the memories of casanova 144

the memories of casanova 144

He had also paid my room a visit. She told me that she must have some

reparation made her, and thinking she was in the right I promised to

speak to M. de Bragadin on the matter the same day. Needing rest above

all things, I lay down, but my nervous excitement, which I attributed to

my heavy losses at play, made me rise after three or four hours, and I

went to see M. de Bragadin, to whom I told the whole story begging him

to press for some signal amends. I made a lively representation to him

of all the grounds on which my landlady required proportionate amends to

be made, since the laws guaranteed the peace of all law-abiding people.

 

I saw that the three friends were greatly saddened by what I said, and

the wise old man, quietly but sadly, told me that I should have my

answer after dinner.

 

De la Haye dined with us, but all through the meal, which was a

melancholy one, he spoke not a word. His silence should have told me

all, if I had not been under the influence of some malevolent genii who

would not allow me to exercise my common sense: as to the sorrow of my

three friends, I put that down to their friendship for me. My connection

with these worthy men had always been the talk of the town, and as all

were agreed that it could not be explained on natural grounds, it was

deemed to be the effect of some sorcery exercised by me. These three men

were thoroughly religious and virtuous citizens; I was nothing if not

irreligious, and Venice did not contain a greater libertine. Virtue, it

was said, may have compassion on vice, but cannot become its friend.

 

After dinner M. de Bragadin took me into his closet with his two

friends, from whom he had no secrets. He told me with wonderful calmness

that instead of meditating vengeance on Messer-Grande I should be

thinking of putting myself in a place of safety. "The portmanteau," said

he, "was a mere pretext; it was you they wanted and thought to find.

Since your good genius has made them miss you, look out for yourself;

perhaps by to-morrow it may be too late. I have been a State Inquisitor

for eight months, and I know the way in which the arrests ordered by the

court are carried out. They would not break open a door to look for a

box of salt. Indeed, it is possible that they knew you were out, and

sought to warn you to escape in this manner. Take my advice, my dear

son, and set out directly for Fusina, and thence as quickly as you can

make your way to Florence, where you can remain till I write to you that

you may return with safety. If you have no money I will give you a

hundred sequins for present expenses. Believe me that prudence bids you

go."

 

Blinded by my folly, I answered him that being guilty of nothing I had

nothing to fear, and that consequently, although I knew his advice was

good, I could not follow it.

 

"The high court," said he, "may deem you guilty of crimes real or

imaginary; but in any case it will give you no account of the

accusations against you. Ask your oracle if you shall follow my advice

or not." I refused because I knew the folly of such a proceeding, but by

way of excuse I said that I only consulted it when I was in doubt.

Finally, I reasoned that if I fled I should be shewing fear, and thus

confessing my guilt, for an innocent man, feeling no remorse, cannot

reasonably be afraid of anything.

 

"If secrecy," said I, "is of the essence of the Court, you cannot

possibly judge, after my escape, whether I have done so rightly or

wrongly. The same reasons, which, according to your excellence, bid me

go, would forbid my return. Must I then say good-bye for ever to my

country, and all that is dear to me?" As a last resource he tried to

persuade me to pass the following day and night, at least, at the

palace. I am still ashamed of having refused the worthy old man to whom

I owed so much this favour; for the palace of a noble is sacred to the

police who dare not cross its threshold without a special order from the

Tribunal, which is practically never given; by yielding to his request I

should have avoided a grievous misfortune, and spared the worthy old man

some acute grief.

 

I was moved to see M. de Bragadin weeping, and perhaps I might have

granted to his tears that which I had obstinately refused to his

arguments and entreaties. "For Heaven's sake!" said I, "spare me the

harrowing sight of your tears." In an instant he summoned all his

strength to his assistance, made some indifferent remarks, and then,

with a smile full of good nature, he embraced me, saying, "Perhaps I may

be fated never to see you again, but 'Fata viam invenient'."

 

I embraced him affectionately, and went away, but his prediction was

verified, for I never saw him again; he died eleven years afterwards. I

found myself in the street without feeling the slightest fear, but I was

in a good deal of trouble about my debts. I had not the heart to go to

Muran to take away from M. M. her last five hundred sequins, which sum I

owed to the man who won it from me in the night; I preferred asking him

to wait eight days, and I did so. After performing this unpleasant piece

of business I returned home, and, having consoled my landlady to the

utmost of my power, I kissed the daughter, and lay down to sleep. The

date was July 25th, 1755.

 

Next morning at day-break who should enter my room but the awful Messer-

Grande. To awake, to see him, and to hear him asking if I were Jacques

Casanova, was the work of a moment. At my "yes, I am Casanova," he told

me to rise, to put on my clothes, to give him all the papers and

manuscripts in my possession, and to follow him.

 

"On whose authority do you order me to do this?"

 

"By the authority of the Tribunal."

 

 

 

 

 

EPISODE 10 -- UNDER THE LEADS

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXVI

 

 

Under The Leads--The Earthquake

 

What a strange and unexplained power certain words exercise upon the

soul! I, who the evening before so bravely fortified myself with my

innocence and courage, by the word tribunal was turned to a stone, with

merely the faculty of passive obedience left to me.

 

My desk was open, and all my papers were on a table where I was

accustomed to write.

 

"Take them," said I, to the agent of the dreadful Tribunal, pointing to

the papers which covered the table. He filled a bag with them, and gave

it to one of the sbirri, and then told me that I must also give up the

bound manuscripts which I had in my possession. I shewed him where they

were, and this incident opened my eyes. I saw now, clearly enough, that

I had been betrayed by the wretch Manuzzi. The books were, "The Key of

Solomon the King," "The Zecorben," a "Picatrix," a book of "Instructions

on the Planetary Hours," and the necessary incantations for conversing

with demons of all sorts. Those who were aware that I possessed these

books took me for an expert magician, and I was not sorry to have such a

reputation.

 

Messer-Grande took also the books on the table by my bed, such as

Petrarch, Ariosto, Horace. "The Military' Philosopher" (a manuscript

which Mathilde had given me), "The Porter of Chartreux," and "The

Aretin," which Manuzzi had also denounced, for Messer-Grande asked me

for it by name. This spy, Manuzzi, had all the appearance of an honest

man--a very necessary qualification for his profession. His son made his

fortune in Poland by marrying a lady named Opeska, whom, as they say, he

killed, though I have never had any positive proof on the matter, and am

willing to stretch Christian charity to the extent of believing he was

innocent, although he was quite capable of such a crime.

 

While Messer-Grande was thus rummaging among my manuscripts, books and

letters, I was dressing myself in an absent-minded manner, neither

hurrying myself nor the reverse. I made my toilette, shaved myself, and

combed my hair; putting on mechanically a laced shirt and my holiday

suit without saying a word, and without Messer-Grande--who did not let

me escape his sight for an instant--complaining that I was dressing

myself as if I were going to a wedding.

 

As I went out I was surprised to see a band of forty men-at-arms in the

ante-room. They had done me the honour of thinking all these men

necessary for my arrest, though, according to the axiom 'Ne Hercules

quidem contra duos', two would have been enough. It is curious that in

London, where everyone is brave, only one man is needed to arrest

another, whereas in my dear native land, where cowardice prevails,

thirty are required. The reason is, perhaps, that the coward on the

offensive is more afraid than the coward on the defensive, and thus a

man usually cowardly is transformed for the moment into a man of

courage. It is certain that at Venice one often sees a man defending

himself against twenty sbirri, and finally escaping after beating them

soundly. I remember once helping a friend of mine at Paris to escape

from the hands of forty bum-bailiffs, and we put the whole vile rout of

them to flight.

 

Messer-Grande made me get into a gondola, and sat down near me with an

escort of four men. When we came to our destination he offered me

coffee, which I refused; and he then shut me up in a room. I passed

these four hours in sleep, waking up every quarter of an hour to pass

water--an extraordinary occurrence, as I was not at all subject to

stranguary; the heat was great, and I had not supped the evening before.

I have noticed at other times that surprise at a deed of oppression acts

on me as a powerful narcotic, but I found out at the time I speak of

that great surprise is also a diuretic. I make this discovery over to

the doctors, it is possible that some learned man may make use of it to

solace the ills of humanity. I remember laughing very heartily at Prague

six years ago, on learning that some thin-skinned ladies, on reading my

flight from The Leads, which was published at that date, took great

offence at the above account, which they thought I should have done well

to leave out. I should have left it out, perhaps, in speaking to a lady,

but the public is not a pretty woman whom I am intent on cajoling, my

only aim is to be instructive. Indeed, I see no impropriety in the

circumstance I have narrated, which is as common to men and women as

eating and drinking; and if there is anything in it to shock too

sensitive nerves, it is that we resemble in this respect the cows and pigs.