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Memoirs of Jacques Casanova, The - Vol. 1

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On the same night I had the honour of offering my arm to Madame F&mdash;-during the procession which takes place in commemoration of the death of our Lord and Saviour, which was then attended on foot by all the nobility. I expected she would mention the matter, but she did not. My love was in despair, and through the night I could not close my eyes. I feared she had been offended by my refusal, and was overwhelmed with grief. I passed the whole of the next day without breaking my fast, and did not utter a single word during the evening reception. I felt very unwell, and I had an attack of fever which kept me in bed on Easter Sunday. I was very weak on the Monday, and intended to remain in my room, when a messenger from Madame F&mdash;&mdash; came to inform me that she wished to see me. I told the messenger not to say that he had found me in bed, and dressing myself rapidly I hurried to her house. I entered her room, pale, looking very ill: yet she did not enquire after my health, and kept silent a minute or two, as if she had been trying to recollect what she had to say to me. </p> <p> "Ah! yes, you are aware that our adjutant is dead, and that we want to replace him. My husband, who has a great esteem for you, and feels that M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; leaves you perfectly free to make your choice, has taken the singular fancy that you will come, if I ask you myself to do us that pleasure. Is he mistaken? If you would come to us, you would have that room." </p> <p> She was pointing to a room adjoining the chamber in which she slept, and so situated that, to see her in every part of her room, I should not even require to place myself at the window. </p> <p> "M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-," she continued, "will not love you less, and as he will see you here every day, he will not be likely to forget his interest in your welfare. Now, tell me, will you come or not?" </p> <p> "I wish I could, madam, but indeed I cannot." </p> <p> "You cannot? That is singular. Take a seat, and tell me what there is to prevent you, when, in accepting my offer, you are sure to please M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; as well as us." </p> <p> "If I were certain of it, I would accept immediately; but all I have heard from his lips was that he left me free to make a choice." </p> <p> "Then you are afraid to grieve him, if you come to us?" </p> <p> "It might be, and for nothing on earth...." </p> <p> "I am certain of the contrary." </p> <p> "Will you be so good as to obtain that he says so to me himself?" </p> <p> "And then you will come?" </p> <p> "Oh, madam! that very minute!" </p> <p> But the warmth of my exclamation might mean a great deal, and I turned my head round so as not to embarrass her. She asked me to give her her mantle to go to church, and we went out. As we were going down the stairs, she placed her ungloved hand upon mine. It was the first time that she had granted me such a favour, and it seemed to me a good omen. She took off her hand, asking me whether I was feverish. "Your hand," she said, "is burning." </p> <p> When we left the church, M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-'s carriage happened to pass, and I assisted her to get in, and as soon as she had gone, hurried to my room in order to breathe freely and to enjoy all the felicity which filled my soul; for I no longer doubted her love for me, and I knew that, in this case, M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; was not likely to refuse her anything. </p> <p> What is love? I have read plenty of ancient verbiage on that subject, I have read likewise most of what has been said by modern writers, but neither all that has been said, nor what I have thought about it, when I was young and now that I am no longer so, nothing, in fact, can make me agree that love is a trifling vanity. It is a sort of madness, I grant that, but a madness over which philosophy is entirely powerless; it is a disease to which man is exposed at all times, no matter at what age, and which cannot be cured, if he is attacked by it in his old age. Love being sentiment which cannot be explained! God of all nature!&mdash;bitter and sweet feeling! Love!&mdash;charming monster which cannot be fathomed! God who, in the midst of all the thorns with which thou plaguest us, strewest so many roses on our path that, without thee, existence and death would be united and blended together! </p> <p> Two days afterwards, M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, told me to go and take orders from M. F&mdash;&mdash; on board his galley, which was ready for a five or six days' voyage. I quickly packed a few things, and called for my new patron who received me with great joy. We took our departure without seeing madam, who was not yet visible. We returned on the sixth day, and I went to establish myself in my new home, for, as I was preparing to go to M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, to take his orders, after our landing, he came himself, and after asking M. F&mdash;&mdash; and me whether we were pleased with each other, he said to me, </p> <p> "Casanova, as you suit each other so well, you may be certain that you will greatly please me by remaining in the service of M. F." </p> <p> I obeyed respectfully, and in less than one hour I had taken possession of my new quarters. Madame F&mdash;&mdash; told me how delighted she was to see that great affair ended according to her wishes, and I answered with a deep reverence. </p> <p> I found myself like the salamander, in the very heart of the fire for which I had been longing so ardently. </p> <p> Almost constantly in the presence of Madame F&mdash;&mdash;, dining often alone with her, accompanying her in her walks, even when M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; was not with us, seeing her from my room, or conversing with her in her chamber, always reserved and attentive without pretension, the first night passed by without any change being brought about by that constant intercourse. Yet I was full of hope, and to keep up my courage I imagined that love was not yet powerful enough to conquer her pride. I expected everything from some lucky chance, which I promised myself to improve as soon as it should present itself, for I was persuaded that a lover is lost if he does not catch fortune by the forelock. </p> <p> But there was one circumstance which annoyed me. In public, she seized every opportunity of treating me with distinction, while, when we were alone, it was exactly the reverse. In the eyes of the world I had all the appearance of a happy lover, but I would rather have had less of the appearance of happiness and more of the reality. My love for her was disinterested; vanity had no share in my feelings. </p> <p> One day, being alone with me, she said, </p> <p> "You have enemies, but I silenced them last night." </p> <p> "They are envious, madam, and they would pity me if they could read the secret pages of my heart. You could easily deliver me from those enemies." </p> <p> "How can you be an object of pity for them, and how could I deliver you from them?" </p> <p> "They believe me happy, and I am miserable; you would deliver me from them by ill-treating me in their presence." </p> <p> "Then you would feel my bad treatment less than the envy of the wicked?" </p> <p> "Yes, madam, provided your bad treatment in public were compensated by your kindness when we are alone, for there is no vanity in the happiness I feel in belonging to you. Let others pity me, I will be happy on condition that others are mistaken." </p> <p> "That's a part that I can never play." </p> <p> I would often be indiscreet enough to remain behind the curtain of the window in my room, looking at her when she thought herself perfectly certain that nobody saw her; but the liberty I was thus guilty of never proved of great advantage to me. Whether it was because she doubted my discretion or from habitual reserve, she was so particular that, even when I saw her in bed, my longing eyes never could obtain a sight of anything but her head. </p> <p> One day, being present in her room while her maid was cutting off the points of her long and beautiful hair, I amused myself in picking up all those pretty bits, and put them all, one after the other, on her toilettable, with the exception of one small lock which I slipped into my pocket, thinking that she had not taken any notice of my keeping it; but the moment we were alone she told me quietly, but rather too seriously, to take out of my pocket the hair I had picked up from the floor. Thinking she was going too far, and such rigour appearing to me as cruel as it was unjust and absurd, I obeyed, but threw the hair on the toilet-table with an air of supreme contempt. </p> <p> "Sir, you forget yourself." </p> <p> "No, madam, I do not, for you might have feigned not to have observed such an innocent theft." </p> <p> "Feigning is tiresome." </p> <p> "Was such petty larceny a very great crime?" </p> <p> "No crime, but it was an indication of feelings which you have no right to entertain for me." </p> <p> "Feelings which you are at liberty not to return, madam, but which hatred or pride can alone forbid my heart to experience. If you had a heart you would not be the victim of either of those two fearful passions, but you have only head, and it must be a very wicked head, judging by the care it takes to heap humiliation upon me. You have surprised my secret, madam, you may use it as you think proper, but in the meantime I have learned to know you thoroughly. That knowledge will prove more useful than your discovery, for perhaps it will help me to become wiser." </p> <p> After this violent tirade I left her, and as she did not call me back retired to my room. In the hope that sleep would bring calm, I undressed and went to bed. In such moments a lover hates the object of his love, and his heart distils only contempt and hatred. I could not go to sleep, and when I was sent for at supper-time I answered that I was ill. The night passed off without my eyes being visited by sleep, and feeling weak and low I thought I would wait to see what ailed me, and refused to have my dinner, sending word that I was still very unwell. Towards evening I felt my heart leap for joy when I heard my beautiful lady-love enter my room. Anxiety, want of food and sleep, gave me truly the appearance of being ill, and I was delighted that it should be so. I sent her away very soon, by telling her with perfect indifference that it was nothing but a bad headache, to which I was subject, and that repose and diet would effect a speedy cure. </p> <p> But at eleven o'clock she came back with her friend, M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, and coming to my bed she said, affectionately, </p> <p> "What ails you, my poor Casanova?" </p> <p> "A very bad headache, madam, which will be cured to-morrow." </p> <p> "Why should you wait until to-morrow? You must get better at once. I have ordered a basin of broth and two new-laid eggs for you." </p> <p> "Nothing, madam; complete abstinence can alone cure me." </p> <p> "He is right," said M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, "I know those attacks." </p> <p> I shook my head slightly. M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; having just then turned round to examine an engraving, she took my hand, saying that she would like me to drink some broth, and I felt that she was giving me a small parcel. She went to look at the engraving with M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-. </p> <p> I opened the parcel, but feeling that it contained hair, I hurriedly concealed it under the bed-clothes: at the same moment the blood rushed to my head with such violence that it actually frightened me. I begged for some water, she came to me, with M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, and then were both frightened to see me so red, when they had seen me pale and weak only one minute before. </p> <p> Madame F&mdash;&mdash; gave me a glass of water in which she put some Eau des carmes which instantly acted as a violent emetic. Two or three minutes after I felt better, and asked for something to eat. Madame F&mdash;&mdash; smiled. The servant came in with the broth and the eggs, and while I was eating I told the history of Pandolfin. M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; thought it was all a miracle, and I could read, on the countenance of the charming woman, love, affection, and repentance. If M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; had not been present, it would have been the moment of my happiness, but I felt certain that I should not have long to wait. M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash; told Madame F&mdash;&mdash; that, if he had not seen me so sick, he would have believed my illness to be all sham, for he did not think it possible for anyone to rally so rapidly. </p> <p> "It is all owing to my Eau des carmes," said Madame F&mdash;&mdash;-, looking at me, "and I will leave you my bottle." </p> <p> "No, madam, be kind enough to take it with you, for the water would have no virtue without your presence." </p> <p> "I am sure of that," said M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, "so I will leave you here with your patient." </p> <p> "No, no, he must go to sleep now." </p> <p> I slept all night, but in my happy dreams I was with her, and the reality itself would hardly have procured me greater enjoyment than I had during my happy slumbers. I saw I had taken a very long stride forward, for twenty-four hours of abstinence gave me the right to speak to her openly of my love, and the gift of her hair was an irrefutable confession of her own feelings. </p> <p> On the following day, after presenting myself before M. F&mdash;&mdash;, I went to have a little chat with the maid, to wait until her mistress was visible, which was not long, and I had the pleasure of hearing her laugh when the maid told her I was there. As soon as I went in, without giving me time to say a single word, she told me how delighted she was to see me looking so well, and advised me to call upon M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-. </p> <p> It is not only in the eyes of a lover, but also in those of every man of taste, that a woman is a thousand times more lovely at the moment she comes out of the arms of Morpheus than when she has completed her toilet. Around Madame F&mdash;&mdash; more brilliant beams were blazing than around the sun when he leaves the embrace of Aurora. Yet the most beautiful woman thinks as much of her toilet as the one who cannot do without it&mdash;very likely because more human creatures possess the more they want. </p> <p> In the order given to me by Madame F&mdash;&mdash; to call on M. D&mdash;&mdash; R&mdash;&mdash;-, I saw another reason to be certain of approaching happiness, for I thought that, by dismissing me so quickly, she had only tried to postpone the consummation which I might have pressed upon her, and which she could not have refused. </p> <p> Rich in the possession of her hair, I held a consultation with my love to decide what I ought to do with it, for Madame F&mdash;&mdash;, very likely in her wish to atone for the miserly sentiment which had refused me a small bit, had given me a splendid lock, full a yard and a half long. Having thought it over, I called upon a Jewish confectioner whose daughter was a skilful embroiderer, and I made her embroider before me, on a bracelet of green satin, the four initial letters of our names, and make a very thin chain with the remainder. I had a piece of black ribbon added to one end of the chain, in the shape of a sliding noose, with which I could easily strangle myself if ever love should reduce me to despair, and I passed it round my neck. As I did not want to lose even the smallest particle of so precious a treasure, I cut with a pair of scissors all the small bits which were left, and devoutly gathered them together. Then I reduced them into a fine powder, and ordered the Jewish confectioner to mix the powder in my presence with a paste made of amber, sugar, vanilla, angelica, alkermes and storax, and I waited until the comfits prepared with that mixture were ready. I had some more made with the same composition, but without any hair; I put the first in a beautiful sweetmeat box of fine crystal, and the second in a tortoise-shell box. </p> <p> From the day when, by giving me her hair, Madame F&mdash;&mdash; had betrayed the secret feelings of her heart, I no longer lost my time in relating stories or adventures; I only spoke to her of my cove, of my ardent desires; I told her that she must either banish me from her presence, or crown my happiness, but the cruel, charming woman would not accept that alternative. She answered that happiness could not be obtained by offending every moral law, and by swerving from our duties. If I threw myself at her feet to obtain by anticipation her forgiveness for the loving violence I intended to use against her, she would repulse me more powerfully than if she had had the strength of a female Hercules, for she would say, in a voice full of sweetness and affection, </p> <p> "My friend, I do not entreat you to respect my weakness, but be generous enough to spare me for the sake of all the love I feel for you." </p> <p> "What! you love me, and you refuse to make me happy! It is impossible! it is unnatural. You compel me to believe that you do not love me. Only allow me to press my lips one moment upon your lips, and I ask no more." </p> <p> "No, dearest, no; it would only excite the ardour of your desires, shake my resolution, and we should then find ourselves more miserable than we are now." </p> <p>
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