To Paris And Prison: Venice

J >> Jacques Casanova de Seingalt >> To Paris And Prison: Venice


Three days afterwards I received a letter from her. She painted with such
vivid colours the happiness she had felt in seeing me, that I made up my
mind to give her that pleasure as often as I could. I answered at once
that I would attend mass every Sunday at the church of her convent. It
cost me nothing: I could not see her, but I knew that she saw me herself,
and her happiness made me perfectly happy. I had nothing to fear, for it
was almost impossible that anyone could recognize me in the church which
was attended only by the people of Muran.

After hearing two or three masses, I used to take a gondola, the
gondolier of which could not feel any curiosity about me. Yet I kept on
my guard, for I knew that the father of C---- C---- wanted her to forget
me, and I had no doubt he would have taken her away, God knew where if he
had had the slightest suspicion of my being acquainted with the place
where he had confined her.

Thus I was reasoning in my fear to lose all opportunity of corresponding
with my dear C---- C----, but I did not yet know the disposition and the
shrewdness of the sainted daughters of the Lord. I did not suppose that
there was anything remarkable in my person, at least for the inmates of a
convent; but I was yet a novice respecting the curiosity of women, and
particularly of unoccupied hearts; I had soon occasion to be convinced.

I had executed my Sunday manoeuvering only for a month or five weeks,
when my dear C---- C---- wrote me jestingly that I had become a living
enigma for all the convent, boarders and nuns, not even excepting the old
ones. They all expected me anxiously; they warned each other of my
arrival, and watched me taking the holy water. They remarked that I never
cast a glance toward the grating, behind which were all the inmates of
the convent; that I never looked at any of the women coming in or going
out of the church. The old nuns said that I was certainly labouring under
some deep sorrow, of which I had no hope to be cured except through the
protection of the Holy Virgin, and the young ones asserted that I was
either melancholy or misanthropic.

My dear wife, who knew better than the others, and had no occasion to
lose herself in suppositions, was much amused, and she entertained me by
sending me a faithful report of it all. I wrote to her that, if she had
any fear of my being recognized I would cease my Sunday visits to the
church. She answered that I could not impose upon her a more cruel
privation, and she entreated me to continue my visits. I thought it would
be prudent, however, to abstain from calling at Laura's house, for fear
of the chattering nuns contriving to know it, and discovering in that
manner a great deal more than I wished them to find out. But that
existence was literally consuming me by slow degrees, and could not last
long. Besides, I was made to have a mistress, and to live happily with
her. Not knowing what to do with myself, I would gamble, and I almost
invariably won; but, in spite of that, weariness had got hold of me and I
was getting thinner every day.

With the five thousand sequins which my partner Croce had won for me in
Padua I had followed M. Bragadin's advice. I had hired a casino where I
held a faro bank in partnership with a matador, who secured me against
the frauds of certain noblemen--tyrants, with whom a private citizen is
always sure to be in the wrong in my dear country.

On All Saints' Day, in the year 1753, just as, after hearing mass, I was
going to step into a gondola to return to Venice, I saw a woman, somewhat
in Laura's style who, passing near me, looked at me and dropped a letter.
I picked it up, and the woman, seeing me in possession of the epistle,
quietly went on. The letter had no address, and the seal represented a
running knot. I stepped hurriedly into the gondola, and as soon as we
were in the offing I broke the seal. I read the following words.

"A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday
in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A
pamphlet which you have lost, and which chance has thrown into her hands,
makes her believe that you speak French; but, if you like it better, you
can answer in Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and
precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlour of
the convent, because, before you place yourself under the necessity of
speaking to her, she wishes you to see her, and for that purpose she will
name a lady whom you can accompany to the parlour. That lady shall not
know you and need not therefore introduce you, in case you should not
wish to be known.

"Should you not approve of that way to become acquainted, the nun will
appoint a certain casino in Muran, in which you will find her alone, in
the evening, any night you may choose. You will then be at liberty either
to sup with her, or to retire after an interview of a quarter of an hour,
if you have any other engagements.

"Would you rather offer her a supper in Venice? Name the night, the hour,
the place of appointment, and you will see her come out of a gondola.
Only be careful to be there alone, masked and with a lantern.

"I feel certain that you will answer me, and that you will guess how
impatiently I am waiting for your letter. I entreat you, therefore, to
give it to-morrow to the same woman through whom you will receive mine!
you will find her one hour before noon in the church of St. Cancian, near
the first altar on the right.

"Recollect that, if I did not suppose you endowed with a noble soul and a
high mind, I could never have resolved on taking a step which might give
you an unfavorable opinion of my character."

The tone of that letter, which I have copied word by word, surprised me
even more than the offer it contained. I had business to attend to, but I
gave up all engagements to lock myself in my room in order to answer it.
Such an application betokened an extravagant mind, but there was in it a
certain dignity, a singularity, which attracted me. I had an idea that
the writer might be the same nun who taught French to C---- C----. She had
represented her friend in her letters as handsome, rich, gallant, and
generous. My dear wife had, perhaps, been guilty of some indiscretion. A
thousand fancies whirled through my brain, but I would entertain only
those which were favourable to a scheme highly pleasing to me. Besides,
my young friend had informed me that the nun who had given her French
lessons was not the only one in the convent who spoke that language. I
had no reason to suppose that, if C---- C---- had made a confidante of her
friend, she would have made a mystery of it to me. But, for all that, the
nun who had written to me might be the beautiful friend of my dear little
wife, and she might also turn out to be a different person; I felt
somewhat puzzled. Here is, however, the letter which I thought I could
write without implicating myself:

"I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the
clearness and the precision of which you give me the example in yours.

"The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance,
considering all the circumstances. As I must answer without knowing the
person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that, unless I should
possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my
honour requires that I should keep on my guard.

"If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a
respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with
feeling as noble as her own, she will find, I trust, that I could not
answer in any other way than I am doing now.

"If you have judged me worthy, madam, of the honour which you do me by
offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been
formed only from my personal appearance, I feel it my duty to obey you,
even if the result be to undeceive you by proving that I had unwittingly
led you into a mistaken appreciation of my person.

"Of the three proposals which you so kindly made in your letter, I dare
not accept any but the first, with the restriction suggested by your
penetrating mind. I will accompany to the parlour of your convent a lady
who shall not know who I am, and, consequently, shall have no occasion to
introduce me.

"Do not judge too severely, madam, the specious reasons which compel me
not to give you my name, and receive my word of honour that I shall learn
yours only to render you homage. If you choose to speak to me, I will
answer with the most profound respect. Permit me to hope that you will
come to the parlour alone. I may mention that I am a Venetian, and
perfectly free.

"The only reason which prevents me from choosing one of the two other
arrangements proposed by you, either of which would have suited me better
because they greatly honour me, is, allow me to repeat it, a fear of
being the victim of a mystification; but these modes of meeting will not
be lost when you know me and when I have seen you. I entreat you to have
faith in my honour, and to measure my patience by your own. Tomorrow, at
the same place and at the same hour, I shall be anxiously expecting your
answer."

I went to the place appointed, and having met the female Mercury I gave
her my letter with a sequin, and I told her that I would come the next
day for the answer. We were both punctual. As soon as she saw me, she
handed me back the sequin which I had given her the day before, and a
letter, requesting me to read it and to let her know whether she was to
wait for an answer. Here is the exact copy of the letter:

"I believe, sir, that I have not been mistaken in anything. Like you, I
detest untruth when it can lead to important consequences, but I think it
a mere trifle when it can do no injury to anyone. Of my three proposals
you have chosen the one which does the greatest honour to your
intelligence, and, respecting the reasons which induce you to keep your
incognito, I have written the enclosed to the Countess of S----, which I
request you to read. Be kind enough to seal it before delivery of it to
her. You may call upon her whenever convenient to yourself. She will name
her own hour, and you will accompany her here in her gondola. The
countess will not ask you any questions, and you need not give her any
explanation. There will be no presentation; but as you will be made
acquainted with my name, you can afterwards call on me here, masked,
whenever you please, and by using the name of the countess. In that way
we shall become acquainted without the necessity of disturbing you, or of
your losing at night some hours which may be precious to you. I have
instructed my servant to wait for your answer in case you should be known
to the countess and object to her. If you approve of the choice I have
made of her, tell the messenger that there is no answer."

As I was an entire stranger to the countess, I told the woman that I had
no answer to give, and she left me.

Here are the contents of the note addressed by the nun to the countess,
and which I had to deliver to her:

"I beg of you, my dear friend, to pay me a visit when you are at leisure,
and to let the masked gentleman-bearer of this note know the hour, so
that he can accompany you. He will be punctual. Farewell. You will much
oblige your friend."

That letter seemed to me informed by a sublime spirit of intrigue; there
was in it an appearance of dignity which captivated me, although I felt
conscious that I was playing the character of a man on whom a favour
seemed to be bestowed.

In her last letter, my nun, pretending not to be anxious to know who I
was, approved of my choice, and feigned indifference for nocturnal
meetings; but she seemed certain that after seeing her I would visit her.
I knew very well what to think of it all, for the intrigue was sure to
have an amorous issue. Nevertheless, her assurance, or rather confidence,
increased my curiosity, and I felt that she had every reason to hope, if
she were young and handsome. I might very well have delayed the affair
for a few days, and have learned from C---- C---- who that nun could be;
but, besides the baseness of such a proceeding, I was afraid of spoiling
the game and repenting it afterwards. I was told to call on the countess
at my convenience, but it was because the dignity of my nun would not
allow her to shew herself too impatient; and she certainly thought that I
would myself hasten the adventure. She seemed to me too deeply learned in
gallantry to admit the possibility of her being an inexperienced novice,
and I was afraid of wasting my time; but I made up my mind to laugh at my
own expense if I happened to meet a superannuated female. It is very
certain that if I had not been actuated by curiosity I should not have
gone one step further, but I wanted to see the countenance of a nun who
had offered to come to Venice to sup with me. Besides, I was much
surprised at the liberty enjoyed by those sainted virgins, and at the
facility with which they could escape out of their walls.

At three o'clock I presented myself before the countess and delivered the
note, and she expressed a wish to see me the next day at the same hour.
We dropped a beautiful reverence to one another, and parted. She was a
superior woman, already going down the hill, but still very handsome.

The next morning, being Sunday, I need not say that I took care to attend
mass at the convent, elegantly dressed, and already unfaithful--at least
in idea--to my dear C---- C----, for I was thinking of being seen by the
nun, young or old, rather than of shewing myself to my charming wife.

In the afternoon I masked myself again, and at the appointed time I
repaired to the house of the countess who was waiting for me. We went in
a two-oared gondola, and reached the convent without having spoken of
anything but the weather. When we arrived at the gate, the countess asked
for M---- M----. I was surprised by that name, for the woman to whom it
belonged was celebrated. We were shewn into a small parlour, and a few
minutes afterwards a nun came in, went straight to the grating, touched a
spring, and made four squares of the grating revolve, which left an
opening sufficiently large to enable the two friends to embrace the
ingenious window was afterwards carefully closed. The opening was at
least eighteen inches wide, and a man of my size could easily have got
through it. The countess sat opposite the nun, and I took my seat a
little on one side so as to be able to observe quietly and at my ease one
of the most beautiful women that it was possible to see. I had no doubt
whatever of her being the person mentioned by my dear C---- C---- as
teaching her French. Admiration kept me in a sort of ecstacy, and I never
heard one word of their conversation; the beautiful nun, far from
speaking to me, did not even condescend to honour me with one look. She
was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, and the shape of her
face was most beautiful. Her figure was much above the ordinary height,
her complexion rather pale, her appearance noble, full of energy, but at
the same time reserved and modest; her eyes, large and full, were of a
lovely blue; her countenance was soft and cheerful; her fine lips seemed
to breathe the most heavenly voluptuousness, and her teeth were two rows
of the most brilliant enamel. Her head-dress did not allow me to see her
hair, but if she had any I knew by the colour of her eyebrows that it was
of a beautiful light brown. Her hand and her arm, which I could see as
far as the elbow, were magnificent; the chisel of Praxiteles never carved
anything more grace fully rounded and plump, I was not sorry to have
refused the two rendezvous which had been offered to me by the beauty,
for I was sure of possessing her in a few days, and it was a pleasure for
me to lay my desires at her feet. I longed to find myself alone with her
near that grating, and I would have considered it an insult to her if,
the very next day, I had not come to tell her how fully I rendered to her
charms the justice they deserved. She was faithful to her determination
not to look at me once, but after all I was pleased with her reserve. All
at once the two friends lowered their voices, and out of delicacy I
withdrew further. Their private conversation lasted about a quarter of an
hour, during which I pretended to be intently looking at a painting; then
they kissed one another again by the same process as at the beginning of
the interview; the nun closed the opening, turned her back on us, and
disappeared without casting one glance in my direction.

As we were on our way back to Venice, the countess, tired perhaps of our
silence, said to me, with a smile,

"M---- M---- is beautiful and very witty."

"I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit."

"She did not address one word to you."

"I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending
not to know that I was present."

The countess made no answer, and we reached her house without exchanging
another word. At her door a very ceremonious curtesy, with these words,
"Adieu, sir!" warned me that I was not to go any further. I had no wish
to do so, and went away dreaming and wondering at the singularity of the
adventure, the end of which I longed to see.