Our conversation having turned to the extraordinary absence of Steffani,
she said that her father must necessarily believe her to be hiding with
him somewhere. "He must have found out," she added, "that I was in the
habit of conversing with him every night from my window, and he must
have heard of my having embarked for Venice on board the Ferrara barge.
I feel certain that my father is now in Venice, making secretly every
effort to discover me. When he visits this city he always puts up at
Boncousin; will you ascertain whether he is there?"
She never pronounced Steffani's name without disgust and hatred, and she
said she would bury herself in a convent, far away from her native
place, where no one could be acquainted with her shameful history.
I intended to make some enquiries the next day, but it was not necessary
for me to do so, for in the evening, at supper-time, M. Barbaro said to
us,
"A nobleman, a subject of the Pope, has been recommended to me, and
wishes me to assist him with my influence in a rather delicate and
intricate matter. One of our citizens has, it appears, carried off his
daughter, and has been hiding somewhere with her for the last fortnight,
but nobody knows where. The affair ought to be brought before the
Council of Ten, but the mother of the ravisher claims to be a relative
of mine, and I do not intend to interfere."
I pretended to take no interest in M. Barbaro's words, and early the
next morning I went to the young countess to tell her the interesting
news. She was still asleep; but, being in a hurry, I sent the widow to
say that I wanted to see her only for two minutes in order to
communicate something of great importance. She received me, covering
herself up to the chin with the bed-clothes.
As soon as I had informed her of all I knew, she entreated me to enlist
M. Barbaro as a mediator between herself and her father, assuring me
that she would rather die than become the wife of the monster who had
dishonoured her. I undertook to do it, and she gave me the promise of
marriage used by the deceiver to seduce her, so that it could be shewn
to her father.
In order to obtain M. Barbaro's mediation in favour of the young
countess, it would have been necessary to tell him that she was under my
protection, and I felt it would injure my protegee. I took no
determination at first, and most likely one of the reasons for my
hesitation was that I saw myself on the point of losing her, which was
particularly repugnant to my feelings.
After dinner Count A---- S---- was announced as wishing to see M.
Barbaro. He came in with his son, the living portrait of his sister. M.
Barbaro took them to his study to talk the matter over, and within an
hour they had taken leave. As soon as they had gone, the excellent M.
Barbaro asked me, as I had expected, to consult my heavenly spirit, and
to ascertain whether he would be right in interfering in favour of Count
A---S---. He wrote the question himself, and I gave the following answer
with the utmost coolness:
"You ought to interfere, but only to advise the father to forgive his
daughter and to give up all idea of compelling her to marry her
ravisher, for Steffani has been sentenced to death by the will of God."
The answer seemed wonderful to the three friends, and I was myself
surprised at my boldness, but I had a foreboding that Steffani was to
meet his death at the hands of somebody; love might have given birth to
that presentiment. M. de Bragadin, who believed my oracle infallible,
observed that it had never given such a clear answer, and that Steffani
was certainly dead. He said to M. de Barbaro,
"You had better invite the count and his son to dinner hereto-morrow.
You must act slowly and prudently; it would be necessary to know where
the daughter is before you endeavour to make the father forgive her."
M. Barbaro very nearly made me drop my serious countenance by telling me
that if I would try my oracle I could let them know at once where the
girl was. I answered that I would certainly ask my spirit on the morrow,
thus gaining time in order to ascertain before hand the disposition of
the father and of his son. But I could not help laughing, for I had
placed myself under the necessity of sending Steffani to the next world,
if the reputation of my oracle was to be maintained.
I spent the evening with the young countess, who entertained no doubt
either of her father's indulgence or of the entire confidence she could
repose in me.
What delight the charming girl experienced when she heard that I would
dine the next day with her father and brother, and that I would tell her
every word that would be said about her! But what happiness it was for
me to see her convinced that she was right in loving me, and that,
without me, she would certainly have been lost in a town where the
policy of the government tolerates debauchery as a solitary species of
individual freedom. We congratulated each other upon our fortuitous
meeting and upon the conformity in our tastes, which we thought truly
wonderful. We were greatly pleased that her easy acceptance of my
invitation, or my promptness in persuading her to follow and to trust
me, could not be ascribed to the mutual attraction of our features, for
I was masked, and her hood was then as good as a mask. We entertained no
doubt that everything had been arranged by Heaven to get us acquainted,
and to fire us both, even unknown to ourselves, with love for each
other.
"Confess," I said to her, in a moment of enthusiasm, and as I was
covering her hand with kisses, "confess that if you found me to be in
love with you you would fear me."
"Alas! my only fear is to lose you."
That confession, the truth of which was made evident by her voice and by
her looks, proved the electric spark which ignited the latent fire.
Folding her rapidly in my arms, pressing my mouth on her lips, reading
in her beautiful eyes neither a proud indignation nor the cold
compliance which might have been the result of a fear of losing me, I
gave way entirely to the sweet inclination of love, and swimming already
in a sea of delights I felt my enjoyment increased a hundredfold when I
saw, on the countenance of the beloved creature who shared it, the
expression of happiness, of love, of modesty, and of sensibility, which
enhances the charm of the greatest triumph.
She had scarcely recovered her composure when she cast her eyes down and
sighed deeply. Thinking that I knew the cause of it, I threw myself on
my knees before her, and speaking to her words of the warmest affection
I begged, I entreated her, to forgive me.
"What offence have I to forgive you for, dear friend? You have not
rightly interpreted my thoughts. Your love caused me to think of my
happiness, and in that moment a cruel recollection drew that sigh from
me. Pray rise from your knees."
Midnight had struck already; I told her that her good fame made it
necessary for me to go away; I put my mask on and left the house. I was
so surprised, so amazed at having obtained a felicity of which I did not
think myself worthy, that my departure must have appeared rather abrupt
to her. I could not sleep. I passed one of those disturbed nights during
which the imagination of an amorous young man is unceasingly running
after the shadows of reality. I had tasted, but not savoured, that happy
reality, and all my being was longing for her who alone could make my
enjoyment complete. In that nocturnal drama love and imagination were
the two principal actors; hope, in the background, performed only a dumb
part. People may say what they please on that subject but hope is in
fact nothing but a deceitful flatterer accepted by reason only because
it is often in need of palliatives. Happy are those men who, to enjoy
life to the fullest extent, require neither hope nor foresight.
In the morning, recollecting the sentence of death which I had passed on
Steffani, I felt somewhat embarrassed about it. I wished I could have
recalled it, as well for the honour of my oracle, which was seriously
implicated by it, as for the sake of Steffani himself, whom I did not
hate half so much since I was indebted to him for the treasure in my
possession.
The count and his son came to dinner. The father was simple, artless,
and unceremonious. It was easy to read on his countenance the grief he
felt at the unpleasant adventure of his daughter, and his anxiety to
settle the affair honourably, but no anger could be traced on his
features or in his manners. The son, as handsome as the god of love, had
wit and great nobility of manner. His easy, unaffected carriage pleased
me, and wishing to win his friendship I shewed him every attention.
After the dessert, M. Barbaro contrived to persuade the count that we
were four persons with but one head and one heart, and the worthy
nobleman spoke to us without any reserve. He praised his daughter very
highly. He assured us that Steffani had never entered his house, and
therefore he could not conceive by what spell, speaking to his daughter
only at night and from the street under the window, he had succeeded in
seducing her to such an extent as to make her leave her home alone, on
foot, two days after he had left himself in his post-chaise.
"Then," observed M. Barbaro, "it is impossible to be certain that he
actually seduced her, or to prove that she went off with him."
"Very true, sir, but although it cannot be proved, there is no doubt of
it, and now that no one knows where Steffani is, he can be nowhere but
with her. I only want him to marry her."
"It strikes me that it would be better not to insist upon a compulsory
marriage which would seal your daughter's misery, for Steffani is, in
every respect, one of the most worthless young men we have amongst our
government clerks."
"Were I in your place," said M. de Bragadin, "I would let my daughter's
repentance disarm my anger, and I would forgive her."
"Where is she? I am ready to fold her in my arms, but how can I believe
in her repentance when it is evident that she is still with him."
"Is it quite certain that in leaving C---- she proceeded to this city?"
"I have it from the master of the barge himself, and she landed within
twenty yards of the Roman gate. An individual wearing a mask was waiting
for her, joined her at once, and they both disappeared without leaving
any trace of their whereabouts."
"Very likely it was Steffani waiting there for her."
"No, for he is short, and the man with the mask was tall. Besides, I
have heard that Steffani had left Venice two days before the arrival of
my daughter. The man must have been some friend of Steffani, and he has
taken her to him."
"But, my dear count, all this is mere supposition."
"There are four persons who have seen the man with the mask, and pretend
to know him, only they do not agree. Here is a list of four names, and I
will accuse these four persons before the Council of Ten, if Steffani
should deny having my daughter in his possession."
The list, which he handed to M. Barbaro, gave not only the names of the
four accused persons, but likewise those of their accusers. The last
name, which M. Barbaro read, was mine. When I heard it, I shrugged my
shoulders in a manner which caused the three friends to laugh heartily.
M. de Bragadin, seeing the surprise of the count at such uncalled-for
mirth, said to him,
"This is Casanova my son, and I give you my word of honour that, if your
daughter is in his hands, she is perfectly safe, although he may not
look exactly the sort of man to whom young girls should be trusted."
The surprise, the amazement, and the perplexity of the count and his son
were an amusing picture. The loving father begged me to excuse him, with
tears in his eyes, telling me to place myself in his position. My only
answer was to embrace him most affectionately.
The man who had recognized me was a noted pimp whom I had thrashed some
time before for having deceived me. If I had not been there just in time
to take care of the young countess, she would not have escaped him, and
he would have ruined her for ever by taking her to some house of ill-
fame.
The result of the meeting was that the count agreed to postpone his
application to the Council of Ten until Steffani's place of refuge
should be discovered.
"I have not seen Steffani for six months, sir," I said to the count,
"but I promise you to kill him in a duel as soon as he returns."
"You shall not do it," answered the young count, very coolly, "unless he
kills me first."
"Gentlemen," exclaimed M. de Bragadin, "I can assure you that you will
neither of you fight a duel with him, for Steffani is dead."
"Dead!" said the count.
"We must not," observed the prudent Barbaro, "take that word in its
literal sense, but the wretched man is dead to all honour and self-
respect."
After that truly dramatic scene, during which I could guess that the
denouement of the play was near at hand, I went to my charming countess,
taking care to change my gondola three times--a necessary precaution to
baffle spies.
I gave my anxious mistress an exact account of all the conversation. She
was very impatient for my coming, and wept tears of joy when I repeated
her father's words of forgiveness; but when I told her that nobody knew
of Steffani having entered her chamber, she fell on her knees and
thanked God. I then repeated her brother's words, imitating his
coolness: "You shall not kill him, unless he kills me first." She kissed
me tenderly, calling me her guardian angel, her saviour, and weeping in
my arms. I promised to bring her brother on the following day, or the
day after that at the latest. We had our supper, but we did not talk of
Steffani, or of revenge, and after that pleasant meal we devoted two
hours to the worship of the god of love.
I left her at midnight, promising to return early in the morning--my
reason for not remaining all night with her was that the landlady might,
if necessary, swear without scruple that I had never spent a night with
the young girl. It proved a very lucky inspiration of mine, for, when I
arrived home, I found the three friends waiting impatiently for me in
order to impart to me wonderful news which M. de Bragadin had heard at
the sitting of the senate.
"Steffani," said M. de Bragadin to me, "is dead, as our angel Paralis
revealed it to us; he is dead to the world, for he has become a Capuchin
friar. The senate, as a matter of course, has been informed of it. We
alone are aware that it is a punishment which God has visited upon him.
Let us worship the Author of all things, and the heavenly hierarchy
which renders us worthy of knowing what remains a mystery to all men.
Now we must achieve our undertaking, and console the poor father. We
must enquire from Paralis where the girl is. She cannot now be with
Steffani. Of course, God has not condemned her to become a Capuchin
nun."
"I need not consult my angel, dearest father, for it is by his express
orders that I have been compelled until now to make a mystery of the
refuge found by the young countess."
I related the whole story, except what they had no business to know,
for, in the opinion of the worthy men, who had paid heavy tribute to
Love, all intrigues were fearful crimes. M. Dandolo and M. Barbaro
expressed their surprise when they heard that the young girl had been
under my protection for a fortnight, but M. de Bragadin said that he was
not astonished, that it was according to cabalistic science, and that he
knew it.
"We must only," he added, "keep up the mystery of his daughter's place
of refuge for the count, until we know for a certainty that he will
forgive her, and that he will take her with him to C----, or to any
other place where he may wish to live hereafter."
"He cannot refuse to forgive her," I said, "when he finds that the
amiable girl would never have left C---- if her seducer had not given
her this promise of marriage in his own handwriting. She walked as far
as the barge, and she landed at the very moment I was passing the Roman
gate. An inspiration from above told me to accost her and to invite her
to follow me. She obeyed, as if she was fulfilling the decree of Heaven,
I took her to a refuge impossible to discover, and placed her under the
care of a God-fearing woman."
My three friends listened to me so attentively that they looked like
three statues. I advised them to invite the count to dinner for the day
after next, because I needed some time to consult 'Paralis de modo
tenendi'. I then told M. Barbaro to let the count know in what sense he
was to understand Steffani's death. He undertook to do it, and we
retired to rest.
I slept only four or five hours, and, dressing myself quickly, hurried
to my beloved mistress. I told the widow not to serve the coffee until
we called for it, because we wanted to remain quiet and undisturbed for
some hours, having several important letters to write.
I found the lovely countess in bed, but awake, and her eyes beaming with
happiness and contentment. For a fortnight I had only seen her sad,
melancholy, and thoughtful. Her pleased countenance, which I naturally
ascribed to my influence, filled me with joy. We commenced as all happy
lovers always do, and we were both unsparing of the mutual proofs of our
love, tenderness, and gratitude.
After our delightful amorous sport, I told her the news, but love had so
completely taken possession of her pure and sensitive soul, that what
had been important was now only an accessory. But the news of her
seducer having turned a Capuchin friar filled her with amazement, and,
passing very sensible remarks on the extraordinary event, she pitied
Steffani. When we can feel pity, we love no longer, but a feeling of
pity succeeding love is the characteristic only of a great and generous
mind. She was much pleased with me for having informed my three friends
of her being under my protection, and she left to my care all the
necessary arrangements for obtaining a reconciliation with her father.
Now and then we recollected that the time of our separation was near at
hand, our grief was bitter, but we contrived to forget it in the ecstacy
of our amorous enjoyment.
"Ah! why can we not belong for ever to each other?" the charming girl
would exclaim. "It is not my acquaintance with Steffani, it is your loss
which will seal my eternal misery."
But it was necessary to bring our delightful interview to a close, for
the hours were flying with fearful rapidity. I left her happy, her eyes
wet with tears of intense felicity.
At the dinner-table M. Barbaro told me that he had paid a visit to his
relative, Steffani's mother, and that she had not appeared sorry at the
decision taken by her son, although he was her only child.
"He had the choice," she said, "between killing himself and turning
friar, and he took the wiser course."
The woman spoke like a good Christian, and she professed to be one; but
she spoke like an unfeeling mother, and she was truly one, for she was
wealthy, and if she had not been cruelly avaricious her son would not
have been reduced to the fearful alternative of committing suicide or of
becoming a Capuchin friar.
The last and most serious motive which caused the despair of Steffani,
who is still alive, remained a mystery for everybody. My Memoirs will
raise the veil when no one will care anything about it.
The count and his son were, of course, greatly surprised, and the event
made them still more desirous of discovering the young lady. In order to
obtain a clue to her place of refuge, the count had resolved on
summoning before the Council of Ten all the parties, accused and
accusing, whose names he had on his list, with the exception of myself.
His determination made it necessary for us to inform him that his
daughter was in my hands, and M. de Bragadin undertook to let him know
the truth.
We were all invited to supper by the count, and we went to his hostelry,
with the exception of M. de Bragadin, who had declined the invitation. I
was thus prevented from seeing my divinity that evening, but early the
next morning I made up for lost time, and as it had been decided that
her father would on that very day be informed of her being under my
care, we remained together until noon. We had no hope of contriving
another meeting, for I had promised to bring her brother in the
afternoon.
The count and his son dined with us, and after dinner M. de Bragadin
said,
"I have joyful news for you, count; your beloved daughter has been
found!"
What an agreeable surprise for the father and son! M. de Bragadin handed
them the promise of marriage written by Steffani, and said,
"This, gentlemen, evidently brought your lovely young lady to the verge
of madness when she found that he had gone from C---- without her. She
left your house alone on foot, and as she landed in Venice Providence
threw her in the way of this young man, who induced her to follow him,
and has placed her under the care of an honest woman, whom she has not
left since, whom she will leave only to fall in your arms as soon as she
is certain of your forgiveness for the folly she has committed."
"Oh! let her have no doubt of my forgiving her," exclaimed the father,
in the ecstacy of joy, and turning to me, "Dear sir, I beg of you not to
delay the fortunate moment on which the whole happiness of my life
depends."
I embraced him warmly, saying that his daughter would be restored to him
on the following day, and that I would let his son see her that very
afternoon, so as to give him an opportunity of preparing her by degrees
for that happy reconciliation. M. Barbaro desired to accompany us, and
the young man, approving all my arrangements, embraced me, swearing
everlasting friendship and gratitude.
We went out all three together, and a gondola carried us in a few
minutes to the place where I was guarding a treasure more precious than
the golden apples of the Hesperides. But, alas! I was on the point of
losing that treasure, the remembrance of which causes me, even now, a
delicious trembling.
I preceded my two companions in order to prepare my lovely young friend
for the visit, and when I told her that, according to my arrangements,
her father would not see her till on the following day:
"Ah!" she exclaimed with the accent of true happiness, "then we can
spend a few more hours together! Go, dearest, go and bring my brother."
I returned with my companions, but how can I paint that truly dramatic
situation? Oh! how inferior art must ever be to nature! The fraternal
love, the delight beaming upon those two beautiful faces, with a slight
shade of confusion on that of the sister, the pure joy shining in the
midst of their tender caresses, the most eloquent exclamations followed
by a still more eloquent silence, their loving looks which seem like
flashes of lightning in the midst of a dew of tears, a thought of
politeness which brings blushes on her countenance, when she recollects
that she has forgotten her duty towards a nobleman whom she sees for the
first time, and finally there was my part, not a speaking one, but yet
the most important of all. The whole formed a living picture to which
the most skilful painter could not have rendered full justice.
We sat down at last, the young countess between her brother and M.
Barbaro, on the sofa, I, opposite to her, on a low foot-stool.
"To whom, dear sister, are we indebted for the happiness of having found
you again?"
"To my guardian angel," she answered, giving me her hand, "to this
generous man who was waiting for me, as if Heaven had sent him with the
special mission of watching over your sister; it is he who has saved me,
who has prevented me from falling into the gulf which yawned under my
feet, who has rescued me from the shame threatening me, of which I had
then no conception; it is to him I am indebted for all, to him who, as
you see, kisses my hand now for the first time."
And she pressed her handkerchief to her beautiful eyes to dry her tears,
but ours were flowing at the same time.
Such is true virtue, which never loses its nobleness, even when modesty
compels it to utter some innocent falsehood. But the charming girl had
no idea of being guilty of an untruth. It was a pure, virtuous soul
which was then speaking through her lips, and she allowed it to speak.
Her virtue seemed to whisper to her that, in spite of her errors, it had
never deserted her. A young girl who gives way to a real feeling of love
cannot be guilty of a crime, or be exposed to remorse.
Towards the end of our friendly visit, she said that she longed to throw
herself at her father's feet, but that she wished to see him only in the
evening, so as not to give any opportunity to the gossips of the place,
and it was agreed that the meeting, which was to be the last scene of
the drama, should take place the next day towards the evening.
We returned to the count's hostelry for supper, and the excellent man,
fully persuaded that he was indebted to me for his honour as well as for
his daughter's, looked at me with admiration, and spoke to me with
gratitude. Yet he was not sorry to have ascertained himself, and before
I had said so, that I had been the first man who had spoken to her after
landing. Before parting in the evening, M. Barbaro invited them to
dinner for the next day.
I went to my charming mistress very early the following morning, and,
although there was some danger in protracting our interview, we did not
give it a thought, or, if we did, it only caused us to make good use of
the short time that we could still devote to love.
After having enjoyed, until our strength was almost expiring, the most
delightful, the most intense voluptuousness in which mutual ardour can
enfold two young, vigorous, and passionate lovers, the young countess
dressed herself, and, kissing her slippers, said she would never part
with them as long as she lived. I asked her to give me a lock of her
hair, which she did at once. I meant to have it made into a chain like
the one woven with the hair of Madame F----, which I still wore round my
neck.
Towards dusk, the count and his son, M. Dandolo, M. Barbaro, and myself,
proceeded together to the abode of the young countess. The moment she
saw her father, she threw herself on her knees before him, but the
count, bursting into tears, took her in his arms, covered her with
kisses, and breathed over her words of forgiveness, of love and
blessing. What a scene for a man of sensibility! An hour later we
escorted the family to the inn, and, after wishing them a pleasant
journey, I went back with my two friends to M. de Bragadin, to whom I
gave a faithful account of what had taken place.
We thought that they had left Venice, but the next morning they called
at the place in a peotta with six rowers. The count said that they could
not leave the city without seeing us once more; without thanking us
again, and me particularly, for all we had done for them. M. de
Bragadin, who had not seen the young countess before, was struck by her
extraordinary likeness to her brother.
They partook of some refreshments, and embarked in their peotta, which
was to carry them, in twenty-four hours, to Ponte di Lago Oscuro, on the
River Po, near the frontiers of the papal states. It was only with my
eyes that I could express to the lovely girl all the feelings which
filled my heart, but she understood the language, and I had no
difficulty in interpreting the meaning of her looks.
Never did an introduction occur in better season than that of the count
to M. Barbaro. It saved the honour of a respectable family; and it saved
me from the unpleasant consequences of an interrogatory in the presence
of the Council of Ten, during which I should have been convicted of
having taken the young girl with me, and compelled to say what I had
done with her.
A few days afterwards we all proceeded to Padua to remain in that city
until the end of autumn. I was grieved not to find Doctor Gozzi in
Padua; he had been appointed to a benefice in the country, and he was
living there with Bettina; she had not been able to remain with the
scoundrel who had married her only for the sake of her small dowry, and
had treated her very ill.
I did not like the quiet life of Padua, and to avoid dying from ennui I
fell in love with a celebrated Venetian courtesan. Her name was Ancilla;
sometime after, the well-known dancer, Campioni, married her and took
her to London, where she caused the death of a very worthy Englishman. I
shall have to mention her again in four years; now I have only to speak
of a certain circumstance which brought my love adventure with her to a
close after three or four weeks.
Count Medini, a young, thoughtless fellow like myself, and with
inclinations of much the same cast, had introduced me to Ancilla. The
count was a confirmed gambler and a thorough enemy of fortune. There was
a good deal of gambling going on at Ancilla's, whose favourite lover he
was, and the fellow had presented me to his mistress only to give her
the opportunity of making a dupe of me at the card-table.
And, to tell the truth, I was a dupe at first; not thinking of any foul
play, I accepted ill luck without complaining; but one day I caught them
cheating. I took a pistol out of my pocket, and, aiming at Medini's
breast, I threatened to kill him on the spot unless he refunded at once
all the gold they had won from me. Ancilla fainted away, and the count,
after refunding the money, challenged me to follow him out and measure
swords. I placed my pistols on the table, and we went out. Reaching a
convenient spot, we fought by the bright light of the moon, and I was
fortunate enough to give him a gash across the shoulder. He could not
move his arm, and he had to cry for mercy.
After that meeting, I went to bed and slept quietly, but in the morning
I related the whole affair to my father, and he advised me to leave
Padua immediately, which I did.
Count Medini remained my enemy through all his life. I shall have
occasion to speak of him again when I reach Naples.
The remainder of the year 1746 passed off quietly, without any events of
importance. Fortune was now favourable to me and now adverse.
Towards the end of January, 1747, I received a letter from the young
countess A---- S----, who had married the Marquis of----. She entreated
me not to appear to know her, if by chance I visited the town in which
she resided, for she had the happiness of having linked her destiny to
that of a man who had won her heart after he had obtained her hand.
I had already heard from her brother that, after their return to C----,
her mother had taken her to the city from which her letter was written,
and there, in the house of a relative with whom she was residing, she
had made the acquaintance of the man who had taken upon himself the
charge of her future welfare and happiness. I saw her one year
afterwards, and if it had not been for her letter, I should certainly
have solicited an introduction to her husband. Yet, peace of mind has
greater charms even than love; but, when love is in the way, we do not
think so.
For a fortnight I was the lover of a young Venetian girl, very handsome,
whom her father, a certain Ramon, exposed to public admiration as a
dancer at the theatre. I might have remained longer her captive, if
marriage had not forcibly broken my chains. Her protectress, Madame
Cecilia Valmarano, found her a very proper husband in the person of a
French dancer, called Binet, who had assumed the name of Binetti, and
thus his young wife had not to become a French woman; she soon won great
fame in more ways than one. She was strangely privileged; time with its
heavy hand seemed to have no power over her. She always appeared young,
even in the eyes of the best judges of faded, bygone female beauty. Men,
as a general rule, do not ask for anything more, and they are right in
not racking their brain for the sake of being convinced that they are
the dupes of external appearance. The last lover that the wonderful
Binetti killed by excess of amorous enjoyment was a certain Mosciuski, a
Pole, whom fate brought to Venice seven or eight years ago; she had then
reached her sixty-third year!
My life in Venice would have been pleasant and happy, if I could have
abstained from punting at basset. The ridotti were only open to noblemen
who had to appear without masks, in their patrician robes, and wearing
the immense wig which had become indispensable since the beginning of
the century. I would play, and I was wrong, for I had neither prudence
enough to leave off when fortune was adverse, nor sufficient control
over myself to stop when I had won. I was then gambling through a
feeling of avarice. I was extravagant by taste, and I always regretted
the money I had spent, unless it had been won at the gaming-table, for
it was only in that case that the money had, in my opinion, cost me
nothing.
At the end of January, finding myself under the necessity of procuring
two hundred sequins, Madame Manzoni contrived to obtain for me from
another woman the loan of a diamond ring worth five hundred. I made up
my mind to go to Treviso, fifteen miles distant from Venice, to pawn the
ring at the Mont-de-piete, which there lends money upon valuables at the
rate of five per cent. That useful establishment does not exist in
Venice, where the Jews have always managed to keep the monopoly in their
hands.
I got up early one morning, and walked to the end of the canale regio,
intending to engage a gondola to take me as far as Mestra, where I could
take post horses, reach Treviso in less than two hours, pledge my
diamond ring, and return to Venice the same evening.
As I passed along St. Job's Quay, I saw in a two-oared gondola a country
girl beautifully dressed. I stopped to look at her; the gondoliers,
supposing that I wanted an opportunity of reaching Mestra at a cheap
rate, rowed back to the shore.
Observing the lovely face of the young girl, I do not hesitate, but jump
into the gondola, and pay double fare, on condition that no more
passengers are taken. An elderly priest was seated near the young girl,
he rises to let me take his place, but I politely insist upon his
keeping it.
CHAPTER XIX
I Fall in Love with Christine, and Find a Husband Worthy of Her--
Christine's Wedding
"Those gondoliers," said the elderly priest, ad dressing me in order to
begin the conversation, "are very fortunate. They took us up at the
Rialto for thirty soldi, on condition that they would 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
more passengers."
So saying, I give forty more soldi to the gondoliers, who, highly
pleased with my generosity, thank me and call me excellency. The good
priest, accepting that title as truly belonging to me, entreats 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 Excellenza."
"Ah!" says the young lady, "I am very glad of it."
"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."
"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 P----, 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 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 travelling, 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 think I would 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
travelling companions were rather simple, and I was not sorry to find
them so.
"Why do you laugh so heartily, beautiful 'demigella'? Is it to shew 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 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?"
"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 liked ever made a declaration to me."
"What sort of declaration did you want?"
"There's 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 that 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 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 ensure happiness in married life."
"What do you mean by character?" asked Christine; "is it a beautiful
hand-writing?"
"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 hair-
dresser, and as much at least for pomatum and perfumes."
"She was a giddy, foolish girl. Now, I spend only ten soldi in one year
on wax which I mix with goat's grease, and there I have an excellent
pomatum."
"Another, whom I would have married two years ago, laboured under a
disease which would have made me unhappy; as soon as I knew of it, I
ceased my visits."
"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 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 chiding 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 is 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 colours 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 that
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 you do not believe me, sir?"
"No, they are too beautiful for me to believe them 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 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 countrywomen, she had more than one
hundred sequins' worth of gold pins and arrows which fastened the plaits
of her long locks as dark as ebony. Heavy gold ear-rings, 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, Lucie at Pasean 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 of Marghera, 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." |
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