The Memoires of Casanova, Complete

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


I soon ascertained that a spy was watching my movements at a distance;
but I did not appear to notice him, and having taken some chocolate and
stored a few biscuits in my pocket, I returned towards the palace,
apparently without any anxiety or hurry, always followed by the same
individual. I judged that the bargello, having failed in his project, was
now reduced to guesswork, and I was strengthened in that view of the case
when the gate-keeper of the palace told me, without my asking any
question, as I came in, that an arrest had been attempted during the
night, and had not succeeded. While he was speaking, one of the auditors
of the Vicar-General called to enquire when he could see the Abby Gama. I
saw that no time was to be lost, and went up to my room to decide upon
what was to be done.

I began by making the poor girl eat a couple of biscuits soaked in some
Canary wine, and I took her afterwards to the top story of the palace,
where, leaving her in a not very decent closet which was not used by
anyone, I told her to wait for me.

My servant came soon after, and I ordered him to lock the door of my room
as soon as he finished cleaning it, and to bring me the key at the Abbe
Gama's apartment, where I was going. I found Gama in conversation with
the auditor sent by the Vicar-General. As soon as he had dismissed him,
he came to me, and ordered his servant to serve the chocolate. When we
were left alone he gave me an account of his interview with the auditor,
who had come to entreat his eminence to give orders to turn out of his
palace a person who was supposed to have taken refuge in it about
midnight. "We must wait," said the abbe, "until the cardinal is visible,
but I am quite certain that, if anyone has taken refuge here unknown to
him, his eminence will compel that person to leave the palace." We then
spoke of the weather and other trifles until my servant brought my key.
Judging that I had at least an hour to spare, I bethought myself of a
plan which alone could save Barbara from shame and misery.

Feeling certain that I was unobserved, I went up to my poor prisoner and
made her write the following words in French:

"I am an honest girl, monsignor, though I am disguised in the dress of an
abbe. I entreat your eminence to allow me to give my name only to you and
in person. I hope that, prompted by the great goodness of your soul, your
eminence will save me from dishonour." I gave her the necessary
instructions, as to sending the note to the cardinal, assuring her that
he would have her brought to him as soon as he read it.

"When you are in his presence," I added, "throw yourself on your knees,
tell him everything without any concealment, except as regards your
having passed the night in my room. You must be sure not to mention that
circumstance, for the cardinal must remain in complete ignorance of my
knowing anything whatever of this intrigue. Tell him that, seeing your
lover carried off, you rushed to his palace and ran upstairs as far as
you could go, and that after a most painful night Heaven inspired you
with the idea of writing to him to entreat his pity. I feel certain that,
one way or the other, his eminence will save you from dishonour, and it
certainly is the only chance you have of being united to the man you love
so dearly."

She promised to follow 'my instructions faithfully, and, coming down, I
had my hair dressed and went to church, where the cardinal saw me. I then
went out and returned only for dinner, during which the only subject of
conversation was the adventure of the night. Gama alone said nothing, and
I followed his example, but I understood from all the talk going on round
the table that the cardinal had taken my poor Barbara under his
protection. That was all I wanted, and thinking that I had nothing more
to fear I congratulated myself, in petto, upon my stratagem, which had, I
thought, proved a master-stroke. After dinner, finding myself alone with
Gama, I asked him what was the meaning of it all, and this is what he
told me:

"A father, whose name I do not know yet, had requested the assistance of
the Vicar-General to prevent his son from carrying off a young girl, with
whom he intended to leave the States of the Church; the pair had arranged
to meet at midnight in this very square, and the Vicar, having previously
obtained the consent of our cardinal, as I told you yesterday, gave
orders to the bargello to dispose his men in such a way as to catch the
young people in the very act of running away, and to arrest them. The
orders were executed, but the 'sbirri' found out, when they returned to
the bargello, that they had met with only a half success, the woman who
got out of the carriage with the young man not belonging to that species
likely to be carried off. Soon afterwards a spy informed the bargello
that, at the very moment the arrest was executed, he had seen a young
abbe run away very rapidly and take refuge in this palace, and the
suspicion immediately arose that it might be the missing young lady in
the disguise of an ecclesiastic. The bargello reported to the
Vicar-General the failure of his men, as well as the account given by the
spy, and the Prelate, sharing the suspicion of the police, sent to his
eminence, our master, requesting him to have the person in question, man
or woman, turned out of the palace, unless such persons should happen to
be known to his excellency, and therefore above suspicion. Cardinal
Acquaviva was made acquainted with these circumstances at nine this
morning through the auditor you met in my room, and he promised to have
the person sent away unless she belonged to his household.

"According to his promise, the cardinal ordered the palace to be
searched, but, in less than a quarter of an hour, the major-domo received
orders to stop, and the only reason for these new instructions must be
this:

"I am told by the major-domo that at nine o'clock exactly a very
handsome, young abbe, whom he immediately judged to be a girl in
disguise, asked him to deliver a note to his eminence, and that the
cardinal, after reading it, had desired the said abbe be brought to his
apartment, which he has not left since. As the order to stop searching
the palace was given immediately after the introduction of the abbe to
the cardinal, it is easy enough to suppose that this ecclesiastic is no
other than the young girl missed by the police, who took refuge in the
palace in which she must have passed the whole night."

"I suppose," said I, "that his eminence will give her up to-day, if not
to the bargello, at least to the Vicar-General."

"No, not even to the Pope himself," answered Gama. "You have not yet a
right idea of the protection of our cardinal, and that protection is
evidently granted to her, since the young person is not only in the
palace of his eminence, but also in his own apartment and under his own
guardianship."

The whole affair being in itself very interesting, my attention could not
appear extraordinary to Gama, however suspicious he might be naturally,
and I was certain that he would not have told me anything if he had
guessed the share I had taken in the adventure, and the interest I must
have felt in it.

The next day, Gama came to my room with a radiant countenance, and
informed me that the Cardinal-Vicar was aware of the ravisher being my
friend, and supposed that I was likewise the friend of the girl, as she
was the daughter of my French teacher. "Everybody," he added, "is
satisfied that you knew the whole affair, and it is natural to suspect
that the poor girl spent the night in your room. I admire your prudent
reserve during our conversation of yesterday. You kept so well on your
guard that I would have sworn you knew nothing whatever of the affair."

"And it is the truth," I answered, very seriously; "I have only learned
all the circumstances from you this moment. I know the girl, but I have
not seen her for six weeks, since I gave up my French lessons; I am much
better acquainted with the young man, but he never confided his project
to me. However, people may believe whatever they please. You say that it
is natural for the girl to have passed the night in my room, but you will
not mind my laughing in the face of those who accept their own
suppositions as realities."

"That, my dear friend," said the abbe, "is one of the vices of the
Romans; happy those who can afford to laugh at it; but this slander may
do you harm, even in the mind of our cardinal."

As there was no performance at the Opera that night, I went to the
cardinal's reception; I found no difference towards me either in the
cardinal's manners, or in those of any other person, and the marchioness
was even more gracious than usual.

After dinner, on the following day, Gama informed me that the cardinal
had sent the young girl to a convent in which she would be well treated
at his eminence's expense, and that he was certain that she would leave
it only to become the wife of the young doctor.

"I should be very happy if it should turn out so," I replied; "for they
are both most estimable people."

Two days afterwards, I called upon Father Georgi, and he told me, with an
air of sorrow, that the great news of the day in Rome was the failure of
the attempt to carry off Dalacqua's daughter, and that all the honour of
the intrigue was given to me, which displeased him much. I told him what
I had already told Gama, and he appeared to believe me, but he added that
in Rome people did not want to know things as they truly were, but only
as they wished them to be.

"It is known, that you have been in the habit of going every morning to
Dalacqua's house; it is known that the young man often called on you;
that is quite enough. People do not care, to know the circumstances which
might counteract the slander, but only those, likely to give it new force
for slander is vastly relished in the Holy City. Your innocence will not
prevent the whole adventure being booked to your account, if, in forty
years time you were proposed as pope in the conclave."

During the following days the fatal adventure began to cause me more
annoyance than I could express, for everyone mentioned it to me, and I
could see clearly that people pretended to believe what I said only
because they did not dare to do otherwise. The marchioness told me
jeeringly that the Signora Dalacqua had contracted peculiar obligations
towards me, but my sorrow was very great when, during the last days of
the carnival, I remarked that Cardinal Acquaviva's manner had become
constrained, although I was the only person who observed the change.

The noise made by the affair was, however, beginning to subside, when, in
the first days of Lent, the cardinal desired me to come to his private
room, and spoke as follows:

"The affair of the girl Dalacqua is now over; it is no longer spoken of,
but the verdict of the public is that you and I have profited by the
clumsiness of the young man who intended to carry her off. In reality I
care little for such a verdict, for, under similar circumstances, I
should always act in a similar manner, and I do not wish to know that
which no one can compel you to confess, and which, as a man of honour,
you must not admit. If you had no previous knowledge of the intrigue, and
had actually turned the girl out of your room (supposing she did come to
you), you would have been guilty of a wrong and cowardly action, because
you would have sealed her misery for the remainder of her days, and it
would not have caused you to escape the suspicion of being an accomplice,
while at the same time it would have attached to you the odium of
dastardly treachery. Notwithstanding all I have just said, you can easily
imagine that, in spite of my utter contempt for all gossiping fools, I
cannot openly defy them. I therefore feel myself compelled to ask you not
only to quit my service, but even to leave Rome. I undertake to supply
you with an honourable pretext for your departure, so as to insure you
the continuation of the respect which you may have secured through the
marks of esteem I have bestowed upon you. I promise you to whisper in the
ear of any person you may choose, and even to inform everybody, that you
are going on an important mission which I have entrusted to you. You have
only to name the country where you want to go; I have friends everywhere,
and can recommend you to such purpose that you will be sure to find
employment. My letters of recommendation will be in my own handwriting,
and nobody need know where you are going. Meet me to-morrow at the Villa
Negroni, and let me know where my letters are to be addressed. You must
be ready to start within a week. Believe me, I am sorry to lose you; but
the sacrifice is forced upon me by the most absurd prejudice. Go now, and
do not let me witness your grief."

He spoke the last words because he saw my eyes filling with tears, and he
did not give me time to answer. Before leaving his room, I had the
strength of mind to compose myself, and I put on such an air of
cheerfulness that the Abbe Gama, who took me to his room to drink some
coffee, complimented me upon my happy looks.

"I am sure," he said, "that they are caused by the conversation you have
had with his eminence."

"You are right; but you do not know the sorrow at my heart which I try
not to shew outwardly."

"What sorrow?"

"I am afraid of failing in a difficult mission which the cardinal has
entrusted me with this morning. I am compelled to conceal how little
confidence I feel in myself in order not to lessen the good opinion his
eminence is pleased to entertain of me."

"If my advice can be of any service to you, pray dispose of me; but you
are quite right to chew yourself calm and cheerful. Is it any business to
transact in Rome?"

"No; it is a journey I shall have to undertake in a week or ten days."

"Which way?"

"Towards the west."

"Oh! I am not curious to know."

I went out alone and took a walk in the Villa Borghese, where I spent two
hours wrapped in dark despair. I liked Rome, I was on the high road to
fortune, and suddenly I found myself in the abyss, without knowing where
to go, and with all my hopes scattered to the winds. I examined my
conduct, I judged myself severely, I could not find myself guilty of any
crime save of too much kindness, but I perceived how right the good
Father Georgi had been. My duty was not only to take no part in the
intrigue of the two love, but also to change my French teacher the moment
I beard of it; but this was like calling in a doctor after death has
struck the patient. Besides, young as I was, having no experience yet of
misfortune, and still less of the wickedness of society, it was very
difficult for me to have that prudence which a man gains only by long
intercourse with the world.

"Where shall I go?" This was the question which seemed to me impossible
of solution. I thought of it all through the night, and through the
morning, but I thought in vain; after Rome, I was indifferent where I
went to!

In the evening, not caring for any supper, I had gone to my room; the
Abbe Gama came to me with a request from the cardinal not to accept any
invitation to dinner for the next day, as he wanted to speak to me. I
therefore waited upon his eminence the next day at the Villa Negroni; he
was walking with his secretary, whom he dismissed the moment he saw me.
As soon as we were alone, I gave him all the particulars of the intrigue
of the two lovers, and I expressed in the most vivid manner the sorrow I
felt at leaving his service.

"I have no hope of success," I added, "for I am certain that Fortune will
smile upon me only as long as I am near your eminence."

For nearly an hour I told him all the grief with which my heart was
bursting, weeping bitterly; yet I could not move him from his decision.
Kindly, but firmly he pressed me to tell him to what part of Europe I
wanted to go, and despair as much as vexation made me name
Constantinople.

"Constantinople!" he exclaimed, moving back a step or two.

"Yes, monsignor, Constantinople," I repeated, wiping away my tears.

The prelate, a man of great wit, but a Spaniard to the very back-bone,
after remaining silent a few minutes, said, with a smile,

"I am glad you have not chosen Ispahan, as I should have felt rather
embarrassed. When do you wish to go?"

"This day week, as your eminence has ordered me."

"Do you intend to sail from Naples or from Venice?"

"From Venice."

"I will give you such a passport as will be needed, for you will find two
armies in winter-quarters in the Romagna. It strikes me that you may tell
everybody that I sent you to Constantinople, for nobody will believe
you."

This diplomatic suggestion nearly made me smile. The cardinal told me
that I should dine with him, and he left me to join his secretary.

When I returned to the palace, thinking of the choice I had made, I said
to myself, "Either I am mad, or I am obeying the impulse of a mysterious
genius which sends me to Constantinople to work out my fate." I was only
astonished that the cardinal had so readily accepted my choice. "Without
any doubt," I thought, "he did not wish me to believe that he had boasted
of more than he could achieve, in telling me that he had friends
everywhere. But to whom can he recommend me in Constantinople? I have not
the slightest idea, but to Constantinople I must go."

I dined alone with his eminence; he made a great show of peculiar
kindness and I of great satisfaction, for my self-pride, stronger even
than my sorrow, forbade me to let anyone guess that I was in disgrace. My
deepest grief was, however, to leave the marchioness, with whom I was in
love, and from whom I had not obtained any important favour.

Two days afterwards, the cardinal gave me a passport for Venice, and a
sealed letter addressed to Osman Bonneval, Pacha of Caramania, in
Constantinople. There was no need of my saying anything to anyone, but,
as the cardinal had not forbidden me to do it, I shewed the address on
the letter to all my acquaintances.

The Chevalier de Lezze, the Venetian Ambassador, gave me a letter for a
wealthy Turk, a very worthy man who had been his friend; Don Gaspar and
Father Georgi asked me to write to them, but the Abbe Gams, laughed, and
said he was quite sure I was not going to Constantinople.

I went to take my farewell of Donna Cecilia, who had just received a
letter from Lucrezia, imparting the news that she would soon be a mother.
I also called upon Angelique and Don Francisco, who had lately been
married and had not invited me to the wedding.

When I called to take Cardinal Acquaviva's final instructions he gave me
a purse containing one hundred ounces, worth seven hundred sequins. I had
three hundred more, so that my fortune amounted to one thousand sequins;
I kept two hundred, and for the rest I took a letter of exchange upon a
Ragusan who was established in Ancona. I left Rome in the coach with a
lady going to Our Lady of Loretto, to fulfil a vow made during a severe
illness of her daughter, who accompanied her. The young lady was ugly; my
journey was a rather tedious one.




CHAPTER XI

My Short But Rather Too Gay Visit To Ancona--Cecilia,
Marina, Bellino--the Greek Slave of the Lazzaretto--Bellino
Discovers Himself

I arrived in Ancona on the 25th of February, 1744, and put up at the best
inn. Pleased with my room, I told mine host to prepare for me a good meat
dinner; but he answered that during Lent all good Catholics eat nothing
but fish.

"The Holy Father has granted me permission to eat meat."

"Let me see your permission."

"He gave it to me by word of mouth."

"Reverend sir, I am not obliged to believe you."

"You are a fool."

"I am master in my own house, and I beg you will go to some other inn."

Such an answer, coupled to a most unexpected notice to quit, threw me
into a violent passion. I was swearing, raving, screaming, when suddenly
a grave-looking individual made his appearance in my room, and said to
me:

"Sir, you are wrong in calling for meat, when in Ancona fish is much
better; you are wrong in expecting the landlord to believe you on your
bare word; and if you have obtained the permission from the Pope, you
have been wrong in soliciting it at your age; you have been wrong in not
asking for such permission in writing; you are wrong in calling the host
a fool, because it is a compliment that no man is likely to accept in his
own house; and, finally, you are wrong in making such an uproar."

Far from increasing my bad temper, this individual, who had entered my
room only to treat me to a sermon, made me laugh.

"I willingly plead guilty, sir," I answered, "to all the counts which you
allege against me; but it is raining, it is getting late, I am tired and
hungry, and therefore you will easily understand that I do not feel
disposed to change my quarters. Will you give me some supper, as the
landlord refuses to do so?"

"No," he replied, with great composure, "because I am a good Catholic and
fast. But I will undertake to make it all right for you with the
landlord, who will give you a good supper."

Thereupon he went downstairs, and I, comparing my hastiness to his calm,
acknowledged the man worthy of teaching me some lessons. He soon came up
again, informed me that peace was signed, and that I would be served
immediately.

"Will you not take supper with me?"

"No, but I will keep you company."

I accepted his offer, and to learn who he was, I told him my name, giving
myself the title of secretary to Cardinal Acquaviva.

"My name is Sancio Pico," he said; "I am a Castilian, and the
'proveditore' of the army of H. C. M., which is commanded by Count de
Gages under the orders of the generalissimo, the Duke of Modem."

My excellent appetite astonished him, and he enquired whether I had
dined. "No," said I; and I saw his countenance assume an air of
satisfaction.

"Are you not afraid such a supper will hurt you?" he said.

"On the contrary, I hope it will do me a great deal of good."

"Then you have deceived the Pope?"

"No, for I did not tell him that I had no appetite, but only that I liked
meat better than fish."

"If you feel disposed to hear some good music," he said a moment after,
"follow me to the next room; the prima donna of Ancona lives there."

The words prima donna interested me at once, and I followed him. I saw,
sitting before a table, a woman already somewhat advanced in age, with
two young girls and two boys, but I looked in vain for the actress, whom
Don Sancio Pico at last presented to me in the shape of one of the two
boys, who was remarkably handsome and might have been seventeen. I
thought he was a 'castrato' who, as is the custom in Rome, performed all
the parts of a prima donna. The mother presented to, me her other son,
likewise very good-looking, but more manly than the 'castrato', although
younger. His name was Petronio, and, keeping up the transformations of
the family, he was the first female dancer at the opera. The eldest girl,
who was also introduced to me, was named Cecilia, and studied music; she
was twelve years old; the youngest, called Marina, was only eleven, and
like her brother Petronio was consecrated to the worship of Terpsichore.
Both the girls were very pretty.

The family came from Bologna and lived upon the talent of its members;
cheerfulness and amiability replaced wealth with them. Bellino, such was
the name of the castrato, yielding to the entreaties of Don Sancio, rose
from the table, went to the harpiscord, and sang with the voice of an
angel and with delightful grace. The Castilian listened with his eyes
closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment, but I, far from closing my eyes, gazed
into Bellino's, which seemed to dart amorous lightnings upon me. I could
discover in him some of the features of Lucrezia and the graceful manner
of the marchioness, and everything betrayed a beautiful woman, for his
dress concealed but imperfectly the most splendid bosom. The consequence
was that, in spite of his having been introduced as a man, I fancied that
the so-called Bellino was a disguised beauty, and, my imagination taking
at once the highest flight, I became thoroughly enamoured.

We spent two very pleasant hours, and I returned to my room accompanied
by the Castilian. "I intend to leave very early to-morrow morning," he
said, "for Sinigaglia, with the Abbe Vilmarcati, but I expect to return
for supper the day after to-morrow." I wished him a happy journey, saying
that we would most 'likely meet on the road, as I should probably leave
Ancona myself on the same day, after paying a visit to my banker.

I went to bed thinking of Bellino and of the impression he had made upon
me; I was sorry to go away without having proved to him that I was not
the dupe of his disguise. Accordingly, I was well pleased to see him
enter my room in the morning as soon as I had opened my door. He came to
offer me the services of his young brother Petronio during my stay in
Ancona, instead of my engaging a valet de place. I willingly agreed to
the proposal, and sent Petronio to get coffee for all the family.