 Chapter 19, Part 1 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1 by Jacques-Maud Casanova. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, the Venetian Years by Jacques-Maud Casanova. Chapter 19, Part 1. I fall in love with Christine and find a husband worthy of her, Christine's wedding. These gondoliers, said the elderly priest, addressing me in order to begin the conversation, are very fortunate. They took us up at the Rialto for thirty soldy on condition that they be allowed to embark other passengers. And here is one already. They will certainly find more. When I am in a gondola, Reverend Sir, there is no room left for any of more passengers. So saying, I gave forty more soldy to the gondoliers who were highly pleased with my generosity. Thank me and call me Excellency. The good priest accepting that title is truly belonging to me and treats my pardon for not having addressed me as such. I am not a Venetian nobleman, Reverend Sir, and I have no right to the title of Excellency. Ah, says the young lady, I am very glad of it. Well, why so, Signora? Because when I find myself near a nobleman, I am afraid. But I suppose that you are an illustrissimo. Not even that, Signora, I am only an advocate's clerk. Still so much the better, for I like to be in the company of persons who do not think themselves above me. My father was a farmer, brother of my uncle here, rector of Pea, where I was born and bred. As I am an only daughter, I inherited my father's property after his death, and I shall likewise be heiress to my mother, who has been ill for a long time and cannot live much longer, which causes me a great deal of sorrow. But it is the doctor who says it. Now to return to my subject, I do not suppose that there is much difference between an advocate's clerk and the daughter of a rich farmer. I only say so for the sake of saying something, for I know very well that, in traveling, one must accept all sorts of companions. Is it not so, uncle? Yes, my dear Christine, and as a proof, you see that this gentleman has accepted our company without knowing who or what we are. But do you not think I would not have come if I had not been attracted by the beauty of your lovely niece? At these words the good people burst out laughing, as I did not think that there was anything very comic in what I had said, I judged that my traveling companions were rather simple, and I was not sorry to find them so. Why do you laugh so heartily, beautiful demigala? Is it to show me your fine teeth? I confess that I have never seen such a splendid set in Venice. Oh! It is not for that, sir, although everyone in Venice has paid me the same compliment. I can assure you that in P, all the girls have teeth as fine as mine. Is it not a fact, uncle? Yes, my dear niece. I was laughing, sir, at a thing which I will never tell you. Oh! Tell me! I entreat you. Oh! Certainly not! Never! I will tell you myself, says the curate. You will not, she exclaims, knitting her beautiful eyebrows. If you do, I will go away. I defy you to do it, my dear. Do you know what she has said, sir, when she saw you on the wharf? Here is a very handsome young man who is looking at me, and would not be sorry to be with us. And when she saw that the gondoliers were putting back for you to embark, she was delighted. While the uncle was speaking to me, the indignant niece was slapping him on the shoulder. Why are you angry, lovely Christine, at my hearing that you liked my appearance, when I am so glad to let you know how truly charming I think you? Oh! You are glad for a moment. Oh! I know the Venetians thoroughly now. They have all told me that they were charmed with me, and not one of those I would have ever liked have ever made a declaration to me. What sort of declaration did you want? There was only one sort for me, sir, the declaration leading to a good marriage in church, in the sight of all men, yet we remained a fortnight in Venice. Did we not, uncle? This girl, said the uncle, is a good match, for she possesses three thousand crowns. She has always said she would marry only a Venetian, and I have accompanied her to Venice to give her an opportunity of being known. A worthy woman gave us hospitality for a fortnight, and has presented my niece in several houses where she made the acquaintance of marriageable young men, but those who pleased her would not hear of marriage, and those who would have been glad to marry her did not take her fancy. But do you imagine, Reverend Sir, that marriages can be made like omelets, a fortnight in Venice? That is nothing. You ought to live there at least six months. Now, for instance, I think your niece is sweetly pretty, and I should consider myself fortunate if the wife whom God intends for me were like her. But even if she offered me now a dowry of fifty thousand crowns, on condition that our wedding takes place immediately, I would refuse her. A prudent young man wants to know the character of a girl before he marries her. For it is neither money nor beauty which can assure happiness in married life. Well, what do you mean by character, asked Christine? Is it beautiful handwriting? No, my dear. I mean the qualities of the mind and the heart. I shall most likely get married sometime, and I have been looking for a wife for the last three years. But I am still looking in vain. I have known several young girls almost as lovely as you are, and all with a good marriage portion. But after an acquaintance of two or three months, I found out that they could not make me happy. In what were they deficient? Well, I will tell you, because you are not acquainted with them, and there can be no indiscretion on my part. One whom I certainly would have married, for I loved her dearly, was extremely vain. She would have ruined me in fashionable clothes, and by her love for luxuries. Fancy. She was in the habit of paying one sequin every month to the hairdresser, and at least as much for the palmetum and perfumes. She was a giddy and foolish girl. Now I only spend ten soldy in a year on wax, which I mix with goat's grease, and there I have an excellent palmetum. Another whom I would have married two years ago, labored under a disease which would have made me unhappy. As soon as I knew of it, I ceased my visits. Well, what disease was it? A disease which would have prevented her from being a mother, and if I get married, I wish to have children. All of that is in God's hands, but I know that my health is excellent. Is it not, Uncle? Another was too devout, and that does not suit me. She was so over-scrupulous that she was in the habit of going to her confessor twice a week, and every time her confession lasted at least one hour. I want my wife to be a good Christian, but not bigoted. She must have been a great sinner, or else she was very foolish. I confess only once a month, and get through everything in two minutes. Is it not true, Uncle? And if you were to ask me any questions, Uncle, I should not know what more to say. One young lady thought herself more learned than I, although she would every minute utter some absurdity. Another was always low-spirited, and my wife must be cheerful. Hark to that, Uncle! You and my mother are always triding me for my cheerfulness. Another, whom I did not court long, was always afraid of being alone with me, and if I gave her a kiss she would run and tell her mother. How silly she must have been! I have never yet listened to a lover, for we have only rude peasants in P, but I know very well that there are some things which I would not tell my mother. One had a rank-breath, another painted her face, and indeed almost every young girl's guilty of that fault. I am afraid marriage is out of the question for me, because I want, for instance, my wife to have black eyes, and in our days almost every woman colors them by art, but I cannot be deceived for I am a good judge. Are mine black? You are laughing. I laugh because your eyes certainly appear to be black, but they are not so in reality. Never mind, you are very charming in spite of that. Now that is amusing. You pretend to be a good judge, yet you say my eyes are dyed black. My eyes, sir, whether beautiful or ugly, are now the same as God made them. Is it not so, Uncle? I never had any doubt of it, my dear niece. And do you not believe me, sir? No. No, they are too beautiful for me to believe that they are natural. Oh, dear me, I cannot bear it. Excuse me, my lovely Damigella. I am afraid I have been too sincere. After that quarrel we remained silent. The good curate smiled now and then, but his niece found it very hard to keep down her sorrow. At intervals I stole a look at her face, and I could see that she was very near crying. I felt sorry for she was a charming girl. In her hair, dressed in the fashion of wealthy country women, she had more than one hundred sequins worth of gold pins and arrows which fastened the plates of her long locks as dark as ebony. Heavy gold earrings and a long chain, which was wound twenty times round her snowy neck, made a fine contrast to her complexion, on which the lilies and the roses were admirably blended. It was the first time that I had seen a country beauty in such splendid apparel. Six years before, Lucy, at Pesine, had captivated me, but in a different manner. Christine did not utter a single word. She was in despair, for her eyes were truly of the greatest beauty, and I was cruel enough to attack them. She evidently hated me, and her anger alone kept back her tears. Yet I would not undeceive her, for I wanted her to bring matters to a climax. When the gondola had entered the long canal at Marguera, I asked the clergyman whether he had a carriage to go to Treviso, through which place he had to pass to reach P. I intended to walk, said the worthy man, for my parish is poor, and I am the same, but I will try to obtain a place for Christine in some carriage travelling that way. You would confer a real kindness on me if you would both accept a seat in my shays. It holds four persons, and there is plenty of room. It is a good fortune which we were far from expecting. Not at all, uncle. I will not go with this gentleman. Well, why not, my dear niece? Because I will not. Such is the way, I remarked without looking at her, that sincerity is generally rewarded. Sincerity, sir, nothing of the sort, she exclaimed angrily. It is sheer wickedness. There can be no true black eyes now for you in the world, but as you like them, I am very glad of it. You are mistaken, lovely Christine, for I have the means of ascertaining the truth. What means? Only to wash the eyes with the little lukewarm rose water, or if the lady cries, the artificial colour is certain to be washed off. At those words the scene changed as if by a wand of a conjurer, the face of the charming girl, which had expressed nothing but indignation, spite, and disdain, took an error of contentment and placidity delightful to witness. She smiled at her uncle, who was much pleased with the change in her countenance, for the offer of the carriage had gone to his heart. Now, you better cry, little my dear niece, and ill-signore will render full justice to your eyes. Christine cried in reality, but it was immoderate laughter that made her tears flow. That species of natural originality pleased me greatly, and as we were going up the steps at the landing-place, I offered her my full apologies. She accepted the carriage. I ordered breakfast, and told a Vettorino to get a very handsome chaise ready while we had our meal, but the curate said he must first of all go and say his mass. Very well, reverend sir, we will hear it, and you must say it for my intention. I put a silver dukot in his hand. It is what I am in the habit of giving, I observed. My generosity surprised him so much that he wanted to kiss my hand. We proceeded towards the church, and I offered my arm to the niece, who, not knowing whether she ought to accept it or not, said to me, Do you suppose that I cannot walk alone? I have no such idea, but if I do not give you my arm, people will think me wanting in politeness. Well, I will take it, but now that I have your arm, what will people think? That's that we love each other, and that we make a very nice couple. And if anyone should inform your mistress that we are in love with each other, or even that you have given your arm to a young girl? I have no mistress, and I shall have none in future, because I cannot find a girl as pretty as you in all Venice. I am very sorry for you, for we cannot go again to Venice, and even if we could, how could we remain there six months? You said that six months was necessary to know a girl well. I would willingly defray all your expenses. Indeed, then say so to my uncle, and he will think it over, for I could not go alone. In six months you would know me likewise. Oh, I know you very well already. Could you accept a man like me? Why not? And will you love me? Yes, very much. When you are my husband. When I looked at the young girl with astonishment, she seemed to me a princess in the disguise of a peasant girl. Her dress, made of gua d'eture, and all embroidered in gold, was very handsome, and cost certainly twice as much as the finest dress of a Venetian lady. Her bracelets, matching the neck chain, completed her rich toilet. She had the figure of a nymph, and the new fashion of wearing a mantle not having yet reached her village. I could see her most magnificent bosom, although her dress was fastened up to the neck. The end of the richly embroidered skirt did not go lower than the ankles, which allowed me to admire the neatest little foot, and the lower part of an exquisitely molded leg. Her firm and easy walk, the natural freedom of all her movements, a charming look which seemed to say, I am very glad you think me pretty. Everything in short caused the ardent fire of amorous desires to circulate through my veins. I could not conceive how such a lovely girl could have spent at Fortnight in Venice without finding a man to marry her, or to deceive her. I was particularly delighted with her simple, artless way of talking, which in the city might have been taken for silliness. Absorbed in my thoughts, and having resolved in my own mind on rendering brilliant homage to her charms, I waited impatiently for the end of the mass. After breakfast I had great difficulty in convincing the curate that my seat in the carriage was the last one, but I found it easier to persuade him on our arrival in Treviso to remain for dinner and for supper at a small, unfrequented inn, and I took all the expense upon myself. He accepted very willingly when I added that immediately after supper a carriage would be in readiness to convey him to P, where he would arrive in an hour after a pleasant journey by moonlight. He had nothing to hurry him on except his wish to say mass in his own church the next morning. I ordered a fire and a good dinner, and the idea struck me that the curate himself might pledge the ring for me, and thus give me the opportunity of a short interview with his niece. I proposed it to him, saying I could not very well go myself, as I did not wish to be known. He undertook the commission at once, explaining his pleasure at doing something to oblige me. He left us, and I remained alone with Christine. I spent an hour with her without trying to give her even a kiss, although I was dying to do so, but I prepared her heart to burn with the same desires which were already burning in me by those words which so easily inflamed the imagination of a young girl. The curate came back and returned me the ring, saying that it could not be pledged until the day after the morrow in consequence of the festival of the Holy Virgin. He had spoken to the cashier who had stated that if I liked the bank would lend me double the sum if I had asked. My dear sir, I said, you would greatly oblige me if you would come back here from P. to pledge the ring yourself. Now that it had been offered once by you, it might look very strange if it were brought by another person. Of course I will pay all your expenses. Well, I promise you to come back. I hoped he would bring his niece with him. I was seated opposite to Christine during the dinner, and I discovered fresh charms in her every minute. But fearing I might lose her confidence if I tried to obtain some slight favor, I made up my mind not to go to work too quickly and to contrive that the curate should take her again to Venice. I thought that there only I could manage to bring love into play and to give it the food it requires. Reverend sir, I said, let me advise you to take your niece again to Venice. I undertake to defray all expenses and to find an honest woman with whom your Christine will be as safe as with her own mother. I want to know her well in order to make her my wife, and if she comes to Venice our marriage is certain. Sir, I will bring my niece myself to Venice as soon as you inform me that you have found a worthy woman with whom I can leave her in safety. While we were talking I kept looking at Christine, and I could see her smile with contentment. My dear Christine, I said, within a week I shall have arranged the affair. In the meantime I will write to you. I hope that you have no objection to correspond with me. My uncle will write for me, for I have never been taught writing. What? My dear child, you wish to become a wife of a Venetian and you cannot write? Is it then necessary to know how to write in order to become a wife? I can read well. That is not enough, and although a girl can be a wife and a mother without knowing how to trace one letter, it is generally admitted that a young girl ought to be able to write. I wonder you never learned. There is no wonder in that, for not one girl in our village can do it. Asked my uncle. It is perfectly true, but there is not one who thinks of getting married in Venice, and as you wish for a Venetian husband you must learn. Certainly I said, and before you come to Venice, for everybody would laugh at you if you could not write. I see that it makes you sad, my dear, but it cannot be helped. I am sad because I cannot learn writing in a week. I undertake, said her uncle, to teach you in a fortnight, if you will only practice diligently. You will know enough to be able to improve by your own exertions. It is a great undertaking, but I accept it, and I promise to work night and day and to begin tomorrow. After dinner I advise the priest not to leave that evening to rest during the night, and I observe that by going away before daybreak he would reach P. in good time and feel all the better for it. I made the same proposal to him in the evening, and when he saw that his niece was sleepy he was easily persuaded to remain. I called for the innkeeper, ordered a carriage for the clergyman, and desired that a fire might be lit for me in the next room where I would sleep, but the good priest said it was unnecessary because there were two large beds in our room, that one would be for me and the other for him and his niece. We need not undress, he added, as we mean to leave very early, but you can take your clothes off, sir, because you are not going with us, and you would like to remain in bed tomorrow morning. Oh, for March Christine, I must undress myself otherwise I could not sleep, but I only want a few minutes to be ready in the morning. I said nothing, but I was amazed. Christine then, lovely and charming enough to wreck the chastity of his inocrities, would sleep naked with her uncle. True, he was old, devout, without any ideas which would render such a position dangerous, yet the priest was a man, he had evidently felt like all men, and he ought to have known the danger he was exposing himself to. My carnal mindedness could not realize such a state of innocence, but it was truly innocent, so much though that he did it openly, and did not suppose that anyone could not see anything wrong in it. I saw it all plainly, but I was not accustomed to such things, and felt lost in wonderment. As I advanced in age and in experience, I have seen the same custom established in many countries amongst honest people, whose good morals were in no way debased by it, but it was amongst good people, and I could not pretend to belong to that worthy class. We had no meat for dinner, and my delicate palate was not oversatisfied. I went down to the kitchen myself, and I told the landlady that I wanted the best that could be procured in Traviso for supper, particularly in wines. If you do not mind the expense, sir, trust to me, and I will undertake to please you. I will give you some gata wine. All right, but let us have supper early. When I returned to our room, I found Christine caressing the cheeks of her old uncle, who was laughing. The good man was seventy-five years old. Do you know what is the matter, he said to me? My niece is caressing me because she wants to leave me here until my return. She tells me that you were like brother and sister during the hour you spent alone together this morning, and I believe it, but she does not consider that she would be in great trouble to you. Well, not at all. Quite the reverse. She will afford me great pleasure, for I think her very charming. As to our mutual behavior, I believe you can trust both of us to do our duty. I have no doubt of it. Well, I will leave her under your care until the day after tomorrow. I will come back early in the morning so as to attend to your business. This extraordinary and unexpected arrangement caused the blood to rush to my head with such a violence that my nose bled profusely for the quarter of an hour. It did not frighten me because I was used to such accidents, but the good priest was in a great fright, thinking that it was a serious hemorrhage. When I had allayed his anxiety, he left us on some business of his own, saying that he would return at nightfall. I remained alone with the charming, artless Christine, and lost no time in thanking her for the confidence she placed in me. I can assure you, she said, that I wished you to have a thorough knowledge of me. You will see that I have none of the faults which have displeased you so much in the young ladies you have known in Venice, and I promise to learn writing immediately. You are charming and true, but you must be discreet in pee and confide to no one that we have entered into an agreement with each other. You must act according to your uncle's instructions, for it is to him that I intend to write to make all arrangements. You may rely on my discretion. I will not say anything, even to my own mother, until you give me permission to do so. I passed the afternoon in denying myself even the slightest liberties with my lovely companion, but falling every minute deeper in love with her. I told her a few love stories which I veiled sufficiently not to shock her modesty. She felt interested, and I could see that, although she did not always understand, she pretended to do so in order not to appear ignorant. When her uncle returned, I had arranged everything in my mind to make her my wife, and I resolved on placing her during her stay in Venice in the house of the same honest widow with whom I had found a lodging for my beautiful Countess, A. S. We had a delicious supper. I had to teach Christine how to eat oysters and truffles, which she then saw for the first time. Gatto wine is like champagne. It causes merriment without intoxicating. But it cannot be kept for more than one year. We went to bed before midnight, and it was broad daylight when I awoke. The curate had left the room so quietly that I had not heard him. I looked towards the other bed. Christine was asleep. I wished her good morning. She opened her eyes, and leaning on her elbow, she smiled sweetly. My uncle is gone. I did not hear him. Dearest Christine, you are as lovely as one of God's angels. I have a great longing to give you a kiss. If you long for a kiss, my dear friend, come and give me one. I jump out of bed. Decency makes her hide her face. It was cold, and I was in love. I find myself in her arms by one of those spontaneous movements which sentiment alone can cause, and we belong to each other without having thought of it. She happy and rather confused. I delighted, yet unable to realize the truth of a victory won without any contest. An hour passed in the midst of happiness, during which we forgot the whole world. Calm followed the stormy gusts of passionate love, and we gazed at each other without speaking. Christine was the first to break the silence. What have we done? She said softly and lovingly. We have become husband and wife. What will my uncle say to-morrow? He need not know anything about it until he gives us the nuptial benediction in his own church. And when will he do so? As soon as we have completed all the arrangements necessary for a public marriage. How long will that be? About a month. We cannot be married during Lent. I will obtain permission. You are not deceiving me? No, for I adore you. Then you no longer want to know me better? No. I know you thoroughly now, and I feel certain that you will make me happy. And will you make me happy too? I hope so. Let us go up and go to church. Who could have believed that to get a husband it was necessary not to go to Venice, but to come back from that city. We got up, and after partaking of some breakfast we went to hear Mass. The morning passed off quickly, but towards dinner-time I thought that Christine looked different to what she did the day before, and I asked her the reason of that change. It must be, she said, the same reason which causes you to be thoughtful. An error of thoughtfulness, my dear, is proper to love when it finds itself in consultation with honour. This affair has become serious, and love is now compelled to think and consider. We went to be married in the church, and we cannot do it before Lent, now that we are in the last days of Carnival. Yet we cannot wait until Easter, it would be too long. We must therefore obtain a dispensation in order to be married. Have I not reasoned to be thoughtful? Her only answer was to come, and kiss me tenderly. I had spoken the truth, yet I had not told her all my reasons for being so pensive. I found myself drawn into an engagement which was not disagreeable to me, but I wished it had not been so very pressing. I could not conceal for myself that repentance was beginning to creep into my amorous and well-disposed mind, and I was grieved at it. I felt certain, however, that the charming girl would never have any cause to reproach me for her misery. We had the whole evening before us, and as she had told me that she had never gone to a theatre, I resolved on affording her that pleasure. I sent for a Jew with whom I procured everything necessary to disguise her, and we went to the theatre. A man in love enjoys no pleasure but that which he gives to the woman he loves. After the performance was over I took her to the casino, and her astonishment made me laugh when she saw for the first time a farrow bank. I had not enough money to play myself, but I had more than enough to amuse her and to let her play a reasonable game. I gave her ten sequins and explained what she had to do. She did not even know the cards, yet in less than an hour she had won one hundred sequins. I made her leave off playing, and we returned to the inn. When we were in our room I told her how much money she had, and when I assured her that all the gold belonged to her she thought it was a dream. Oh, what will my uncle say? she exclaimed. We had a light supper, and spent a delightful night, taking good care at a part by daybreak, so as not to be caught in the same bed by the worthy ecclesiastic. He arrived early and found us sleeping soundly in our respective beds. He woke me, and I gave him the ring, which he went to pledge immediately. When he returned two hours later he saw us dressed and talking quietly near the fire. As soon as he came in, Christine rushed to embrace him, and she showed him all the gold she had in her possession. What a pleasant surprise for the good old priest. He did not know how to express his wonder. He thanked God for what he called a miracle, and he concluded by saying that we were made to ensure each other's happiness. End of Chapter 19, Part 1. Chapter 19, Part 2 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1 by Jacques-Maud Casanova. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1, The Venetian Years by Jacques-Maud Casanova. Episode 22, Chapter 19, Part 2. The time to part had come. I promised to pay them a visit in the first days of Lent, but on condition that on my arrival in P. I would not find anyone informed of my name or of my concerns. The curate gave me the certificate of birth of his niece in the account of her possessions. As soon as they had gone I took my departure for Venice, full of love for the charming girl, and determined on keeping my engagement with her. I knew how easy it would be for me to convince my three friends that my marriage had been irrevocably written in the great book of Fate. My return caused the greatest joy to the three excellent men, because not being accustomed to see me for three days absent, Monsieur Dandolo and Monsieur Barbaro were afraid of some accident having befallen me. But Monsieur de Bragedon's faith was stronger, and he allayed their fears, saying to them, with powerless watching over me I could not be in any danger. The very next day I resolved on ensuring Christine's happiness without making her my wife. I had thought of marrying her when I loved her better than myself, but after obtaining possession the balance was so much on my side that my self-love proved stronger than my love for Christine. I could not make up my mind to renounce the advantages, the hopes which I had thought were attached to my happy independence. Yet I was the slave of sentiment. To abandon the artless, innocent girl seemed to me an awful crime of which I could not be guilty, and the mere idea of it made me shudder. I was aware that she was, perhaps, burying in her womb a living token of our mutual love, and I shivered at the bare possibility that her confidence in me might be repaid by shame and everlasting misery. I bethought myself of finding her a husband in every way better than myself, a husband so good that she would not only forgive me for the insult I should thus be guilty of towards her, but also thank me at the end, and like me all the better for my deceit. Defying such a husband could not be very difficult, for Christine was not only blessed with wonderful beauty, and with a well-established reputation for virtue, but she was also the possessor of a fortune amounting to four thousand Venetian dukats. Shut up in a room with the three worshippers of my oracle, I consulted powerless, upon the affair which I had so much at heart. The answer was, Serenus must attend to it. Serenus was the capitalistic name of Messur de Bragedon, and the excellent man immediately expressed himself ready to execute all the orders of powerless. It was my duty to inform him of those orders. You must, I said to him, obtain from the Holy Father a dispensation for a worthy and virtuous girl so as to give her the privilege of marrying during Lent in the church of her village. She is a young country girl, here is the certificate of birth. The husband is not yet known, but it does not matter, perilous undertakes to find one. Trust to me, said my father, I will write at once to our ambassador in Rome, and I will contrive to have my letter sent by Special Express. You need not be anxious, leave it all to me, I will make it a business of state, and I must obey powerless, all the more readily that I foresee that the intended husband is one of us four. Indeed we must prepare ourselves to obey. I had some trouble in keeping my laughter down, for it was in my power to metamorphosize Christine into a grand Venetian lady, the wife of a senator. But it was not my intention. I again consulted the oracle in order to ascertain who would be the husband of the young girl, and the answer was that Monsieur Dandolo was entrusted with the care of finding one, young, handsome, virtuous, and able to serve the Republic, either at home or abroad. Monsieur Dandolo was to consult me before concluding any arrangements. I gave him courage for his task by informing him that the girl had a dowry of four thousand do-cuts, but I added that his choice was to be made within a fortnight. Monsieur Bragedon, delighted at not being entrusted with the commission, laughed heartily. Those arrangements made me feel at peace with myself. I was certain that the husband I wanted would be found, and I only thought of finishing the carnival gaily, and of contriving to find my purse ready for a case of emergency. The dispensation soon rendered me possessor of a thousand sequins. I paid my debts, and the license for marriage, having arrived from Rome ten days after Monsieur de Bragedon had applied for it, I gave him one hundred do-cuts, that being the sum it had cost. The dispensation gave Christine the right of being married in any church in Christendom. She would only have to obtain the seal of the Episcopal court in the diocese in which the marriage was to take place, and no publication of bans was required. We wanted, therefore, but one thing, a trifling one, namely, the husband. Monsieur Dandolo had already proposed three or four to me, but I had refused them for excellent reasons, and last he offered one who suited me exactly. I had to take the diamond ring out of pledge, and not wishing to do it myself, I wrote to the priest making an appointment in Treviso. I was not, of course, surprised when I found that he was accompanied by his young niece, who, thinking that I had come to complete all arrangements for our marriage, embraced me without ceremony, and I did the same. If the uncle had not been present, I am afraid that those kisses would have caused all my heroism to vanish. I gave the curate the dispensation, and the handsome features of Christine, shown with joy. She certainly could not imagine that I had been working so actively for others, and, as I was not yet certain of anything, I did not undeceive her then. I promised to be in P. within eight or ten days, when we would complete all necessary arrangements. After dinner I gave the curate the ticket for the ring, and the money to bring it out of pledge, and we retired to rest. This time, very fortunately, there was but one bed in the room, and I had to take another chamber for myself. The next morning I went into Christine's room, and found her in bed. Her uncle had gone out for my diamond ring, and, alone with that lovely girl, I found that I had, when necessary, complete control over my passions. Thinking that she was not to be my wife, and that she would belong to another, I considered it my duty to silence my desires. I kissed her, but nothing more. I spent one hour with her, fighting like St. Anthony against the carnal desires of my nature. I could see the charming girl, full of love, and at wonder at my reserve. And I admired her virtue, and the natural modesty which prevented her from making the first advances. She got out of bed, and dressed herself without showing any disappointment. She would, of course, have felt mortified if she had the slightest idea that I despised her, or that I did not value her charms. Her uncle returned, gave me the ring, and we had dinner. After which he treated me to a wonderful exhibition. Christine had learned how to write, and he gave me proof of her talent. She wrote very fluently, and very prettily in my presence. She parted, after my promising to come back again within ten days, and I returned to Venice. On the second Sunday in Lent, M. Dandolo told me, with an air of triumph, that the fortunate husband had been found, and there was no doubt of my approval of the new candidate. He named Charles, whom I knew by sight, very handsome young man, of irreproachable conduct, and about twenty-two years of age. He was clerk to M. Ragionato, and godson of Count Agaroti, a sister of whom had married M. Dandolo's brother. Charles, said M. Dandolo to me, has lost his father and his mother, and I feel satisfied that his godfather will guarantee the dowry brought by his wife. I have spoken to him, and I believe him disposed to marry an honest girl, whose dowry would enable him to purchase M. Ragionato's office. It seems to promise very well, but I cannot decide until I have seen him. I have invited him to dine with us to-morrow. The young man came, and I found him worthy of all M. Dandolo's praise. We became friends at once. He had some taste for poetry. I read some of my productions to him, and having paid him a visit the following day, he showed me several pieces of his own composition, which were well written. He introduced me to his aunt, in whose house he lived with his sister, and I was much pleased with their friendly welcome. Being alone with him in his room, I asked him what he thought of love. I do not care for love, he answered, but I should like to get married in order to have a house of my own. When I returned to the palace, I told M. Dandolo that he might open the affair with Count Agarati, and the Count mentioned it to Charles, who said that he could not give any answer, either one way or the other, until he should have seen the young girl, talked with her, and inquired about her reputation. As for Count Agarati, he was ready to be answerable for his godson, that is to guarantee 4,000 do-cuts to the wife, providing her dowry was worth that amount. These were the only preliminaries, the rest belonged to my province. Dandolo informed Charles that the matter was entirely in my hands. He called on me, and inquired when I would be kind enough to introduce him to the young person. I named the day, adding that it was necessary to devote a whole day to the visit, as she resided at a distance of twenty miles from Venice, that we would dine with her and return the same evening. He promised to be ready for me by daybreak. I immediately sent an express to the curate to inform him of the day on which I would call with a friend of mine whom I wished to introduce to his niece. On the appointed day Charles was punctual. I took care to let him know along the road that I had made the acquaintance of the young girl and her uncle as traveling companions, from Venice to Maistra, about one month before, and that I would have offered myself as a husband if I had been in a position to guarantee the dowry of four thousand dukots. I did not think it necessary to go any further in my confidences. We arrived at the good priest's house two hours before midday, and soon after our arrival, Christine came in with an air of great ease, expressing all her pleasure at seeing me. She only bowed to Charles, inquiring from me whether he was likewise a clerk. Charles answered that he was a clerk at Raggianato. She pretended to understand in order not to appear ignorant. I want you to look at my writing, she said to me, and afterwards we will go to see my mother. Delighted at the praise bestowed upon her writing by Charles, when he heard that she had learned only one month, she invited us to follow her. Charles asked her why she had waited until the age of nineteen to study writing. Well, sir, what doesn't matter to you? Besides I must tell you I am seventeen and not nineteen years of age. Charles entreated her to excuse him, smiling at the quickness of her answer. She was dressed like a simple country girl, yet very neatly, and she wore her handsome gold chains around her neck and on her arms. I told her to take my arm and that of Charles, which she did, casting towards me a look of loving obedience. We went to her mother's house. The good woman was compelled to keep to her bed, owing to schiatica. As we entered the room, a respectable looking man, who was seated near the patient, rose at the sight of Charles and embraced him affectionately. I heard that he was the family physician, and the circumstance pleased me much. After we paid our compliments to the good woman, the doctor inquired after Charles's aunt and sister, and alluding to the sister who was suffering from a secret disease, Charles desired to say a few words to him in private. They left the room together. Being alone with the mother and Christine, I praised Charles, his excellent conduct, his high character, his business abilities, and extolled the happiness of the woman, who would be his wife. They both confirmed my praises by saying that everything I said of him could be read on his features. I had no time to lose. So I told Christine to be on her guard during dinner, as Charles might possibly be the husband whom God had intended for her. For me? Yes, for you. Charles is one of a thousand. You would be much happier with him than you could be with me. The doctor knows him, and you could ascertain from him everything which I cannot find time to tell you now about my friend. The reader can imagine all I suffered in making this declaration, and my surprise when I saw the young girl calm and perfectly composed. Her composure dried the tears already, gathering in my eyes. After a short silence she asked me whether I was certain that such a handsome young man would have her. The question gave me an insight into Christine's heart and feelings, and I quieted all my sorrow, for I saw that I had not known her well. I answered that, beautiful as she was, there was no doubt of her being loved by everybody. It will be at dinner, my dear Christine, that my friend will examine and study you. Do not fail to show all the charms and qualities with which God has endowed you, but do not let him suspect our intimacy. It is all very strange. Is my uncle informed of this wonderful change? No. If your friend should feel pleased with me, when would he marry me? Within ten days I will take care of everything, and you will see me again in the course of the week. Charles came back with the doctor, and Christine, leaving her mother's bedside, took a chair opposite to us. She answered very sensibly all the questions addressed to her by Charles, often exciting his mirth by her artlessness, but not showing any silliness. Oh, charming simplicity, offspring of wit and ignorance, thy charm is delightful, and thou alone has the privilege of saying anything without ever giving offense. But how unpleasant thou art when thou art not natural, and thou art the masterpiece of art when thou art imitated with perfection. We dined rather late, and I took care not to speak to Christine, not even to look at her, so as not to engross her attention, which she devoted entirely to Charles, and I was delighted to see with what ease and interest she kept up the conversation. After dinner, as we were taking leave, I heard the following words uttered by Charles, which went to my very heart. You are made, lovely Christine, to minister to the happiness of a prince. And Christine, this was her answer. I should esteem myself fortunate, sir, if you should judge me worthy of ministering to yours. These words excited Charles so much that he embraced me. Christine was simple, but her artlessness did not come from her mind, only from her heart. The simplicity of mind is nothing but silliness. That of the heart is only ignorance and innocence. It is a quality which subsists, even when the cause has ceased to be. This young girl, almost a child of nature, was simple in her manners, but graceful in a thousand trifling ways, which cannot be described. She was sincere because she did not know that to conceal some of our impressions is one of the precepts of propriety, and as her intentions were pure, she was a stranger to that false shame and mock modesty which caused pretended innocence to blush at a word, or at a movement said, or made very often without any wicked purpose. During our journey back to Venice, Charles spoke of nothing but of his happiness. He had decidedly fallen in love. I will call tomorrow morning upon Count Agorati, he said to me, and you may write to the priest to come with all the necessary documents to make the contract of marriage which I longed to sign. His delight and surprise were intense when I told him that my readying present to Christine was a dispensation from the Pope for her to be married in Lent. Then, he exclaimed, we must go full speed ahead. In the conference which was held the next day between my young substitute, his godfather, and Monsieur Dandolo, it was decided that the parson should be invited to come with his niece. I undertook to carry the message, and leaving Venice two hours before morning, I reached P. early. The priest said that he would be ready to start immediately after mass. I then called on Christine, and I treated her to a fatherly and sentimental sermon, every word of which was intended to point out to her the true road to happiness and the new condition which she was on the point of adopting. I told her how she ought to behave towards her husband, towards his aunt and his sister, in order to captivate their esteem and their love. The last part of my discourse was pathetic and rather disparaging to myself, for, as I enforced upon her the necessity of being faithful to her husband, I was necessarily led to entreat her pardon for having seduced her. When you promised to marry me, after we had both been weak enough to give way to our love, did you intend to deceive me? Certainly not. Then you have not deceived me. On the contrary, I owe you some gratitude for having thought that, if our union should prove unhappy, it was better to find another husband for me, and I thank God that you have succeeded so well. Tell me now, what could I answer to your friend, in case he should ask me during the first night, why am I so different to what a virgin ought to be? It is not likely that Charles, who is full of reserve and propriety would ask you such a thing, but if he should, tell him positively that you have never had a lover, and that you do not suppose yourself to be different to any other girl. Will he believe me? He would deserve your contempt and entail punishment on himself if he did not, but dismiss all anxiety that will not occur. A sensible man, my dear Christine, when he has been rightly brought up, never ventures upon such a question, because he is not only certain to displease, but also sure that he will never know the truth, for if the truth is likely to injure a woman in the opinion of her husband, she would be very foolish indeed to confess it. I understand your meaning perfectly, my dear friend. Let us then embrace each other for the last time. No, for we are alone, and I am very weak. I adore thee as much as ever. Do not cry, dear friend, for truly speaking, I have no wish for it. That simple and candid answer changed my disposition suddenly, and instead of crying I began to laugh. Christine dressed herself splendidly, and after breakfast we left P. We reached Venice in four hours. I lodged them at a good inn, and going to the palace I told Monsieur Dandolo that our people had arrived, and it would be his province to bring them and Charles together on the following day, and to attend to the matter altogether, because the honor of the future husband and wife, the respect due to their parents and to propriety, forbade any further interference on my part. He understood my reasons, and acted accordingly. He brought Charles to me, and I presented both of them to the curate and his niece, then left them to complete their business. I heard afterwards from Monsieur Dandolo that they had all called upon Count Agarati, and at the office of a notary, where the contract of marriage was signed, and that, after fixing a day for the wedding, Charles had escorted his intended back to P. On his return Charles paid me a visit. He told me that Christine had won by her beauty and pleasing manners the affection of his aunt, of his sister, and of his godfather, and that they had taken upon themselves all the expense of the wedding. We intend to be married, he added, on such a day at P, and I entrust that you will crown your work of kindness by being present at the ceremony. I tried to excuse myself, but he insisted with such a feeling of gratitude, and with so much earnestness that I was compelled to accept. I listened with pleasure to the account he gave me of the impression produced upon all his family, and upon Count Agarati, by the beauty, the artlessness, the rich toilet, and especially by the simple talk of the lovely country girl. I am deeply in love with her, Charles said to me, and I feel that it is to you that I shall be indebted for the happiness I am sure to enjoy with my charming wife. She will soon get rid of her country way of talking in Venice, because here envy and slander will, but too easily show her the absurdity of it. His enthusiasm and happiness delighted me, and I congratulated myself upon my work. Yet I felt inwardly some jealousy, and I could not help envying a lot which I might have kept for myself. Monsieur Daredolo and Monsieur Barbaro, having also been invited by Charles, I went with them to pee. We found the dinner table laid out in the rector's house by the servants of Count Agarati, who was acting as Charles's father, and having taken upon himself all the expense of the wedding, had sent his cook and his major domo to pee. When I saw Christine the tears filled my eyes and I had to leave the room. She was dressed as a country girl, but looked as lovely as a nymph. Her husband, her uncle, and Count Agarati had vainly tried to make her adopt the Venetian costume, but she had wisely refused. As soon as I am your wife, she said to Charles, I will dress as you please, but here I will not appear before my young companions in any other costume than the one in which they have always seen me. I shall thus avoid being laughed at and accused of pride by the girls among whom I have been brought up. There was in these words something so noble, so just, and so generous, that Charles thought his sweetheart a supernatural being. He told me that he had inquired, from the woman with whom Christine had spent a fortnight, about the offers of marriage she had refused at that time, and that he had been much surprised for two of those offers were excellent ones. Christine, he added, was evidently dusted by heaven for my happiness, and to you I am indebted for the precious possession of that treasure. His gratitude pleased me, and I must render myself the justice of saying that I entertained no thought of abusing it. Not happy in the happiness I had thus given. We were paired to the church, towards eleven o'clock, and were very much astonished at the difficulty we were experiencing in getting in. A large number of the nobility of Traviso curious to ascertain whether it was true that the marriage ceremony of a country girl would be publicly performed during Lent, when, by waiting only one month, a dispensation would have been useless, had come to pee. Everyone wondered at the permission having been obtained from the Pope. Everyone imagined that there was some extraordinary reason for it, and was in despair because it was impossible to guess that reason. In spite of all the feelings of envy, every face beamed with pleasure and satisfaction when the young couple made their appearance, and no one could deny that they deserved that extraordinary distinction, an exception to all established rules. A certain countess of toes, from Traviso, Christine's godmother, went up to her after the ceremony, and embraced her most tenderly, complaining that the happy event had not been communicated to her in Traviso. Christine, in her artless way, answered with as much modesty as sweetness, that the countess ought to forgive her if she had failed in her duty towards her, on account that her marriage, having been decided on so hastily, she presented her husband, and begged Count Agarati to atone for her air towards her godmother, by inviting her to join the wedding repast, an invitation which the countess accepted with great pleasure. That behavior, which is usually the result of a good education, and a long experience in society, was, in the lovely peasant girl, due only to a candid and well-balanced mind which shone all the more because it was all nature and not art. As they returned from the church, Charles and Christine knelt before the young wife's mother, who gave them her blessings with tears of joy. Dinner was served, and, of course, Christine and her happy spouse took the seats of honor. Mine was the last, and I was very glad of it, but, although everything was delicious, I ate very little, and scarcely opened my lips. Christine was constantly busy saying pretty things to every one of her guests, and looking at her husband to make sure that he was pleased with her. Once or twice she addressed his aunt and sister in such a gracious manner that they could not help leaving their places and kissing her tenderly, congratulating Charles upon his good fortune. I was seated not far from Count Agarati, and I heard him say several times to Christine's godmother that he had never felt so delighted in his life. When four o'clock struck, Charles whispered a few words to his lovely wife, and she bowed to her godmother, and everybody arose from the table. After the usual compliments, and in this case they bore the stamp of sincerity, the bride distributed among all the girls of the village, who were in the adjoining room, packets full of sugar-plums which had been prepared beforehand, and she took leave of them kissing them all without any pride. Count Agarati invited all the guests to sleep at a house he had in Traviso, and to partake there of the dinner usually given during the day after the wedding. The uncle alone excused himself, and the mother could not come owing to her disease which prevented her from moving. The good woman died three months after Christine's marriage. Christine therefore left her village to follow her husband, and for the remainder of their lives they lived together in mutual happiness. Count Agarati, Christine's godmother, and my two noble friends went away together. The bride and bridegroom had, of course, a carriage to themselves, and I kept the aunt and sister of Charles' company in another. I could not help envying the happy man somewhat, although in my inmost heart I felt pleased with his happiness. The sister was not without merit. She was a young widow of twenty-five and still deserved the homage of men, but I gave the preference to the aunt, who told me that her new niece was a treasure, a jewel which was worthy of everybody's admiration, but that she would not let her go into society until she spoke the Venetian dialect well. Her cheerful spirits, she added, her artless simplicity, her natural wit, are like her beauty. They must be dressed in the Venetian fashion. We are highly pleased with my nephew's choice, and he has incurred everlasting obligations towards you. I hope that for the future you will consider our house as your own. The invitation was polite, perhaps it was sincere, yet I did not avail myself of it, and they were glad of it. At the end of one year, Christine presented her husband with the living token of their mutual love, and that circumstance increased their conjugal felicity. We all found comfortable quarters in the Count's house in Treviso where, after partaking of some refreshments, the guests retired to rest. The next morning I was with Count Agarati and my two friends, when Charles came in, handsome, bright, and radiant. While he was answering with much wit some jokes of the count, I kept looking at him with some anxiety, but he came up to me and embraced me warmly. I confessed that a kiss never made me happier. I wonder at the devout scoundrels who call upon their saint when they think themselves in need of heavenly assistance, or who thank him when they imagine that they have obtained some favor from him. But people are wrong, for it is good and right feeling which preaches against atheism. At the invitation of Charles his aunt and sister had gone to pay a morning visit to the young wife, and they returned with her, happiness never shown on a more lovely face. Monsieur Agarati, going towards her, inquired from her affectionately whether she had had a good night. Her only answer was to rush to her husband's arms. It was the most artless, and at the same time the most eloquent answer she could possibly give. Then turning her beautiful eyes towards me, and offering me her hand she said, Monsieur Casanova, I am happy, and I love to be indebted to you for my happiness. The tears which were flowing from my eyes as I kissed her hand told her better than words how truly happy I was myself. The dinner passed off delightfully. We then left for Mestre and Venice. We escorted the married couple to their house, and returned home to amuse Monsieur Brageden with the relation of our expedition. This worthy and particularly learned man said a thousand things about the marriage, some of great profundity and others of great absurdity. I laughed inwardly. I was the only one who had the key to the mystery, and could realize the secret of the comedy. End of Chapter 19, Part 2, Chapter 20, Part 1 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1 by Giacomo Casanova. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, Volume 1 by Giacomo Casanova. Episode 5, Milan and Mantua, Chapter 20, Part 1. On low Sunday, Charles paid as a visit with his lovely wife, who seemed totally indifferent to what Christine used to be. Her hair dressed with powder did not please me as well as the raven black of her beautiful looks, and her fashionable town attire did not, in my eyes, suit her as well as a rich country dress. But the countenances of husband and wife bore the stamp of happiness. Charles reproached me in a friendly manner, because I had not called once upon them, and in order to atone for my apparent negligence I went to see them the next day with Monsieur Dandereau. Charles told me that his wife was idolised by his aunt and a sister who had become her bosom friend. That she was kind, affectionate, unassuming, and of a disposition which enforced affection. I was no less pleased with this favourable state of things than with the facility with which Christine was learning the Venetian dialect. When Monsieur Dandereau and I called at their house, Charles was not at home. Christine was alone with his two relatives. The most friendly welcome was proper to us, and in the course of conversation the aunt praised the progress made by Christine in her writing very highly and asked her to let me see her copy-book. I followed her to the next room, while she told me that she was very happy, that every day she discovered new virtues in her husband. He had told her, without the slightest appearance of suspicion or displeasure, that he knew that we'd spent two days together in Treviso, and that he had laughed at the well-meaning fool who had given him that piece of information in the hope of raising a cloud in the heaven of their felicity. Charles was truly endowed with all the virtues, with all the noble qualities of an honest and distinguished man. Twenty-six years afterwards I happened to require the assistance of his purse, and found him my true friend. I never was a frequent visitor at his house, and he appreciated my delicacy. He died a few months before my last departure from Venice, leaving his widow in easy circumstances, and three well-educated sons, all with good positions, who may, for what I know, be still living with their mother. In June I went to the fair at Padua, and made the acquaintance of a young man of my own age, who was then studying mathematics, under the celebrated Professor Succi. His name was Toniolo, but thinking he did not sound well, he changed it for that of Fabri. He became, in after years, Comte de Fabri, lieutenant-general under Joseph II, and died governor of Transylvania. This man, who owed his high fortune to his talents, would perhaps have lived and died unknown if he had kept his name of Toniolo, a truly vulgar one. He was from Uldetso, a large village of the Venetian Frioli. He had a brother in the church, a man of parts, and a great gamester, who, having a deep knowledge of the world, had taken the name of Fabri, and the younger brother had to assume it likewise. Soon afterwards he bought an estate with a title of Count, became a Venetian nobleman, and his origin, as a country bumpkin, was forgotten. If he had kept his name of Toniolo it would have injured him, for he could not have pronounced it without reminding his hearers of what is called by the most contemptible of prejudices, low extraction, and the privileged class, through an absurd error, does not admit the possibility of a peasant having talent or genius. No doubt a time will come when society, more enlightened, and therefore more reasonable, will acknowledge that noble feelings, honour, and heroism, can be found in every condition of life, as easily as in a class the blood of which is not always exempt from the taint of a misalliance. The new Count, while he allowed others to forget his origin, was too wise to forget it himself, and in legal documents he always signed his family name as well as the one he had adopted. His brother had offered him two ways to win fortune in the world, leaving him perfectly free in his choice. Both required an expenditure of one thousand sequins, but the Abbey had put the amount aside for that purpose. My friend had to choose between the sword of Mars and the bird of Minerva. The Abbey knew that he could purchase for his brother a company in the army of his imperial and apostolic majesty, or obtain for him a professorship at the University of Padua, for money can do everything. But my friend, who was gifted with noble feelings in good sense, knew that in either profession, talents and knowledge were essentials, and before making a choice he was applying himself with great success to the study of mathematics. He ultimately decided upon the military profession, thus imitating Achilles, who preferred the sword to the distaff, and he paid for it with his life like the son of Perius, though not so young, and not through a wound inflicted by an arrow, but from the plague, which he caught in the unhappy country in which the indolence of Europe allows the Turks to perpetuate that fearful disease. The distinguished appearance, the noble sentiments, the great knowledge and the talents of Fabry would have been turned into ridicule in a man called Tognolo, for such is the force of prejudices, particularly of those which have no ground to rest upon, that an ill-sounding name is degrading in this our stupid society. My opinion is that men who have an ill-sounding name, or one which presents an indecent or ridiculous idea, are right in changing it, if they intend to win honour, fame and fortune, either in arts or sciences. No one can reasonably deny them that right, provided the name they assume belongs to nobody. The alphabet is general property, and everyone has the right to use it for the creation of a word forming an appellative sound. But he must truly create it. Voltaire, in spite of his genius, would not perhaps have reached posterity under his name of Arwe, especially amongst the French, who always give way so easily to their keen sense of ridicule and equivocation. How could they have imagined that a writer, Arwe, could be a man of genius? And D'Alembert, would he have attained his high fame, his universal reputation, if he had been satisfied with his name of Monsieur Leroux, or Mr. Allround? What would have become of Metastasio under his true name of Trapasso? What impression would Melanchthon have made with his name of Schwarzert? Would he then have dared to raise the voice of a moralist philosopher, of a reformer of the Eucharist, and so many other holy things? Would not Mr. de Boheine have caused some persons to laugh and others to blush if he had kept his name of Bovi, even if the first founder of his family had been indebted for his fortune to the fine quality expressed by that name? Would de Bourbeux have made as good a figure on the throne as de Bourbons? I think that King Poniatowski ought to have abdicated the name of Augustus, which he had taken at the time of his accession to the throne when he abdicated royalty. The Collioni of Bergamo, however, would find it rather difficult to change their name, because they would be compelled at the same time to change their coat of arms, the two generative glans, and thus to annihilate the glory of their ancestor, the hero Bartolomeo. Towards the end of autumn my friend Fabrie introduced me to a family in the midst of which the mind and the heart could find delicious food. That family resided in the country on the road to Zéro. Card-playing, love-making, and practical jokes were the order of the day. Some of those jokes were rather severe ones, but the order of the day was never to get angry and to laugh at everything, for one was to take every jest pleasantly or be thought a bore. Bedsteads would at night tumble down under their occupants, ghosts were personated, diuretic pills or sugar-plums were given to young ladies, as well as comforts who produced certain winds rising from the Netherlands, and impossible to keep under control. These jokes would sometimes go rather too far, but such was the spirit animating all the members of that circle. They would laugh. I was not less in New York than the others to the war of offence and defence, but at last there was such a bitter joke played upon me that it suggested to me another, the fatal consequences of which put a stop to the mania by which we were all possessed. We were in the habit of walking to a farm which was about half a leak distant by the road, but the distance could be reduced by half by going over a deep and mary ditch across which a narrow plank was thrown, and I always insisted upon going that way, in spite of the fright of the ladies who always trembled on the narrow bridge, although I never failed to cross the first and to offer my hand to help them over. One fine day I crossed first so as to give them courage, but suddenly when I reached the middle of the plank it gave way under me, and there I was in the ditch, up to the chin in stinking mud, and in spite of my inward rage obliged, according to the general understanding, to join in the merry laughter of all my companions. But the merriment did not last long, for the joke was too bad, and everyone declared it to be so. Some peasants were called to the rescue, and with much difficulty they dragged me out in the most awful state. An entirely new dress, embroidered with spangles, my silk stockings, my lace—everything was, of course, spoiled. But not minding it I laughed more heartily than anybody else, although I had already made an inward vow to have the most cruel revenge. In order to know the author of that bitter joke I had only to appear calm and indifferent about it. It was evident that the plank had been purposely sawn. I was taken back to the house, assured a coat, a complete costume will lend me, for I had come that time only for twenty-four hours and had not brought anything with me. I went to the city the next morning, and towards the evening I returned to the gay company. Fabri, who had been as angry as myself, observed to me that the perpetrator of the joke evidently felt his guilt, because he took good care not to discover himself. But I unveiled the mystery by promising one second to a peasant woman if she could find out who had sawn the plank. She contrived to discover the young man who had done the work. I called on him, and the offer of a sequin, together with my threats, compelled him to confess that he had been paid for his work by Signor de Meteo, a Greek dealer in spices, a good and amiable man of between forty-five and fifty years, on whom I never played any trick except in the case of a pretty young servant-girl whom he was courting and whom I had juggled from him. Satisfied with my discovery I was wrecking my brain to invent a good practical joke, but to obtain complete revenge it was necessary that my trick should prove worse than the one he had played upon me. Unfortunately my imagination was at bay. I could not find anything. A funeral put an end to my difficulties. Armed with my hunting-knife I went alone to the cemetery a little after midnight, and opening the grave of the dead man who had been buried that very day, I cut off one of the arms near the shoulder, not without some trouble. And after I had reburied the corpse I returned to my room with the arm of the defunct. The next day when supper was over I left the table and retired to my chamber as if I intended to go to bed, but taking the arm with me I hid myself under de Meteo's bed. A short time after the Greek comes in, undresses himself, puts his light out, and lies down. I give him time to fall nearly asleep. Then placing myself at the foot of the bed I pull away the clothes little by little until he is half naked. He laughs and cools out. Whoever you may be, go away and let me sleep quietly, for I do not believe in ghosts. He covers himself again, and composes himself to sleep. I wait five or six minutes and pull again at the bed clothes, but when he tries to draw up the sheet, saying that he does not care for ghosts, I oppose some resistance. He sits up so as to catch the hand which is pulling at the clothes, and I take care that he should get hold of the dead hand. Confident that he's caught the man or the woman who was playing the trick, he pulls it towards him, laughing all the time. I keep tight hold of the arm for a few instance, and then let it go suddenly. The Greek falls back on his pillow without uttering a single word. The trick was played. I leave the room without any noise, and reaching my chamber go to bed. I was fast asleep when towards morning I was awoke by persons going about, and not understanding why they should be up so early. I got up. The first person I met, the mistress of the house, told me that it played an abominable joke. I? What have I done? I should have made sure he was dying. Have I killed him? She went away without answering me. I dressed myself rather frightened, I confess, but determined upon pleading a complete ignorance of everything, and I proceeded to the matriarch's room, and I was confronted with horror-stricken countenances and bitter approaches. I found all the guests around him. I protested my innocence, but everyone smiled. The arch-priest and the beadle, who had just arrived, would not bury the arm which was lying there, and they told me that I had been guilty of a great crime. I am astonished, Reverend Sir, I said to the priest, at the hasty judgment which is thus passed upon me when there is no proof to condemn me. You have done it, exclaimed all the guests. You alone are capable of such an abomination, it is just like you. No one but you would have dared to do such a thing. I am compelled, said the arch-priest, to draw up an official report. As you please, I have not the slightest objection, I answered. I have nothing to fear. And I left the room. I continued to take it coolly, and at the dinner-table I was informed that Monsieur de Métreux had been bled, that he had recovered the use of his eyes, but not of his tongue or of his limbs. The next day he could speak, and I heard, after I had taken leave of the family, that he was stupid and spasmodic. The poor man remained in that painful state for the rest of his life. I felt deeply grieved, but I had not intended to injure him so badly. I thought that the trick he had played upon me might have cost my life, and I could not help deriving consolation from that idea. On the same day the arch-priest made up his mind to have the arm buried, and to send a formal denunciation against me to the episcopal chancellorship of Travizo. Annoyed at the reproaches which I received on all sides, I returned to Venice. A fortnight afterwards I was summoned to appear before the magistrato alla blasphemia. I begged Monsieur Barbaro to inquire the cause of the aforesaid summons, for it was a formidable court. I was surprised at the proceedings being taken against me, as if there had been a certainty of my having desecrated a grave whilst there could be nothing but suspicion. But I was mistaken. The summons was not relating to that affair. Monsieur Barbaro informed me in the evening that a woman had brought a complaint against me for having violated her daughter. She stated in her complaint that, having decoyed her child to the Zuecca, I had abused her by violence, and she had used as a proof that her daughter was confined to her bed, owing to the bad treatment she had received from me in my endeavours to ravish her. It was one of those complaints which are often made in order to give trouble and to cause expense, even against innocent persons. I was innocent of violation, but it was quite true that I'd given the girl a sound threshing. I prepared my defence, and begged Monsieur Barbaro to deliver it to the magistrate's secretary. DECLARATION I hereby declare that, on such a day, having met the woman with her daughter, I accosted them and offered to give them some refreshments at a coffee-house nearby, that their daughter refused to accept my caresses, and that the mother said to me, My daughter is yet a virgin, and she's quite right not to lose her maidenhood without making a good profit by it. If so, I answered, I will give you ten seconds for her virginity. You may judge for yourself, said the mother. Having assured myself of the fact by the assistance of the sense of feeling, and having ascertained that it might be true, I told the mother to bring the girl in the afternoon to the zoeke, and that I would give her the ten seconds. My offer was joyfully accepted. The mother brought her daughter to me. She received the money, and leaving us together in the garden of the cross, she went away. When I tried to avail myself of the right for which I'd paid, the girl, most likely trained to the business by her mother, contrived to prevent me. At first the game amused me, but at last, being tired of it, I told her to have done. She answered quietly that it was not her fault if I was not able to do what I wanted. Vexed and annoyed, I placed her in such a position that she found herself at bay, but, making a violent effort, she managed to change her position, and debarred me for making any further attempts. Why, I said to her, did you move? Because I would not have it in that position. You would not? No. Without more ado I got hold of her broomstick, and gave her a good lesson in order to get something for the ten sequins which I'd be foolish enough to pay in advance. But I've broken none of her limbs, and I took care to apply my blows only on her posteriors, on which spot I have no doubt that all the marks may be seen. In the evening I made her dress herself again, and sent her back in a boat which chanced to pass, and she was landed in safety. The mother received ten sequins, the daughter has kept her hateful maidenhood, and, if I am guilty of anything, it is only of having given a thrashing to an infamous girl, and the pupil of her still more infamous mother. My declaration had no effect. The magistrate was acquainted with the girl, and the mother laughed at having duped me so easily. I was summoned, but did not appear before the court, and a writ was on the point of being issued against my body, when the complaint of the profanation of a grave was filed against me before the same magistrate. It would have been less serious for me if the second affair had been carried before the council of ten, because one court might have saved me from the other. The second crime, which, after all, was only a joke, was high felony in the eyes of the clergy, and a great deal was made of it. I was summoned to appear within twenty-four hours, and it was evident that I would be arrested immediately afterwards. M. de Bregardin, who always gave good advice, told me that the best way to avoid the threatening storm was to run away. The advice was certainly wise, and I lost no time in getting ready. I have never left Venice with so much regret as I did then, for I had some pleasant intrigues on hand, and I was very lucky at cards. My three friends assured me that, within one year at the furthest, the cases against me would be forgotten, and in Venice, when public opinion has forgotten anything, it can be easily arranged. I left Venice in the evening, and the next day I slept at Verona. Two days afterwards I reached Mantua. I was alone, with plenty of clothes and jewels, without letters of introduction, but with a well-filled purse, enjoying excellent health in my twenty-three years. In Mantua I ordered an excellent dinner, the very first thing one ought to do at a large hotel, and after dinner I went out for a walk. In the evening, after I had seen the coffee-houses and the places of resort, I went to the theatre, and I was delighted to see Marina appear on the stage as a comic dancer amid the greatest applause which she deserved, for she danced beautifully. She was tall, handsome, very well-made, and very graceful. I immediately resolved on renewing my acquaintance with her, if she happened to be free, and after the opera I engaged a boy to take me to her house. She had just sat down to supper with someone, but the moment she saw me she threw her napkin down and flew to my arms. I returned her kisses, judging by her warmth that her guest was a man of no consequence. The servant, without waiting for orders, had already laid a plate for me, and Marina invited me to sit down near her. I felt vexed, because the aforesaid individual had not risen to salute me, and before I accepted Marina's invitation I asked her who the gentleman was, begging her to introduce me. "'This gentleman,' she said, "'is Count Cely of Rome. He is my lover.' "'I congratulate you,' I said to her, and turning towards the so-called count, "'Sir,' I added, "'do not be angry at our mutual affection. Marina is my daughter.' "'She's a prostitute.'" "'True,' said Marina, and you can believe the count, for he is my procurer.' At those words the brood threw his knife at her face, but she avoided it by running away. The scoundrel followed her, but I drew my sword and said, "'Stop, or you're a dead man.'" I immediately asked Marina to order her servant to light me out, but she hastily put a cloak on and, taking my arm, she untreated me to take her with me. "'With pleasure,' I said. The count then invited me to meet him alone on the following day at the casino of Pormi, to hear what he had to say. "'Very well, sir, at four in the afternoon,' I answered. I took Marina to my inn, where I lodged her in the room adjoining mine, and we sat down to supper. Marina, seeing that I was thoughtful, said, "'Are you sorry to have saved me from the rage of that brood?' "'No, I'm glad to have done so. But tell me truly who and what he is.'" He's a gambler by profession, and gives himself out as Count Saley. I made his acquaintance here. He courted me, invited me to supper, played after supper, and, having won a large sum from an Englishman who made decoyed to his supper by telling him that I would be present, he gave me fifty guineas, saying that he'd given me an interest in his bank. As soon as I'd become his mistress, he insisted upon my being compliant with all the man he wanted to make his dupes, and at last he took up his quarters at my lodgings. The welcome I gave you very likely vexed him, and you know the rest. Here I am, and here I will remain until my departure from Mantua, where I have an engagement as first dancer. My servant will bring me all I need for tonight, and I will give him orders to move all my luggage to-morrow. I will not see that scoundrel any more. I will be only yours if you are free as in Corfu, and if you love me still. Yes, my dear Marina, I do love you, but if you wish to be my mistress, you must be only mine. Oh, of course! I have three hundred sequins, and I will give them to you to-morrow, if you will take me as your mistress. I do not want any money. All I want is yourself. Well, it is all arranged. Tomorrow evening, we shall feel more comfortable. Perhaps you are thinking of a deal for to-morrow. But do not imagine such a thing, dearest. I know that man. He is an errand-coward. I must keep my engagement with him. I know that, but he will not keep his, and I am very glad of it. Changing the conversation and speaking of our old acquaintances, she informed me that she had quarrelled with her brother Petronio, that her sister was Primadonna in Genoa, and that Bellino Therese was still in Naples, where she continued to ruin Dukes. She concluded by saying, I am the most unhappy of the family. How so? You are beautiful, and you have become an excellent dancer. Do not be so protocol of your favours, and you cannot fail to meet with a man who will take care of your fortune. To be sparing of my favours is very difficult. When I love, I am no longer mine, but when I do not love, I cannot be amiable. Well, dearest, I could be very happy with you. Dear Marina, I am not wealthy, and my honour would not allow me. Hold your tongue, I understand you. Why have you not a lady's maid with you, instead of a male servant? You are right, a maid would look more respectable, but my servant is so clever and so faithful. I can guess all his qualities, but he is not a fit servant for you. Chapter 20 Part 2 of the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova Volume 1 by Jacques Casanova This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Anna Simon. The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova Volume 1 The Venetian Years by Jacques Casanova Episode 5 Melane Mantua Chapter 20 Part 2 The next day after dinner I left Marina, getting ready for the theatre, and having put everything of value I possessed in my pocket, I took a carriage and proceeded to the casino of Pormi. I felt confident of disabling the false count, and sent the carriage away. I was conscious of being guilty of great folly in exposing my life with such an adversary. I might have broken my engagement with him without implicating my honour, but the fact is that I felt well disposed for a fight, and as I was certainly in the right, I thought the prospect of a duel very delightful. A visit to a dancer, a brute professing to be a nobleman who insults her in my presence, who wants to kill her, who allows her to be carried off in his very teeth, and whose only opposition is to give me an appointment. It seemed to me that if I had failed to come, I should have given him the right to call me a coward. The count had not yet arrived. I entered the coffee-room to wait for him. I met a good-looking Frenchman there, and I addressed him. Being pleased with this conversation, I told him that I expected the arrival of a man, and that as my honour required that he should find me alone, I would feel grateful if he would go away as soon as I saw the man approaching. A short time afterwards I saw my adversary coming along, but with a second. I then told the Frenchman that he would oblige me by remaining, and he accepted as readily as if I had invited him to a party of pleasure. The count came in with his follower, who was sporting his sword at least forty inches long, and had all the look of a cutthroat. I advanced towards the count, and said to him dryly, You told me that you would come alone. My friend will not be in the way, as I only want to speak to you. If I had known that, I would not have gone out of my way. But do not let us be noisy, and let us go to some place where we can exchange a few words without being seen. Follow me. I left the coffee-room with a young Frenchman, who, being well acquainted with the place, took me to the most favourable spot, and we waited there for the two other champions, who were walking slowly and talking together. When they were within ten paces, I drew my sword and called upon my adversary to get ready. My Frenchman had already taken out his sword, but he kept it under his arm. Two to one, exclaimed Cheley. Send your friend away, and this gentleman will go likewise. At all events, your friend wears a sword, therefore we are two against two. Yes, said the Frenchman, let us have a forehand at game. I do not cross swords with a dancer, said the cutthroat. He had scarcely uttered those words, when my friend, going up to him, told him that the dancer was certainly as good as a black lag, and gave him a violent blow with the flat of his sword on the face. I followed his example with Cheley, who began to beat every treat, and said that he only wanted to tell me something, and that he would fight afterwards. Well, speak. You know me, and I do not know you. Tell me who you are. My only answer was to resume laying my sword upon the scoundrel, while the Frenchman was showing the same dexterity upon the back of his companion. And the two cowards took to their heels, and there was nothing for us to do but to shead their weapons. Thus did the duel end in a manner even more amusing than Marina herself had anticipated. My brave Frenchman was expecting someone at the casino. I left him after inviting him to supper for that evening after the opera. I gave him the name which I had assumed for my journey, and the address of my hotel. I gave Marina a full description of the adventure. I will, she said, amuse everybody at the theatre this evening with the story of your meeting. But that which pleases me most is that, if he are second is really a dancer, he can be no other than Monsieur Balletti, who is engaged with me for the Mantua Theatre. I stored all my valuables in my trunk again, and went to the opera, where I saw Balletti, who recognised me, and pointed me out to all his friends to whom he was relating the adventure. He joined me after the performance and accompanied me to the inn. Marina, who had already returned, came to my room as soon as she heard my voice, and I was amused at the surprise of the amiable Frenchman when he saw the young artist with whom he had engaged to dance the comic parts. Marina, although an excellent dancer, did not like the serious style. Those two handsome adepts of Tep-sichoy had never met before, and they began an amorous warfare which made me enjoy my supper immensely, because, as he was a fellow artist, Marina assumed towards Balletti a tone well adapted to the circumstances, and very different to her usual manner with other men. She shone with wit and beauty that evening, and was at an excellent temper, for she had been much applauded by the public, the true version of the celli business being already well known. The theatre was to be open only for ten more nights, and as Marina wished to leave Milan immediately after the last performance, we decided on travelling together. In the meantime I invited Balletti, it was an Italian name which had adopted for the stage, to be our guest during the remainder of our stay in Milan. The friendship between us had a great influence upon all the subsequent events of my life, as the reader will see in these memoirs. He had great talent as a dancer, but that was the least of his excellent qualities. He was honest, his feelings were noble, he had studied much, and he had received the best education that could be given in those days in France to a nobleman. On the third day I saw plainly that Marina wished to make a conquest of her colleague, and feeling what great advantage might accrue to her from it, I resolved on helping her. She had a post-chase for two persons, and I easily persuaded her to take Balletti with her, saying that I wished to arrive alone in Mantua for several reasons which I could not confide to her. The fact was that if I had arrived with her, people would have naturally supposed that I was a lover, and I wished to avoid that. Balletti was delighted with the proposal. He insisted upon paying his share of the expenses, but Marina would not hear of it. The reasons alleged by the young man for paying his own expenses were excellent ones, and it was with great difficulty that I prevailed upon him to accept Marina's offer, but I ultimately succeeded. I promised to wait for them on the road, so as to take dinner and supper together, and on the day appointed for our departure I left Milan one hour before them. Reaching the city of Cremona very early, where we intended to sleep, I took a walk about the streets, and, finding a coffee-house, I went in. I made there the acquaintance of a French officer, and we left the coffee-room together to take a short ramble. A very pretty woman happened to pass in a carriage, and my companion stopped her to say a few words. Their conversation was soon over, and the officer joined me again. Who is that lovely lady? I inquired. She is a truly charming woman, and I can tell you an anecdote about her worthy of being transmitted to posterity. You need not suppose that I am going to exaggerate, for the adventure is known to everybody in Cremona. The charming woman whom you have just seen is gifted with wit greater even than her beauty, and here is a specimen of it. A young officer, one amongst many military men who were courting her when Marshal de Richieu was commanding in Genoa, boasted of being treated by her with more favor than all the others, and one day in the very coffee-room where we met he advised a brother officer not to lose his time in courting her, because he had no chance with ever of obtaining any favor. My dear fellow, said the other officer, I have a much better right to give you that piece of advice, for I have already obtained from her everything which can be granted to a lover. I am certain that you are telling a lie, exclaimed the young man, and I request you to follow me out. Most willingly, said the indiscreet swain, but what is the good of ascertaining the truth through a duel, and of cutting our throats, when I can make the lady herself certify the fact in your presence? I bet, 25 Louis, that it is all and true, said the incredulous officer. I accept your bet, let us go. The two contending parties proceeded together towards the dwelling of the lady whom you saw just now, who was to name the winner of the 25 Louis. They found her in a dressing-room. Well, gentlemen, she said, what lucky wind has brought you here together at this hour! It is a bet, madam, answered the unbelieving officer, and you alone can be the umpire in our quarrel. This gentleman has been boasting of having obtained from you everything a woman can grant to the most favourite lover. I have given him the lie in the most impressive manner, and the duel was to ensue, when he offered to have the truth of his boast certified by you. I have bet 25 Louis that you would not admit it, and he has taken my bet. Now, madam, you can say which of us two is right. You have lost, sir, she said to him, but now I beg both of you to quit my house, and I give you fair warning that if you ever dare to show your faces here again, you'll be sorry for it. The two heedless fellows went away dreadfully mortified. The unbeliever paid the bet, but he was deeply vexed, called the other coxcomb, and a week afterwards killed him in a duel. Since that time the lady goes to the casino and continues to mix in society, but does not see company at her own house, and lives in perfect accord with her husband. How did the husband take it all? Quite well, and like an intelligent, sensible man. He said that if his wife had acted differently, he would have applied for a divorce, because in that case no one would have entertained a doubt over being guilty. That husband is indeed a sensible fellow. It is certain that if his wife had given a lie to the indiscreet officer, he would have paid the bet, but he would have stood by what he had said, and everybody would have believed him. By declaring him the winner of the bet, she has cut the matter short, and she has avoided a judgment by which she would have been dishonoured. The inconsiderate boaster was guilty of a double mistake for which he paid the penalty of his life, but his adversary was as much wanting and delicacy, for in such matters rightly minded men do not venture upon betting. If the one who says yes is imprudent, the one who says no is a dupe. I like the lady's presence of mind. But what sentence would you pass on her, guilty or not guilty? Not guilty. I am of the same opinion, and it has been the verdict of the public likewise, for she has since been treated even better than before the affair. You will see if you go to the casino, and I shall be happy to introduce you to her. I invited the officer to sub with us, and we spent a very pleasant evening. After he had gone, I remarked with pleasure that Marina was capable of observing the rules of propriety. She had taken a bedroom to herself, so as not to hurt the feelings of her respectable fellow-dancer. When I arrived in Mantua, I put up at St. Mark's hotel. Marina, to whom I had given a notice that my intention was to call on her but seldom, took up her abode in the houses assigned to her by the theatrical manager. In the afternoon of the same day as I was walking about, I went into a book-seller's shop, to a certain whether there was any new work-out. I remained there without perceiving that the night had come, and on being told that the shop was going to be closed, I went out. I had only gone a few yards when I was arrested by a patrol, the officer of which told me that, as I had no lantern and as eight o'clock had struck, his duty was to take me to the guard-house. It was in vain that I observed that, having arrived only in the afternoon, I could not know that order of the police. I was compelled to follow him. When we reached the guard-house, the officer of the patrol introduced me to his captain, a tall, fine-looking young man who received me in the most cheerful manner. I begged him to let me return to my hotel as I needed rest after my journey. He laughed and answered, No, indeed, I want you to spend the joyous night with me and in good company. He told the officer to give me back my sword, and, addressing me again, he said, I only consider you, my dear sir, as my friend and guest. I could not help being amused at such a novel mode of invitation, and I accepted it. He gave some orders to a German soldier, and soon afterwards the table was laid out for four persons. The two other officers joined us, and we had a very gay supper. When the dessert had been served, the company was increased by the arrival of two disgusting, disillusioned females. A green cloth was spread over the table, and one of the officers began a pharaoh-bank. I punted so as not to appear unwilling to join the game, and after losing a few seconds I went out to breathe the fresh air, for we had drunk freely. One of the two females followed me, teased me, and finally contrived in spite of myself to make me a present which condemned me to a regimen of six weeks. After that fine exploit I went in again. A young and pleasant officer who had lost some fifteen or twenty seconds was swearing like a trooper because the banker had pocketed his money and was going. The young officer had a great deal of gold before him on the table, and he contended that the banker ought to have warned him that it would be the last game. Sir, I said to him politely, you are in the wrong, for pharaoh is the freest of games. Why do you not take the bank yourself? It would be too much trouble, and these gentlemen do not punt high enough for me. But if that sort of thing amuses you, take the bank, and I will punt. Captain, I said, will you take a fourth share in my bank? Willingly. Gentlemen, I beg you to give notice that I will lay the cards down after six games. I asked for new packs of cards, and put three hundred seconds on the table. The captain rode on the back of a card. But for a hundred seconds, O'Neillin, and placing it with my gold I began my bank. The young officer was delighted, and said to me, your bank might be defunct before the end of the sixth game. I did not answer, and the play went on. At the beginning of the fifth game my bank was in the pangs of death. The young officer was in high glee. I rather astonished him by telling him that I was glad to lose, for I thought him a much more agreeable companion when he was winning. There are some servilities which very likely prove unlucky for those to whom they are addressed, and it turned out so in this case, for my compliment turned his brain. During the fifth game a run of adverse cards made him lose all he had won, and as he tried to do violence to Dame Fortune in the sixth round he lost every second he had. Sir, he said to me, you have been very lucky, but I hope you will give me my revenge tomorrow. It would be with the greatest pleasure, sir, but I never play except when I am under arrest. I counted my money, and found that I had won two hundred and fifty seconds, besides a debt of fifty seconds due by an officer who played on trust, which Captain O'Neill took on his own account. I completed his share, and at daybreak he allowed me to go away. As soon as I got to my hotel I went to bed, and when I awoke I had a visit from Captain Laurent, the officer who had played on trust. Thinking that his object was to pay me what he had lost, I told him that O'Neill had taken his debt on himself, but he answered that he had only called for the purpose of begging of me a loan of six seconds on his note of hand, by which he would pledge his honour to repay me within one week. I gave him the money, and he begged that the matter might remain between us. I promise it, I said to him, but do not break your word. The next day I was ill, and the reader is aware of the nature of my illness. I immediately placed myself under a proper course of diet, however unpleasant it was at my age, but I kept to my system, and it cured me rapidly. Three or four days afterwards Captain O'Neill called on me, and when I told him the nature of my sickness he laughed, much to my surprise. And then you were all right before that night? he inquired. Yes, my health was excellent. I am sorry that you should have lost your health in such an ugly place. I would have warned you if I had thought you had any intentions in that quarter. Did you know of the woman having? Zunes, did I not? It's only a week since I paid a visit to the very same place myself, and I believe the creature was all right before my visit. Then I have to thank you for the present she has bestowed upon me. Most likely, but it is only a trifle, and you can easily get cured if you care to take the trouble. What? Do you not try to cure yourself? If no, it would be too much trouble to follow a regular diet, and what is the use of curing such a trifling inconvenience when I am certain of getting it again in a fortnight? Ten times in my life have I had that patience, but I got tired of it, and for the last two years I have resigned myself, and now I put up with it. I pity you, for a man like you would have great success in love. I do not care of fig for love. It requires cares which would bother me much more than the slight inconvenience to which we were alluding, and to which I am used now. I am not of your opinion, for the amorous pleasure is insipid when love does not throw a little spice in it. Do you think, for instance, that the ugly wretch I met at the guard-room is worth what I now suffer on her account? Of course not, and that is why I am sorry for you. If I had known, I could have introduced you to something better. The very best in that line is not worth my health, and health ought to be sacrificed only for love. Oh, you want women worthy of love. There are a few here. Stop with this for some time, and when you are cured there is nothing to prevent you from making conquests. O'Neithen was only twenty-three years old. His father, who was dead, had been a general, and the beautiful Countess Barsati was his sister. He presented me to the Countess Zanardi nearly, still more lovely than his sister, but I was prudent enough not to burn my incense before either of them, for it seemed to me that everybody could guess the state of my health. I have never met a young man more addicted to debauchery than O'Neithen. I have often spent the night rambling about with him, and I was amazed at his cynical boldness and impudence. Yet he was noble, generous, brave and honourable. If in those days young officers were often guilty of so much immorality, of so many vile actions, it was not so much their fault as the fault of the privileges which they enjoyed through custom, indulgence or party spirit. Here is an example. One day O'Neithen, having drunk rather freely, rides through the city at full speed. A poor old woman who was crossing the street has no time to avoid him. She falls, and her head is cut open by the horse's feet. O'Neithen places himself under arrest, but the next day he is set at liberty. He had only to plead that it was an accident. The officer Laurent, not having called upon me to redeem his promissory note of six sequins during the week, I told him in the street that I would no longer consider myself bound to keep the affair secret. Instead of excusing himself, he said, I do not care. The answer was insulting, and I intended to compel him to give me reparation, but the next day O'Neithen told me that Captain Laurent had gone mad and had been locked up in a mad-house. He subsequently recovered his reason, but his conduct was so infamous that he was cashiered. O'Neithen, who was as brave as Bayard, was killed a few years afterwards at the Battle of Prague. A man of his complexion was certain to fool the victim of Mars or Venus. He might be alive now if he had been endowed only with the courage of the fox, but yet the courage of the lion. It is a virtue in its soldier, but almost a fault in an officer. Those who brave danger with a full knowledge of it are worthy of praise, but those who do not realize it escape only by a miracle and without any merit attaching itself to them. Yet we must respect those great warriors, for their uncronquerable courage is the offspring of a strong soul, of a virtue which places them above ordinary mortals. Whenever I think of Prince Charles de Ligne, I cannot restrain my tears. He was as brave as Achilles, but Achilles was invulnerable. He would be alive now if he had remembered during the fight that he was mortal. Who are they that, having known him, have not shared tears in his memory? He was handsome, kind, polished, learned, a lover of the arts, cheerful, witty in his conversation, a pleasant companion, and a man of perfect equability. Fatal, terrible revolution. A cannonball took him from his friends, from his family, from the happiness which surrounded him. The Prince de Veldeck has also paid the penalty of his interbidity with a loss of one arm. It is said that he consoles himself for that loss with a consciousness that with the remaining one he can yet command an army. O you who despise life, tell me whether that contempt of life renders you worthy of it. The opera opened immediately after Easter, and I was present at every performance. I was then entirely cured and had resumed my usual life. I was pleased to see that Baleti showed of Marina to the best advantage. I never visited her, but Baleti was in the habit of breakfasting with me almost every morning. He had often mentioned an old actress who had left the stage for more than twenty years and pretended to have been my father's friend. One day I took a fancy to call upon her, and he accompanied me to her house. I saw an old, broken-down crone whose toilet astonished me as much as her person. In spite of her wrinkles her face was plastered with red and white, and her eyebrows were indebted to India Inc. for their black appearance. She exposed one half of her flabby, disgusting bosom, and there could be no doubt as to her false set of teeth. She wore a wig which fitted very badly, and allowed the intrusion of a few grey hairs which had survived the havoc of time. Her shaking hands made mine quiver when she pressed them. She diffused a perfume of amber at a distance of twenty yards, and her affected, mincing manner amused and sickened me at the same time. Her dress might possibly have been the fashion twenty years before. I was looking with dread at the fearful havoc of old age upon a face which, before merciless time had blighted it, had evidently been handsome. But what amazed me was a childish effrontery with which this time-witted specimen of woman-kind was still waging war with the help of her blasted charms. Baleti, who feared lest my two visible astonishment should vex her, told her that I was amazed at the fact that the beautiful strawberry which bloomed upon her chest had not been withered by the hand of time. It was a birthmark which was really very much like a strawberry. "'It is that mark,' said the old woman, simpering, which gave me the name of La Fragoletta. Those words made me shudder. I had before my eyes the fatal phantom which was the cause of my existence. I saw the woman who had thirty years before seduced my father. If it had not been for her he would never have thought of leaving his father's house and would never have engendered me in the womb of a Venetian woman. I have never been of the opinion of the old author who says, Nemo Vitam Velet Sidartus Quientibus. Seeing how thoughtful I was she politely inquired my name from Baleti, for he had presented me only as a friend and without having given her notice of my visit. When he told her that my name was Casanova she was extremely surprised. "'Yes, madam,' I said. I am the son of Gaetan Casanova of Parma. "'Heavens and earth, what is this? Ah, my friend, I adored your father. He was jealous without cause and abandoned me. Had he not done so he would have been my son. Allow me to embrace you with the feelings of a loving mother.' I expected as much, and for fear she should fall I went to her and received her kiss and abandoned myself to her tender recollections. Still in actress she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes pretending to weep and assuring me that I was not to doubt the truth of what she said. Although, she added, I do not look an old woman yet. The only fault of your dear father, she continued, was a want of gratitude. I have no doubt that she passed the same sentence upon the son, for in spite of her kind invitation I never paid her another visit. My purse was well filled, and as I did not care for Mantua, I resolved on going to Naples to see again my dear Therese, Dona Lucretia, Pedro father and son, Dona Antonio Casanova, and all my former acquaintances. However, my good genius did not approve of that decision, for I was not allowed to carry it into execution. I should have left Mantua three days later, had I not gone to the opera that night. I lived like an anchorite to during my two months' stay in Mantua, owing to the folly I committed on the night of my arrival. I played only at time, and then I had been lucky. My slight erotic inconvenience by compelling me to follow the diet necessary to my cure most likely saved me from greater misfortunes, which perhaps I should not have been able to avoid. Thank you.