CHAPTER THREE.
Casanova and Olivo regained the highroad. In a cloud of dust, a carriagedrove up, and as they drew near the occupants shouted greetings. Thenewcomers were an elderly gentleman in elegant attire and a lady who wassomewhat younger, of generous proportions, and conspicuously rouged.
"The Marchese," whispered Olivo to his companion.
The carriage halted.
"Good evening, my dear Olivo," said the Marchese. "Will you be so goodas to introduce me to the Chevalier de Seingalt? I have no doubt that itis the Chevalier whom I have the pleasure of seeing."
Casanova bowed, saying: "Yes, I am he."
"I am the Marchese Celsi. Let me present the Marchesa, my spouse." Thelady offered her finger tips. Casanova touched them with his lips.
The Marchese was two or three inches taller than Casanova, andunnaturally lean. He had a narrow face, of a yellow, waxy tint; hisgreenish eyes were piercing; his thick eyebrows were of reddish color,and met across the root of the nose. These characteristics gave him asomewhat formidable aspect. "My good Olivo," he said, "we are all goingto the same destination. Since it is little more than half a mile toyour house, I shall get out and walk with you. You won't mind drivingthe rest of the way alone," he added, turning to the Marchesa, who hadmeanwhile been gazing at Casanova with searching, passionate eyes.Without awaiting his wife's answer, the Marchese nodded to the coachman,who promptly lashed the horses furiously, as if he had some reason fordriving his mistress away at top speed. In an instant the carriagevanished in a whirl of dust.
"The whole neighborhood," said the Marchese, "is already aware thatthe Chevalier de Seingalt has come to spend a few days with his friendOlivo. It must be glorious to bear so renowned a name."
"You flatter me, Signor Marchese," replied Casanova. "I have not yetabandoned the hope of winning such a name, but I am still far fromhaving done so. It may be that a work on which I am now engaged willbring me nearer to the goal."
"We can take a short cut here," said Olivo, turning into a path whichled straight to the wall of his garden.
"Work?" echoed the Marchese with a doubtful air. "May I enquire to whatwork you refer, Chevalier?"
"If you ask me that question, Signor Marchese, I shall in my turn feelimpelled to enquire what you meant just now when you referred to myrenown."
Arrogantly he faced the Marchese's piercing eyes. He knew perfectly wellthat neither his romance _Icosameron_ nor yet his _Confutazione dellastoria del governo veneto d'Amelot de la Houssaie_ had brought him anynotable reputation as an author. Nevertheless it was his pose to implythat for him no other sort of reputation was desirable. He thereforedeliberately misunderstood the Marchese's tentative observations andcautious allusions, which implied that Casanova was a celebratedseducer, gamester, man of affairs, political emissary, or what not.Celsi made no reference to authorship, for he had never heard ofeither the _Refutation of Amelot_ or the _Icosameron_. At length,therefore, in polite embarrassment, he said: "After all, there isonly one Casanova."
"There, likewise, you are mistaken, Signor Marchese," said Casanovacoldly. "I have relatives, and a connoisseur like yourself must surelybe acquainted with the name of one of my brothers, Francesco Casanova,the painter."
It seemed that the Marchese had no claim to connoisseurship in thisfield either, and he turned the conversation to acquaintances living inNaples, Rome, Milan, or Mantua, persons whom Casanova was not unlikelyto have met. In this connection he also mentioned the name of BaronPerotti, but somewhat contemptuously.
Casanova was constrained to admit that he often played cards at theBaron's house. "For distraction," he explained; "for half an hour'srelaxation before bedtime. In general, I have given up this way ofwasting my time."
"I am sorry," said the Marchese, "for I must own it has been one of thedreams of my life to cross swords with you. Not only, indeed, at thecard table; for when I was younger I would gladly have been your rivalin other fields. Would you believe it--I forget how long ago it was--Ionce entered Spa on the very day, at the very hour, when you left theplace. Our carriages must have passed one another on the road. InRatisbon, too, I had the same piece of ill luck. There I actuallyoccupied the room of which your tenancy had just expired."
"It is indeed unfortunate," said Casanova, flattered in spite ofhimself, "that people's paths so often cross too late in life."
"Not yet too late!" exclaimed the Marchese. "There are certain respectsin which I shall not be loath to avow myself vanquished before thefight begins. But as regards games of chance, my dear Chevalier, we areperhaps both of us precisely at the age...."
Casanova cut him short. "At the age--very likely. Unfortunately,however, I can no longer look forward to the pleasure of measuringmyself at the card table with a partner of your rank. The reason issimple." He spoke in the tone of a dethroned sovereign. "Despite myrenown, my dear Marchese, I am now practically reduced to the conditionof a beggar."
The Marchese involuntarily lowered his eyes before Casanova's haughtygaze. He shook his head incredulously, as if he had been listening to astrange jest. Olivo, who had followed the conversation with the keenestattention, and had accompanied the skilful parries of his marvellousfriend with approving nods, could hardly repress a gesture of alarm.They had just reached a narrow wooden door in the garden wall. Olivoproduced a key, and turned the creaking lock. Giving the Marcheseprecedence into the garden, he arrested Casanova by the arm, whispering:
"You must take back those last words, Chevalier, before you set footin my house again. The money I have been owing you these sixteen yearsawaits you. I was only afraid to speak of it. Amalia will tell you. Itis counted out and ready. I had proposed to hand it over to you on yourdeparture...."
Casanova gently interrupted him. "You owe me nothing, Olivo. You knowperfectly well that those paltry gold pieces were a wedding present fromthe friend of Amalia's mother. Please drop the subject. What are a fewducats to me?" He raised his voice as he spoke, so that the Marchese,who had paused at a few paces' distance could hear the concluding words."I stand at a turning-point in my fortunes."
Olivo exchanged glances with Casanova, as if asking permission, and thenexplained to the Marchese: "You must know that the Chevalier has beensummoned to Venice, and will set out for home in a few days."
"I would rather put it," remarked Casanova as they approached the house,"that summonses, growing ever more urgent, have been reaching me fora considerable while. But it seems to me that the senators took longenough to make up their minds, and may in their turn practise the virtueof patience."
"Unquestionably," said the Marchese, "you are entitled to stand uponyour dignity, Chevalier."
They emerged from the avenue on to the greensward, across which theshadow of the house had now lengthened. Close to the dwelling, the restof the little company was awaiting them. All rose and came to meet them.The Abbate led the way, with Marcolina and Amalia on either side. Theywere followed by the Marchesa, with whom came a tall, young officer,clad in a red uniform trimmed with silver lace, and wearingjack-boots--evidently Lorenzi. As he spoke to the Marchesa, he scannedher powdered shoulders as if they were well-known samples of otherbeauties with which he was equally familiar. The Marchesa smiledup at him beneath half-closed lids. Even a tyro in such matters couldhardly fail to realize the nature of their relationship, or to perceivethat they were quite unconcerned at its disclosure. They were conversingin animated fashion, but in low tones; and they ceased talking only whenthey caught up with the others.
Olivo introduced Casanova and Lorenzi to one another. They exchangedglances with a cold aloofness that seemed to offer mutual assurances ofdislike; then, with a forced smile, both bowed stiffly without offeringto shake hands. Lorenzi was handsome, with a narrow visage and featuressharply cut for his age. At the back of his eyes something difficultto grasp seemed to lurk, something likely to suggest caution to one ofexperience. For a moment, Casanova was in doubt as to who it was thatLorenzi reminded him of. Then he realized that his ow
n image stoodbefore him, the image of himself as he had been thirty years before."Have I been reincarnated in his form?" Casanova asked himself. "But Imust have died before that could happen." It flashed through his mind:"Have I not been dead for a long time? What is there left of theCasanova who was young, handsome, and happy?" Amalia broke in upon hismusings. As if from a distance, though she stood close at hand, sheasked him how he had enjoyed his walk. Raising his voice so that allcould hear, he expressed his admiration for the fertile, well-managedestate.
Meanwhile upon the greensward the maidservant was laying the table forsupper. The two elder girls were "helping." With much fuss and giggling,they brought out of the house the silver, the wine glasses, and otherrequisites.
Gradually the dusk fell; a cool breeze stirred through the garden.Marcolina went to the table, to put the finishing touches to the work ofthe maidservant and the girls. The others wandered about the greenswardand along the alleys. The Marchesa was extremely polite to Casanova. Shesaid that the story of his remarkable escape from The Leads in Venicewas not unknown to her, but it would be a pleasure to hear it from hisown lips. With a meaning smile she added that she understood him tohave had far more dangerous adventures, which he might perhaps be lessinclined to recount. Casanova rejoined that he had indeed had a numberof lively experiences, but had never made serious acquaintance with thatmode of existence whose meaning and very essence were danger. Although,many years before, during troublous times, he had for a few months beena soldier upon the island of Corfu (was there any profession on earthinto which the current of fate had not drifted him?), he had never hadthe good fortune to go through a real campaign, such as that which, heunderstood, Lieutenant Lorenzi was about to experience--a piece of luckfor which he was inclined to envy the Lieutenant.
"Then you know more than I do, Signor Casanova," said Lorenzi in achallenging tone. "Indeed, you are better informed than the Colonelhimself, for he has just given me an indefinite extension of leave."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the Marchese, unable to master his rage. Headded spitefully: "Do you know, Lorenzi, we, or rather my wife, hadcounted so definitely on your leaving, that we had invited one of ourfriends, Baldi the singer, to stay with us next week."
"No matter," rejoined Lorenzi, unperturbed. "Baldi and I are the best offriends. We shall get on famously together. You think so, don't you?"he said, turning to the Marchesa with a smile. "You'd better!" said theMarchesa, laughing gaily.
As she spoke she seated herself at the table, beside Olivo, with Lorenzion the other hand. Opposite sat Amalia, between the Marchese andCasanova. Next to Casanova, at one end of the long, narrow table, wasMarcolina; next to Olivo, at the other end, sat the Abbate. Supper, likedinner, was a simple but tasteful meal. The two elder girls, Teresinaand Nanetta, waited on the guests, and served the excellent wine grownon Olivo's hillsides. Both the Marchese and the Abbate paid their thanksto the young waitresses with playful and somewhat equivocal caresseswhich a stricter parent than Olivo would probably have discountenanced.Amalia seemed to be unaware of all this. She was pale, dejected, andlooked like a woman determined to be old, since her own youth had ceasedto interest her.
"Is this all that remains of my empire?" thought Casanova bitterly,contemplating her in profile. Yet perhaps it was the illumination whichgave so gloomy a cast to Amalia's features. From the interior of thehouse a broad beam of light fell upon the guests. Otherwise the glimmerin the sky sufficed them. The dark crests of the trees limited theoutlook; Casanova was reminded of the eerie garden in which, late oneevening many years before, he had awaited the coming of his mistress.
"Murano!" he whispered to himself, and trembled. Then he spoke aloud:"On an island near Venice there is a convent garden where I last setfoot several decades ago. At night, there, the scent is just like this."
"Were you ever a monk?" asked the Marchesa, sportively.
"All but," replied Casanova with a smile, explaining, truthfully enough,that when he was a lad of fifteen he had been given minor orders by thearchbishop of Venice, but that before attaining full manhood he haddecided to lay aside the cassock.
The Abbate mentioned that there was a nunnery close at hand, andstrongly recommended Casanova to visit the place if he had never seenit. Olivo heartily endorsed the recommendation, singing the praisesof the picturesque old building, the situation, and the diversifiedbeauties of the approach.
"The Lady Abbess, Sister Serafina," continued the Abbate, "is anextremely learned woman, a duchess by birth. She has told me--by letter,of course, for the inmates are under a vow of perpetual silence--thatshe has heard of Marcolina's erudition, and would like to meet her faceto face."
"I hope, Marcolina," said Lorenzi, speaking to her for the first time,"that you will not attempt to imitate the noble abbess in other respectsas well as learning."
"Why should I?" rejoined Marcolina serenely. "We can maintain ourfreedom without vows. Better without than with, for a vow is a form ofcoercion."
Casanova was sitting next to her. He did not dare to let his foot touchhers lightly, or to press his knee against hers. He was certain thatshould she for the third time look at him with that expression of horrorand loathing, he would be driven to some act of folly. As the mealprogressed, as the number of emptied glasses grew and the conversationwaxed livelier and more general, Casanova heard, once more as from afar,Amalia's voice.
"I have spoken to Marcolina."
"You have spoken to her?" A mad hope flamed up in him. "Calm yourself,Casanova. We did not speak of you, but only of her and her plans for thefuture. I say to you again, she will never give herself to any man."
Olivo, who had been drinking freely, suddenly rose, glass in hand, anddelivered himself of a few stumbling phrases concerning the great honorconferred upon his humble home by the visit of his dear friend, theChevalier de Seingalt.
"But where, my dear Olivo, is the Chevalier de Seingalt of whom youspeak?" enquired Lorenzi in his clear, insolent voice.
Casanova's first impulse was to throw the contents of his glass inLorenzi's face.
Amalia touched his arm lightly, to restrain him, and said: "Many peopleto-day, Chevalier, still know you best by the old and more widelyrenowned name of Casanova."
"I was not aware," said Lorenzi, with offensive gravity, "that the Kingof France had ennobled Signor Casanova."
"I was able to save the King that trouble," answered Casanova quietly."I trust, Lieutenant Lorenzi, that you will be satisfied with anexplanation to which the Burgomaster of Nuremberg offered no objectionwhen I gave it to him in circumstances with which I need not weary thecompany." There was a moment of silent expectation. Casanova continued:"The alphabet is our common heritage. I chose a collocation of letterswhich pleased my taste, and ennobled myself without being indebted toany prince, who might perhaps have been disinclined to allow my claim.I style myself Casanova, Chevalier de Seingalt. I am indeed sorry,Lieutenant Lorenzi, if this name fails to meet with your approval."
"Seingalt! It is a splendid name," said the Abbate, repeating it severaltimes, as if he were tasting it.
"There is not a man in the world," exclaimed Olivo, "who has a betterright to name himself Chevalier than my distinguished friend Casanova!"
"As for you, Lorenzi," added the Marchese, "when your reputation hasreached as far as that of Signor Casanova, Chevalier de Seingalt, weshall be willing enough, should you so desire, to give you also thetitle of Chevalier."
Casanova, somewhat nettled at not being allowed to fight his own battle,was about to resume the defence in person, when out of the dusk of thegarden two elderly gentlemen, soberly habited, put in an appearancebeside the table. Olivo greeted them with effusive cordiality, beingdelighted to turn the conversation and to put an end to a dispute thatthreatened to destroy the harmony of the evening. The newcomers werethe brothers Ricardi. As Casanova had learned from Olivo, they wereold bachelors. At one time members of the great world, they had beenunfortunate in various undertakings. At length they had returned tot
heir birthplace, the neighboring village, to lead a retired life ina tiny house they had rented. They were eccentric fellows, but quiteharmless.
The Ricardis expressed their delight at renewing their acquaintance withthe Chevalier, whom, they said, they had met in Paris a good many yearsago.
Casanova could not recall the meeting.
"Perhaps it was in Madrid?" said the Ricardis.
"Maybe," replied Casanova, though he was absolutely certain that he hadnever seen either of them before.
The younger of the two was spokesman. The elder, who looked as if hemight be ninety at least, accompanied his brother's words with incessantnods and grimaces. By now every one had left the table, and before thisthe children had disappeared. Lorenzi and the Marchesa were strolling inthe dusk across the greensward. Marcolina and Amalia were in the hall,setting out the table for cards.
"What is the aim of all this?" said Casanova to himself, as he stoodalone in the garden. "Do they imagine me to be rich? Are they on thelookout for plunder?"
These preparations, the ingratiating manners of the Marchese, thesedulous attentions of the Abbate, the appearance of the brothersRicardi on the scene, were arousing his suspicions. Was it not possiblethat Lorenzi might be a party to the intrigue? Or Marcolina? Or evenAmalia? For a moment it flashed through his mind that his enemies mightbe at work upon some scheme of the eleventh hour to make his return toVenice difficult or impossible. But a moment's reflection convincedhim the notion was absurd--were it only because he no longer had anyenemies. He was merely an old fellow in reduced circumstances. Who waslikely to take any trouble to hinder his return to Venice? Glancingthrough the open window, he saw the company assembling round the table,where the cards lay ready, and the filled wine-glasses were standing.It seemed to him clear beyond all possibility of doubt that there wasnothing afoot except an ordinary, innocent game of cards, in which thecoming of a new player is always an agreeable change.
Marcolina passed him, and wished him good luck.
"Aren't you going to take a hand?" he said. "At least you will look on?"
"I have something else to do. Good night, Chevalier."
From the interior, voices called out into the night:"Lorenzi."--"Chevalier."--"We are waiting for you."
Casanova, standing in the darkness, could see that the Marchesa wasleading Lorenzi away from the open greensward into the greater darknessunder the trees. There she would fain have drawn him into her arms, butLorenzi roughly tore himself away and strode towards the house. MeetingCasanova in the entry, he gave him precedence with mock politeness.Casanova accepted the precedence without a word of thanks.
The Marchese was the first banker. Olivo, the brothers Ricardi, and theAbbate staked such trifling amounts that to Casanova--even to-day whenhis whole worldly wealth consisted of no more than a few ducats--thegame seemed ludicrous. All the more was this the case since the Marcheseraked in his winnings and paid out his losses with a ceremonious air, asif he were handling enormous sums. Suddenly Lorenzi, who had hithertotaken no part in the game, staked a ducat, won, let the doubled stakestand; won again and again, and continued to have the same luck with butoccasional interruptions. The other men, however, went on staking pettycoins, and the two Ricardis in particular seemed quite annoyed if theMarchese failed to give them as much attention as he gave to LieutenantLorenzi. The two brothers played together upon the same hazard. Beads ofperspiration formed upon the brow of the elder, who handled the cards.The younger, standing behind his brother, talked unceasingly, with theair of giving infallible counsel. When the silent brother won, theloquacious brother's eyes gleamed; but at a loss, he raised despairingeyes heavenward. The Abbate, impassive for the most part, occasionallyenunciated some scrap of proverbial wisdom. For instance: "Luck andwomen cannot be constrained." Or, "The earth is round, and heaven is faraway." At times he looked at Casanova with an air of sly encouragement,his eyes moving on from Casanova to rest upon Amalia where she satbeside her husband. It seemed as if his chief concern must be to bringthe erstwhile lovers together once again.
As for Casanova, all he could think of was that Marcolina was in herroom, undressing in leisurely fashion, and that if the window were openher white skin must be gleaming into the night. Seized with desire sointense as almost to put him beside himself, he moved to rise from hisplace by the Marchese and to leave the room. The Marchese, however,interpreting this movement as a resolve to take a hand in the game,said:
"At last! We were sure you would not be content to play the part ofspectator, Chevalier."
The Marchese dealt him a card. Casanova staked all he had on his person,about ten ducats, which was nearly the whole of his entire wealth.Without counting the amount, he emptied his purse on the table, hopingto lose it at a single cast. That would be a sign of luck. He had nottroubled to think precisely what sort of luck it would signify, whetherhis speedy return to Venice, or the desired sight of Marcolina's nudity.Ere he had made up his mind upon this point, the Marchese had lost theventure. Like Lorenzi, Casanova let the double stake lie; and just as inLorenzi's case, fortune stood by him. The Marchese no longer troubledhimself to deal to the others. The silent Ricardi rose somewhatmortified; the other Ricardi wrung his hands. Then the two withdrew,dumbfounded, to a corner of the room. The Abbate and Olivo took mattersmore phlegmatically. The former ate sweets and repeated his proverbialtags. The latter watched the turn of the cards with eager attention.
At length the Marchese had lost five hundred ducats to Casanova andLorenzi. The Marchesa moved to depart, and looked significantly at theLieutenant on her way out of the room. Amalia accompanied her guest. TheMarchesa waddled in a manner that was extremely distasteful to Casanova.Amalia walked along beside her humbly and deprecatingly.
Now that the Marchese had lost all his ready cash, Casanova becamebanker, and, considerably to the Marchese's annoyance, he insisted thatthe others should return to the game. The brothers Ricardi eagerlyaccepted the invitation. The Abbate shook his head, saying he had hadenough. Olivo played merely because he did not wish to be discourteousto his distinguished guest.
Lorenzi's luck held. When he had won four hundred ducats in all, he rosefrom the table, saying: "To-morrow I shall be happy to give you yourrevenge. But now, by your leave, I shall ride home."
"Home!" cried the Marchese with a scornful laugh--he had won back a fewducats by this time. "That is a strange way to phrase it!" He turnedto the others: "The Lieutenant is staying with me. My wife has alreadydriven home. I hope you'll have a pleasant time, Lorenzi!"
"You know perfectly well," rejoined Lorenzi imperturbably, "that I shallride straight to Mantua, and not to your place, to which you were sogood as to invite me yesterday."
"You can ride to bell for all I care!" said the other.
Lorenzi politely took his leave of the rest of the company, and, toCasanova's astonishment, departed without making any suitable retort tothe Marchese.
Casanova went on with the game, still winning, so that the Marchese erelong was several hundred ducats in his debt. "What's the use of it all?"thought Casanova at first. But by degrees he was once more ensnared bythe lure of the gaming table. "After all," he mused, "this is a luckyturn of fortune. I shall soon be a thousand to the good, perhaps eventwo thousand. The Marchese will not fail to pay his debt. It would bepleasant to take a modest competence with me to Venice. But why Venice?Who regains wealth, regains youth. Wealth is everything. At any rate,I shall now be able to buy her. Whom? The only woman I want.... Sheis standing naked at the window.... I am sure she is waiting there,expecting me to come.... She is standing at the window to drive me mad!"
All the same, with unruffled brow he continued dealing the cards, notonly to the Marchese, but also to Olivo and to the brothers Ricardi. Tothe latter from time to time he pushed over a gold piece to which theyhad no claim, but which they accepted without comment. The noise of atrotting horse came from the road. "Lorenzi," thought Casanova. Thehoofbeats echoed for a time from the garden wall, until sound and echogradu
ally died away.
At length Casanova's luck turned. The Marchese staked more and moreboldly. By midnight Casanova was as poor as at the beginning; nay,poorer, for he had lost the few ducats with which he had made his firstventure. Pushing the cards away, he stood up with a smile, saying:"Thank you, gentlemen, for a pleasant game."
Olivo stretched out both hands towards Casanova. "Dear friend, let usgo on with the game..... You have a hundred and fifty ducats. Have youforgotten them? Not only a hundred and fifty ducats, but all that Ihave, everything, everything." His speech was thick, for he had beendrinking throughout the evening.
Casanova signified his refusal with an exaggerated but courtly gesture."Luck and women cannot be constrained," he said, bowing towards theAbbate, who nodded contentedly and clapped his hands.
"Till to-morrow, then, my dear Chevalier," said the Marchese. "We willjoin forces to win the money back from Lieutenant Lorenzi."
The brothers Ricardi insistently demanded that the game should continue.The Marchese, who was in a jovial mood, opened a bank for them. Theystaked the gold pieces which Casanova had allowed them to win. In acouple of minutes they had lost them all to the Marchese, who declinedto go on playing unless they could produce cash. They wrung their hands.The elder began to cry like a child. The younger, to comfort hisbrother, kissed him on both cheeks. The Marchese enquired whether thecarriage had returned, and the Abbate said he had heard it drive up halfan hour earlier. Thereupon the Marchese offered the Abbate and the twoRicardis a lift, promising to set them down at their doors. All fourleft the house together.
When they had gone, Olivo took Casanova by the arm, and assured hisguest repeatedly, with tears in his voice, that everything in the housewas at Casanova's absolute disposal. They walked past Marcolina'swindow. Not merely was the window closed, but the iron grating hadbeen fastened; within, the window was curtained. There had been times,thought Casanova, when all these precautions had been unavailing, or hadbeen without significance. They reentered the house. Olivo would not bedissuaded from accompanying the guest up the creaking staircase into theturret chamber. He embraced Casanova as he bade him good-night.
"To-morrow," he said, "you shall see the nunnery. But sleep as late asyou please. We are not early risers here; anyhow we shall adapt thehours to your convenience. Good-night!" He closed the door quietly, buthis heavy tread resounded through the house.