubt it, Pauline?"

"No, dearest, I think you love me, and that I shall never repent having
trusted in you."

The sweet sacrifice was offered again, and Pauline rose and laughed to
find that she was no longer ashamed of her nakedness before me. Then,
passing from jest to earnest, she said,--

"If the loss of shame is the result of knowledge, how was it that our
first parents were not ashamed till they had acquired knowledge?"

"I don't know, dearest, but tell me, did you ever ask your learned
Italian master that same question?"

"Yes, I did."

"What did he say?"

"That their shame arose not from their enjoyment, but from disobedience;
and that in covering the parts which had seduced them, they discovered,
as it were, the sin they had committed. Whatever may be said on the
subject, I shall always think that Adam was much more to blame than Eve."

"How is that?"

"Because Adam had received the prohibition from God, while Eve had only
received it from Adam."

"I thought that both of them received the prohibition directly from God."

"You have not read Genesis, then."

"You are laughing at me."

"Then you have read it carelessly, because it is distinctly stated that
God made Eve after he had forbidden Adam to eat of the fruit."

"I wonder that point has not been remarked by our commentators; it seems
a very important one to me."

"They are a pack of knaves, all sworn enemies of women."

"No, no, they give proofs of quite another feeling only too often."

"We won't say anything more about it. My teacher was an honest man."

"Was he a Jesuit?"

"Yes, but of the short robe."

"What do you mean?"

"We will discuss the question another time."

"Very good; I should like to have it proved to me that a man can be a
Jesuit and honest at the same time."

"There are exceptions to all rules."

My Pauline was a profound thinker, and strongly attached to her religion.
I should never have discovered that she possessed this merit if I had not
slept with her. I have known several women of the same stamp; if you wish
to know the elevation of their souls, you must begin by damning them.
When this is done, one enjoys their confidence, for they have no secrets
for the happy victor. This is the reason why the charming though feeble
sex loves the brave and despises the cowardly. Sometimes they appear to
love cowards, but always for their physical beauty. Women amuse
themselves with such fellows, but are the first to laugh if they get
caned.

After the most delicious night I had ever passed, I resolved not to leave
my house till Pauline had to return to Portugal. She did not leave me for
a moment, save to hear mass on Sundays. I shut my door to everybody, even
to the doctor, for my sprain disappeared of itself. I did not fail to
inform Miss Chudleigh of my rapid cure; she had sent twice a day ever
since the accident to learn how I was.

Pauline went to her room after our amorous conflict, and I did not see
her again till dinner-time; but when I did see her I thought her an
angel. Her face had caught the hues of the lily and the rose, and had an
air of happiness I could not help admiring.

As we both wanted to have our portraits taken, I asked Martinelli to send
me the best miniature-painter in London. He sent a Jew, who succeeded
admirably. I had my miniature mounted in a ring and gave it to Pauline;
and this was the only present she would accept from me, who would have
thought myself all the richer if she had accepted all I had.

We spent three weeks in a happy dream which no pen can describe. I was
quite well again, and we tasted all the sweets of love together. All day
and all night we were together, our desires were satisfied only to be
renewed; we enjoyed the extremest bliss. In a word, it is difficult to
form a just idea of the state of two individuals who enjoy all the range
of physical and mental pleasures together, whose life is for the present
without thought of the future; whose joys are mutual and continual; such,
nevertheless, was the position of myself and my divine Pauline.

Every day I discovered in her some fresh perfection which made me love
her more; her nature was inexhaustible in its treasures, for her mental
qualities even surpassed her physical beauties, and an excellent
education had wonderfully increased the powers of her intelligence. With
all the beauty and grace of a woman she had that exalted character which
is the lot of the best of men. She began to flatter herself that the
fatal letter would never come, and the count was little more than a dream
of the past. Sometimes she would say that she could not understand how a
pretty face could exercise such a strong influence over us in spite of
our reason.

"I have found out too late," she added, "that chance alone can make a
marriage, contracted for such physical reasons, happy."

The 1st of August was a fatal day for both of us. Pauline received a
letter from Lisbon, which summoned her home without delay, and I had a
letter from Paris announcing the death of Madame d'Urfe. Madame du Rumain
told me that on the evidence of her maid the doctors had pronounced her
death to be due to an overdose of the liquid she called "The Panacea."
She added that a will had been found which savoured of a lunatic asylum,
for she had left all her wealth to the son or daughter that should be
born of her, declaring that she was with child. I was to be the governor
of the infant; this vexed me exceedingly, as I knew I should be the
laughing-stock of Paris for a week at least. Her daughter, the Comtesse
de Chatelet, had taken possession of all her real estate and of her
pocket-book, which contained, to my surprise, four hundred thousand
francs. It was a great shock for me, but the contents of the two letters
Pauline had received was a greater blow. One was from her aunt, and the
other from Oeiras, who begged her to return to Lisbon as soon as
possible, and assured her that she should be put in possession of her
property on her arrival, and would be at liberty to marry Count Al---- in
the sight of all the world. He sent her a cheque for twenty million reis.
I was not aware of the small value of the coin, and was in an ecstasy;
but Pauline laughed, and said it only came to two thousand pounds, which
was a sufficient sum, however, to allow her to travel in the style of a
duchess. The minister wanted her to come by sea, and all she had to do
was to communicate with the Portuguese ambassador, who had orders to give
her a passage on a Portuguese frigate which happened to be riding in an
English port. Pauline would not hear of the voyage, or of applying to the
ambassador, for she did not want anyone to think that she had been
obliged to return. She was angry with the minister for having sent her a
cheque, thinking that he must be aware that she had been in need, but I
soon brought her to see reason on this point, telling her that it was a
very thoughtful and delicate proceeding on the part of Oeiras, and that
he had merely lent-her the money, and not given it to her.

Pauline was rich, and she was a high-minded woman. Her generosity may be
estimated by her giving me her ring when she was in want, and she
certainly never counted on my purse, though she may have felt sure that I
would not abandon her. I am sure she believed me to be very rich, and my
conduct was certainly calculated to favour that idea.

The day and even the night passed sadly. The next day Pauline addressed
me as follows:

"We must part, dear friend, and try to forget one another, for my honour
obliges me to become the wife of the count as soon as I arrive in Lisbon.
The first fancy of my heart, which you have almost effaced, will regain
all its old force when I see you no longer, and I am sure I shall love my
husband, for he is a goodhearted, honest, and pleasant young man; that
much I know from the few days we lived together.

"Now I have a favour to ask of you, which I am sure you will grant.
Promise me never to come to Lisbon without my permission. I hope you will
not seek to know my reasons; you would not, I am sure, come to trouble my
peace, for if I sinned I should be unhappy, and you would not desire that
for me. I have dreamed we have lived together as man and wife, and now we
are parted I shall fancy myself a widow about to undertake another
marriage."

I burst into tears, and pressing her to my breast promised I would do as
she wished.

Pauline wrote to her aunt and Oeiras that she would be in Lisbon in
October, and that they should have further news of her when she reached
Spain. She had plenty of money, and bought a carriage and engaged a maid,
and these arrangements took up her time during the last week she spent
with me. I made her promise me to let Clairmont accompany her as far as
Madrid. She was to send me back my faithful servant when she reached the
Spanish capital, but fate had decreed that I should see his face no more.

The last few days were spent partly in sorrow and partly in delight. We
looked at each other without speaking, and spoke without knowing what we
said. We forgot to eat, and went to bed hoping that love and anguish
would keep us awake, but our exhausted bodies fell into a heavy sleep,
and when we awoke we could only sigh and kiss again.

Pauline allowed me to escort her as far as Calais, and we started on the
10th of August, only stopping at Dover to embark the carriage on the
packet, and four hours afterwards we disembarked at Calais, and Pauline,
considering her widowhood had begun, begged me to sleep in another room.
She started on the 12th of August, preceded by my poor Clairmont, and
resolved only to travel by daytime.

The analogy between my parting with Pauline and my parting with Henriette
fifteen years before, was exceedingly striking; the two women were of
very similar character, and both were equally beautiful, though their
beauty was of a different kind. Thus I fell as madly in love with the
second as with the first, both being equally intelligent. The fact that
one had more talent and less prejudices than the other must have been an
effect of their different educations. Pauline had the fine pride of her
nation, her mind was a serious cast, and her religion was more an affair
of the heart than the understanding. She was also a far more ardent
mistress than Henriette. I was successful with both of them because I was
rich; if I had been a poor man I should never have known either of them.
I have half forgotten them, as everything is forgotten in time, but when
I recall them to my memory I find that Henriette made the profounder
impression on me, no doubt because I was twenty-five when I knew her,
while I was thirty-seven in London.

The older I get the more I feel the destructive effects of old age; and I
regret bitterly that I could not discover the secret of remaining young
and happy for ever. Vain regrets! we must finish as we began, helpless
and devoid of sense.

I went back to England the same day, and had a troublesome passage.
Nevertheless, I did not rest at Dover; and as soon as I got to London I
shut myself up with a truly English attack of the spleen, while I thought
of Pauline and strove to forget her. Jarbe put me to bed, and in the
morning, when he came into my room, he made me shudder with a speech at
which I laughed afterwards.

"Sir," said he, "the old woman wants to know whether she is to put up the
notice again."

"The old hag! Does she want me to choke her?"

"Good heavens-no, sir! She is very fond of you, seeing you seemed so sad,
she thought . . . ."

"Go and tell her never to think such things again, and as for you . . . ."

"I will do as you wish, sir."

"Then leave me."






EPISODE 23--THE ENGLISH




CHAPTER X

Eccentricity of the English--Castelbajac Count Schwerin--
Sophie at School--My Reception at the Betting Club--
The Charpillon

I passed a night which seemed like a never-ending nightmare, and I got up
sad and savage, feeling as if I could kill a man on the smallest
provocation. It seemed as if the house, which I had hitherto thought so
beautiful, was like a millstone about my neck. I went out in my
travelling clothes, and walked into a coffee-house, where I saw a score
of people reading the papers.

I sat down, and, not understanding English, passed my time in gazing at
the goers and comers. I had been there some time when my attention was
attracted by the voice of a man speaking as follows in French:

"Tommy has committed suicide, and he was wise, for he was in such a state
that he could only expect unhappiness for the rest of his life."

"You are quite mistaken," said the other, with the greatest composure. "I
was one of his creditors myself, and on making an inventory of his
effects I feel satisfied that he has done a very foolish and a very
childish thing; he might have lived on comfortably, and not killed
himself for fully six months."

At any other time this calculation would have made me laugh, and, as it
was, I felt as if the incident had done me good.

I left the coffee-house without having said a word or spent a penny, and
I went towards the Exchange to get some money. Bosanquet gave me what I
wanted directly, and as I walked out with him I noticed a curious-looking
individual, whose name I asked.

"He's worth a hundred thousand," said the banker.

"And who is that other man over there?"

"He's not worth a ten-pound note."

"But I don't want to hear what they are worth; it's their names I want."

"I really don't know."

"How can you tell how much they are worth, not knowing their names?"

"Names don't go for anything here. What we want to know about a man is
how much he has got? Besides; what's in a name? Ask me for a thousand
pounds and give me a proper receipt, and you can do it under the name of
Socrates or Attila, for all I care. You will pay me back my money as
Socrates or Attila, and not as Seingalt; that is all."

"But how about signing bills of exchange?"

"That's another thing; I must use the name which the drawer gives me."

"I don't understand that."

"Well, you see, you are not English, nor are you a business man."

On leaving him I walked towards the park, but wishing to change a
twenty-pound note before going in I went to a fat merchant, an epicure
whose acquaintance I had made at the tavern, and put down the note on his
counter, begging him to cash it for me.

"Come again in an hour," said he, "I have no money by me just now."

"Very good; I will call again when I come from the park."

"Take back your note; you shall give it to me when I hand you the money."

"Never mind; keep it. I don't doubt your honesty."

"Don't be so foolish. If you left me the note I should certainly decline
to hand over the money, if only for the sake of giving you a lesson."

"I don't believe you are capable of such dishonesty."

"Nor am I, but when it comes to such a simple thing as putting a bank
note in your pocket, the most honest man in the world would never dream
of having such a thing in his possession without having paid the money
for it, and the least slip of memory might lead to a dispute in which you
would infallibly come off second best."

"I feel the force of your arguments, especially in a town where so much
business is carried on."

When I got into the park I met Martinelli and thanked him for sending me
a copy of the Decameron, while he congratulated me on my re-appearance in
society, and on the young lady of whom I had been the happy possessor and
no doubt the slave.

"My Lord Pembroke has seen her," said he, "and thought her charming."

"What? Where could he have seen her?"

"In a carriage with you driving fast along the Rochester road. It is
three or four days ago."

"Then I may tell you that I was taking her to Calais; I shall never see
her face again."

"Will you let the room again in the same way?"

"No, never again, though the god of love has been propitious to me. I
shall be glad to see you at my house whenever you like to come."

"Shall I send you a note to warn you?"

"Not at all."

We walked on talking about literature, manners, and so forth, in an
aimless way. All at once, as we approached Buckingham House, I saw five
or six persons, relieving nature amidst the bushes, with their hinder
parts facing the passers-by. I thought this a disgusting piece of
indecency, and said as much to Martinelli, adding that the impudent
rascals might at least turn their faces towards the path.

"Not at all," he exclaimed, "for then they might be recognized; whereas
in exposing their posteriors they run no such risk; besides the sight
makes squeamish persons turn away."

"You are right, but you will confess that the whole thing strikes a
stranger as very revolting."

"Yes, there is nothing so ineradicable as national prejudice. You may
have noticed that when an Englishman wants to ease his sluices in the
street, he doesn't run up an alley or turn to the wall like we do."

"Yes, I have noticed them turning towards the middle of the street, but
if they thus escape the notice of the people in the shops and on the
pavement they are seen by everybody who is driving in a carriage, and
that is as bad."

"The people in the carriages need not look."

"That is true."

We walked on to the Green Park, and met Lord Pembroke on horseback. He
stopped and burst into exclamations on seeing me. As I guessed the cause
of his surprise, I hastened to tell him that I was a free man once more,
to my sorrow, and felt lonely amidst my splendour.

"I feel rather curious about it, and perhaps I may come and keep you
company to-day."

We parted, and reckoning on seeing him at dinner I, went back to tell my
cook that dinner was to be served in the large room. Martinelli had an
engagement and could not come to dinner, but he led me out of the park by
a door with which I was not acquainted, and sent me on my way.

As we were going along we saw a crowd of people who seemed to be staring
at something. Martinelli went up to the crowd, and then returned to me,
saying,--

"That's a curious sight for you; you can enter it amidst your remarks on
English manners."

"What is it?"

"A man at the point of death from a blow he has received in boxing with
another sturdy fellow."

"Cannot anything be done?"

"There is a surgeon there who would bleed him, if he were allowed."

"Who could prevent him?"

"That's the curious part of it. Two men have betted on his death or
recovery. One says, 'I'll bet twenty guineas he dies,' and the other
says, 'Done.' Number one will not allow the surgeon to bleed him, for if
the man recovered his twenty guineas would be gone."

"Poor man! what pitiless betters!"

"The English are very strange in their betting proclivities; they bet
about everything. There is a Betting Club to which I will introduce you,
if you like."

"Do they speak French there?"

"Most certainly, for it is composed of men of wit and mark."

"What do they do?"

"They talk and argue, and if one man brings forward a proposition which
another denies, and one backs his opinion, the other has to bet too, on
pain of a fine which goes to the common fund."

"Introduce me to this delightful club, by all means; it will make my
fortune, for I shall always take care to be on the right side."

"You had better be careful; they are wary birds."

"But to return to the dying man; what will be done to his antagonist?"

"His hand will be examined, and if it is found to be just the same as
yours or mine it will be marked, and he will be let go."

"I don't understand that, so kindly explain. How do they recognize a
dangerous hand?"

"If it is found to be marked already, it is a proof that he has killed
his man before and has been marked for it, with the warning, 'Take care
not to kill anyone else, for if you do you will be hanged.'"

"But supposing such a man is attacked?"

"He ought to shew his hand, and then his adversary would let him alone."

"But if not?"

"Then he is defending himself; and if he kills his man he is acquitted,
provided he can bring witnesses to swear that he was obliged to fight."

"Since fighting with the fist may cause death, I wonder it is allowed."

"It is only allowed for a wager. If the combatants do not put one or more
pieces of money on the ground before the fight, and there is a death, the
man is hanged."

"What laws! What manners!"

In such ways I learnt much concerning the manner and customs of this
proud nation, at once so great and so little.

The noble lord came to dinner, and I treated him in a manner to make him
wish to come again. Although there were only the two of us, the meal
lasted a long time, as I was anxious for additional information on what I
had heard in the morning, especially on the Betting Club. The worthy
Pembroke advised me not to have anything to do with it, unless I made up
my mind to keep perfect silence for four or five weeks.

"But supposing they ask me a question?"

"Evade it."

"Certainly, if I am not in a position to give my opinion; but if I have
an opinion, the powers of Satan could not shut my mouth."

"All the worse for you."

"Are the members knaves?"

"Certainly not. They are noblemen, philosophers, and epicures; but they
are pitiless where a bet is concerned."

"Is the club treasury rich?"

"Far from it; they are all ashamed to pay a fine, and prefer to bet. Who
will introduce you?"

"Martinelli."

"Quite so; through Lord Spencer, who is a member. I would not become
one."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like argument."

"My taste runs the other way, so I shall try to get in."

"By the way, M. de Seingalt, do you know that you are a very
extraordinary man?"

"For what reason, my lord?"

"You shut yourself up for a whole month with a woman who spent fourteen
months in London without anybody making her acquaintance or even
discovering her nationality. All the amateurs have taken a lively
interest in the affair."