The Memoires of Casanova, Complete

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


Towards the end of the dinner, as we were conversing, the marchioness
made her appearance, and, as a matter of course, without being announced.
Her looks threw me into raptures; I thought her a perfect beauty. She did
not give the cardinal time to meet her, but sat down near him, while I
remained standing, according to etiquette.

Without appearing to notice me, the marchioness ran wittily over various
topics until coffee was brought in. Then, addressing herself to me, she
told me to sit down, just as if she was bestowing charity upon me.

"By-the-by, abbe," she said, a minute after, "have you read my sonnet?"

"Yes, madam, and I have had the honour to return it to his eminence. I
have found it so perfect that I am certain it must have cost you a great
deal of time."

"Time?" exclaimed the cardinal; "Oh! you do not know the marchioness."

"Monsignor," I replied, "nothing can be done well without time, and that
is why I have not dared to chew to your eminence an answer to the sonnet
which I have written in half an hour."

"Let us see it, abbe," said the marchioness; "I want to read it."

"Answer of Silesia to Love." This title brought the most fascinating
blushes on her countenance. "But Love is not mentioned in the sonnet,"
exclaimed the cardinal. "Wait," said the marchioness, "we must respect
the idea of the poet:"

She read the sonnet over and over, and thought that the reproaches
addressed by Silesia to Love were very just. She explained my idea to the
cardinal, making him understand why Silesia was offended at having been
conquered by the King of Prussia.

"Ah, I see, I see!" exclaimed the cardinal, full of joy; "Silesia is a
woman.... and the King of Prussia.... Oh! oh! that is really a fine
idea!" And the good cardinal laughed heartily for more than a quarter of
an hour. "I must copy that sonnet," he added, "indeed I must have it."

"The abbe," said the obliging marchioness, "will save you the trouble: I
will dictate it to him."

I prepared to write, but his eminence suddenly exclaimed, "My dear
marchioness, this is wonderful; he has kept the same rhymes as in your
own sonnet: did you observe it?"

The beautiful marchioness gave me then a look of such expression that she
completed her conquest. I understood that she wanted me to know the
cardinal as well as she knew him; it was a kind of partnership in which I
was quite ready to play my part.

As soon as I had written the sonnet under the charming woman's dictation,
I took my leave, but not before the cardinal had told me that he expected
me to dinner the next day.

I had plenty of work before me, for the ten stanzas I had to compose were
of the most singular character, and I lost no time in shutting myself up
in my room to think of them. I had to keep my balance between two points
of equal difficulty, and I felt that great care was indispensable. I had
to place the marchioness in such a position that she could pretend to
believe the cardinal the author of the stanzas, and, at the same time,
compel her to find out that I had written them, and that I was aware of
her knowing it. It was necessary to speak so carefully that not one
expression should breathe even the faintest hope on my part, and yet to
make my stanzas blaze with the ardent fire of my love under the thin veil
of poetry. As for the cardinal, I knew well enough that the better the
stanzas were written, the more disposed he would be to sign them. All I
wanted was clearness, so difficult to obtain in poetry, while a little
doubtful darkness would have been accounted sublime by my new Midas. But,
although I wanted to please him, the cardinal was only a secondary
consideration, and the handsome marchioness the principal object.

As the marchioness in her verses had made a pompous enumeration of every
physical and moral quality of his eminence, it was of course natural that
he should return the compliment, and here my task was easy. At last
having mastered my subject well, I began my work, and giving full career
to my imagination and to my feelings I composed the ten stanzas, and gave
the finishing stroke with these two beautiful lines from Ariosto:

Le angelicche bellezze nate al cielo
Non si ponno celar sotto alcum velo.

Rather pleased with my production, I presented it the next day to the
cardinal, modestly saying that I doubted whether he would accept the
authorship of so ordinary a composition. He read the stanzas twice over
without taste or expression, and said at last that they were indeed not
much, but exactly what he wanted. He thanked me particularly for the two
lines from Ariosto, saying that they would assist in throwing the
authorship upon himself, as they would prove to the lady for whom they
were intended that he had not been able to write them without borrowing.
And, as to offer me some consolation, he told me that, in recopying the
lines, he would take care to make a few mistakes in the rhythm to
complete the illusion.

We dined earlier than the day before, and I withdrew immediately after
dinner so as to give him leisure to make a copy of the stanzas before the
arrival of the lady.

The next evening I met the marchioness at the entrance of the palace, and
offered her my arm to come out of her carriage. The instant she alighted,
she said to me,

"If ever your stanzas and mine become known in Rome, you may be sure of
my enmity."

"Madam, I do not understand what you mean."

"I expected you to answer me in this manner," replied the marchioness,
"but recollect what I have said."

I left her at the door of the reception-room, and thinking that she was
really angry with me, I went away in despair. "My stanzas," I said to
myself, "are too fiery; they compromise her dignity, and her pride is
offended at my knowing the secret of her intrigue with Cardinal S. C.
Yet, I feel certain that the dread she expresses of my want of discretion
is only feigned, it is but a pretext to turn me out of her favour. She
has not understood my reserve! What would she have done, if I had painted
her in the simple apparel of the golden age, without any of those veils
which modesty imposes upon her sex!" I was sorry I had not done so. I
undressed and went to bed. My head was scarcely on the pillow when the
Abbe Gama knocked at my door. I pulled the door-string, and coming in, he
said,

"My dear sir, the cardinal wishes to see you, and I am sent by the
beautiful marchioness and Cardinal S. C., who desire you to come down."

"I am very sorry, but I cannot go; tell them the truth; I am ill in bed."

As the abbe did not return, I judged that he had faithfully acquitted
himself of the commission, and I spent a quiet night. I was not yet
dressed in the morning, when I received a note from Cardinal S. C.
inviting me to dinner, saying that he had just been bled, and that he
wanted to speak to me: he concluded by entreating me to come to him
early, even if I did not feel well.

The invitation was pressing; I could not guess what had caused it, but
the tone of the letter did not forebode anything unpleasant. I went to
church, where I was sure that Cardinal Acquaviva would see me, and he
did. After mass, his eminence beckoned to me.

"Are you truly ill?" he enquired.

"No, monsignor, I was only sleepy."

"I am very glad to hear it; but you are wrong, for you are loved.
Cardinal S. C. has been bled this morning."

"I know it, monsignor. The cardinal tells me so in this note, in which he
invites me to dine with him, with your excellency's permission."

"Certainly. But this is amusing! I did not know that he wanted a third
person."

"Will there be a third person?"

"I do not know, and I have no curiosity about it."

The cardinal left me, and everybody imagined that his eminence had spoken
to me of state affairs.

I went to my new Maecenas, whom I found in bed.

"I am compelled to observe strict diet," he said to me; "I shall have to
let you dine alone, but you will not lose by it as my cook does not know
it. What I wanted to tell you is that your stanzas are, I am afraid, too
pretty, for the marchioness adores them. If you had read them to me in
the same way that she does, I could never have made up my mind to offer
them." "But she believes them to be written by your eminence?"

"Of course."

"That is the essential point, monsignor."

"Yes; but what should I do if she took it into her head to compose some
new stanzas for me?"

"You would answer through the same pen, for you can dispose of me night
and day, and rely upon the utmost secrecy."

"I beg of you to accept this small present; it is some negrillo snuff
from Habana, which Cardinal Acquaviva has given me."

The snuff was excellent, but the object which contained it was still
better. It was a splendid gold-enamelled box. I received it with respect,
and with the expression of the deepest gratitude.

If his eminence did not know how to write poetry, at least he knew how to
be generous, and in a delicate manner, and that science is, at least in
my estimation, superior to the other for a great nobleman.

At noon, and much to my surprise, the beautiful marchioness made her
appearance in the most elegant morning toilet.

"If I had known you were in good company," she said to the cardinal, "I
would not have come."

"I am sure, dear marchioness, you will not find our dear abbe in the
way."

"No, for I believe him to be honest and true."

I kept at a respectful distance, ready to go away with my splendid
snuff-box at the first jest she might hurl at me.

The cardinal asked her if she intended to remain to dinner.

"Yes," she answered; "but I shall not enjoy my dinner, for I hate to eat
alone."

"If you would honour him so far, the abbe would keep you company."

She gave me a gracious look, but without uttering one word.

This was the first time I had anything to do with a woman of quality, and
that air of patronage, whatever kindness might accompany it, always put
me out of temper, for I thought it made love out of the question.
However, as we were in the presence of the cardinal, I fancied that she
might be right in treating me in that fashion.

The table was laid out near the cardinal's bed, and the marchioness, who
ate hardly anything, encouraged me in my good appetite.

"I have told you that the abbe is equal to me in that respect," said S.
C.

"I truly believe," answered the marchioness, "that he does not remain far
behind you; but," added she with flattery, "you are more dainty in your
tastes."

"Would her ladyship be so good as to tell me in what I have appeared to
her to be a mere glutton? For in all things I like only dainty and
exquisite morsels."

"Explain what you mean by saying in all things," said the cardinal.
Taking the liberty of laughing, I composed a few impromptu verses in
which I named all I thought dainty and exquisite. The marchioness
applauded, saying that she admired my courage.

"My courage, madam, is due to you, for I am as timid as a hare when I am
not encouraged; you are the author of my impromptu."

"I admire you. As for myself, were I encouraged by Apollo himself, I
could not compose four lines without paper and ink."

"Only give way boldly to your genius, madam, and you will produce poetry
worthy of heaven."

"That--is my opinion, too," said the cardinal. "I entreat you to give me
permission to skew your ten stanzas to the abbe."

"They are not very good, but I have no objection provided it remains
between us."

The cardinal gave me, then, the stanzas composed by the marchioness, and
I read them aloud with all the expression, all the feeling necessary to
such reading.

"How well you have read those stanzas!" said the marchioness; "I can
hardly believe them to be my own composition; I thank you very much. But
have the goodness to give the benefit of your reading to the stanzas
which his eminence has written in answer to mine. They surpass them
much."

"Do not believe it, my dear abbe," said the cardinal, handing them to me.
"Yet try not to let them lose anything through your reading."

There was certainly no need of his eminence enforcing upon me such a
recommendation; it was my own poetry. I could not have read it otherwise
than in my best style, especially when I had before me the beautiful
woman who had inspired them, and when, besides, Bacchus was in me giving
courage to Apollo as much as the beautiful eyes of the marchioness were
fanning into an ardent blaze the fire already burning through my whole
being.

I read the stanzas with so much expression that the cardinal was
enraptured, but I brought a deep carnation tint upon the cheeks of the
lovely marchioness when I came to the description of those beauties which
the imagination of the poet is allowed to guess at, but which I could
not, of course, have gazed upon. She snatched the paper from my hands
with passion, saying that I was adding verses of my own; it was true, but
I did not confess it. I was all aflame, and the fire was scorching her as
well as me.

The cardinal having fallen asleep, she rose and went to take a seat on
the balcony; I followed her. She had a rather high seat; I stood opposite
to her, so that her knee touched the fob-pocket in which was my watch.
What a position! Taking hold gently of one of her hands, I told her that
she had ignited in my soul a devouring flame, that I adored her, and
that, unless some hope was left to me of finding her sensible to my
sufferings, I was determined to fly away from her for ever.

"Yes, beautiful marchioness, pronounce my sentence."

"I fear you are a libertine and an unfaithful lover."

"I am neither one nor the other."

With these words I folded her in my arms, and I pressed upon her lovely
lips, as pure as a rose, an ardent kiss which she received with the best
possible grace. This kiss, the forerunner of the most delicious
pleasures, had imparted to my hands the greatest boldness; I was on the
point of.... but the marchioness, changing her position, entreated me so
sweetly to respect her, that, enjoying new voluptuousness through my very
obedience, I not only abandoned an easy victory, but I even begged her
pardon, which I soon read in the most loving look.

She spoke of Lucrezia, and was pleased with my discretion. She then
alluded to the cardinal, doing her best to make me believe that there was
nothing between them but a feeling of innocent friendship. Of course I
had my opinion on that subject, but it was my interest to appear to
believe every word she uttered. We recited together lines from our best
poets, and all the time she was still sitting down and I standing before
her, with my looks rapt in the contemplation of the most lovely charms,
to which I remained insensible in appearance, for I had made up my mind
not to press her that evening for greater favours than those I had
already received.

The cardinal, waking from his long and peaceful siesta, got up and joined
us in his night-cap, and good-naturedly enquired whether we had not felt
impatient at his protracted sleep. I remained until dark and went home
highly pleased with my day's work, but determined to keep my ardent
desires in check until the opportunity for complete victory offered
itself.

From that day, the charming marchioness never ceased to give me the marks
of her particular esteem, without the slightest constraint; I was
reckoning upon the carnival, which was close at hand, feeling certain
that the more I should spare her delicacy, the more she would endeavour
to find the opportunity of rewarding my loyalty, and of crowning with
happiness my loving constancy. But fate ordained otherwise; Dame Fortune
turned her back upon me at the very moment when the Pope and Cardinal
Acquaviva were thinking of giving me a really good position.

The Holy Father had congratulated me upon the beautiful snuff-box
presented to me by Cardinal S. C., but he had been careful never to name
the marchioness. Cardinal Acquaviva expressed openly his delight at his
brother-cardinal having given me a taste of his negrillo snuff in so
splendid an envelope; the Abbe Gama, finding me so forward on the road to
success, did not venture to counsel me any more, and the virtuous Father
Georgi gave me but one piece of advice-namely, to cling to the lovely
marchioness and not to make any other acquaintances.

Such was my position-truly a brilliant one, when, on Christmas Day, the
lover of Barbara Dalacqua entered my room, locked the door, and threw
himself on the sofa, exclaiming that I saw him for the last time.

"I only come to beg of you some good advice."

"On what subject can I advise you?"

"Take this and read it; it will explain everything."

It was a letter from his mistress; the contents were these:

"I am pregnant of a child, the pledge of our mutual love; I can no longer
have any doubt of it, my beloved, and I forewarn you that I have made up
my mind to quit Rome alone, and to go away to die where it may please
God, if you refuse to take care of me and save me. I would suffer
anything, do anything, rather than let my father discover the truth."

"If you are a man of honour," I said, "you cannot abandon the poor girl.
Marry her in spite of your father, in spite of her own, and live together
honestly. The eternal Providence of God will watch over you and help you
in your difficulties:"

My advice seemed to bring calm to his mind, and he left me more composed.

At the beginning of January, 1744, he called again, looking very
cheerful. "I have hired," he said, "the top floor of the house next to
Barbara's dwelling; she knows it, and to-night I will gain her apartment
through one of the windows of the garret, and we will make all our
arrangements to enable me to carry her off. I have made up my mind; I
have decided upon taking her to Naples, and I will take with us the
servant who, sleeping in the garret, had to be made a confidante of."

"God speed you, my friend!"

A week afterwards, towards eleven o'clock at night, he entered my room
accompanied by an abbe.

"What do you want so late?"

"I wish to introduce you to this handsome abbe."

I looked up, and to my consternation I recognized Barbara.

"Has anyone seen you enter the house?" I enquired.

"No; and if we had been seen, what of it? It is only an abbe. We now pass
every night together."

"I congratulate you."

"The servant is our friend; she has consented to follow us, and all our
arrangements are completed."

"I wish you every happiness. Adieu. I beg you to leave me."

Three or four days after that visit, as I was walking with the Abbe Gama
towards the Villa Medicis, he told me deliberately that there would be an
execution during the night in the Piazza di Spagna.

"What kind of execution?"

"The bargello or his lieutenant will come to execute some 'ordine
santissimo', or to visit some suspicious dwelling in order to arrest and
carry off some person who does not expect anything of the sort."

"How do you know it?"

"His eminence has to know it, for the Pope would not venture to encroach
upon his jurisdiction without asking his permission."

"And his eminence has given it?"

"Yes, one of the Holy Father's auditors came for that purpose this
morning."

"But the cardinal might have refused?"

"Of course; but such a permission is never denied."

"And if the person to be arrested happened to be under the protection of
the cardinal--what then?"

"His eminence would give timely warning to that person."

We changed the conversation, but the news had disturbed me. I fancied
that the execution threatened Barbara and her lover, for her father's
house was under the Spanish jurisdiction. I tried to see the young man
but I could not succeed in meeting him, and I was afraid lest a visit at
his home or at M. Dalacqua's dwelling might implicate me. Yet it is
certain that this last consideration would not have stopped me if I had
been positively sure that they were threatened; had I felt satisfied of
their danger, I would have braved everything.

About midnight, as I was ready to go to bed, and just as I was opening my
door to take the key from outside, an abbe rushed panting into my room
and threw himself on a chair. It was Barbara; I guessed what had taken
place, and, foreseeing all the evil consequences her visit might have for
me, deeply annoyed and very anxious, I upbraided her for having taken
refuge in my room, and entreated her to go away.

Fool that I was! Knowing that I was only ruining myself without any
chance of saving her, I ought to have compelled her to leave my room, I
ought to have called for the servants if she had refused to withdraw. But
I had not courage enough, or rather I voluntarily obeyed the decrees of
destiny.

When she heard my order to go away, she threw herself on her knees, and
melting into tears, she begged, she entreated my pity!

Where is the heart of steel which is not softened by the tears, by the
prayers of a pretty and unfortunate woman? I gave way, but I told her
that it was ruin for both of us.

"No one," she replied, "has seen me, I am certain, when I entered the
mansion and came up to your room, and I consider my visit here a week ago
as most fortunate; otherwise, I never could have known which was your
room."

"Alas! how much better if you had never come! But what has become of your
lover?"

"The 'sbirri' have carried him off, as well as the servant. I will tell
you all about it. My lover had informed me that a carriage would wait
to-night at the foot of the flight of steps before the Church of Trinita
del Monte, and that he would be there himself. I entered his room through
the garret window an hour ago. There I put on this disguise, and,
accompanied by the servant, proceeded to meet him. The servant walked a
few yards before me, and carried a parcel of my things. At the corner of
the street, one of the buckles of my shoes being unfastened, I stopped an
instant, and the servant went on, thinking that I was following her. She
reached the carriage, got into it, and, as I was getting nearer, the
light from a lantern disclosed to me some thirty sbirri; at the same
instant, one of them got on the driver's box and drove off at full speed,
carrying off the servant, whom they must have mistaken for me, and my
lover who was in the coach awaiting me. What could I do at such a fearful
moment? I could not go back to my father's house, and I followed my first
impulse which brought me here. And here I am! You tell me that my
presence will cause your ruin; if it is so, tell me what to do; I feel I
am dying; but find some expedient and I am ready to do anything, even to
lay my life down, rather than be the cause of your ruin."

But she wept more bitterly than ever.

Her position was so sad that I thought it worse even than mine, although
I could almost fancy I saw ruin before me despite my innocence.

"Let me," I said, "conduct you to your father; I feel sure of obtaining
your pardon."

But my proposal only enhanced her fears.

"I am lost," she exclaimed; "I know my father. Ah! reverend sir, turn me
out into the street, and abandon me to my miserable fate."

No doubt I ought to have done so, and I would have done it if the
consciousness of what was due to my own interest had been stronger than
my feeling of pity. But her tears! I have often said it, and those
amongst my readers who have experienced it, must be of the same opinion;
there is nothing on earth more irresistible than two beautiful eyes
shedding tears, when the owner of those eyes is handsome, honest, and
unhappy. I found myself physically unable to send her away.

"My poor girl," I said at last, "when daylight comes, and that will not
be long, for it is past midnight, what do you intend to do?"

"I must leave the palace," she replied, sobbing. "In this disguise no one
can recognize me; I will leave Rome, and I will walk straight before me
until I fall on the ground, dying with grief and fatigue."

With these words she fell on the floor. She was choking; I could see her
face turn blue; I was in the greatest distress.

I took off her neck-band, unlaced her stays under the abbe's dress, I
threw cold water in her face, and I finally succeeded in bringing her
back to consciousness.

The night was extremely cold, and there was no fire in my room. I advised
her to get into my bed, promising to respect her.

"Alas! reverend sir, pity is the only feeling with which I can now
inspire anyone."

And, to speak the truth I was too deeply moved, and, at the same time,
too full of anxiety, to leave room in me for any desire. Having induced
her to go to bed, and her extreme weakness preventing her from doing
anything for herself, I undressed her and put her to bed, thus proving
once more that compassion will silence the most imperious requirements of
nature, in spite of all the charms which would, under other
circumstances, excite to the highest degree the senses of a man. I lay
down near her in my clothes, and woke her at day-break. Her strength was
somewhat restored, she dressed herself alone, and I left my room, telling
her to keep quiet until my return. I intended to proceed to her father's
house, and to solicit her pardon, but, having perceived some
suspicious-looking men loitering about the palace, I thought it wise to
alter my mind, and went to a coffeehouse.