CASANOVA'S HOMECOMING

By Arthur Schnitzler

1922

The Translation of this book was made by EDEN AND CEDAR PAUL

CHAPTER ONE. 

Casanova was in his fifty-third year. Though no longer driven by thelust of adventure that had spurred him in his youth, he was still huntedathwart the world, hunted now by a restlessness due to the approach ofold age. His yearning for Venice, the city of his birth, grew so intensethat, like a wounded bird slowly circling downwards in its death flight, he began to move in ever-narrowing circles. Again and again, during thelast ten years of his exile, he had implored the Supreme Council forleave to return home. Erstwhile, in the drafting of these petitions--awork in which he was a past master--a defiant, wilful spirit seemed tohave guided his pen; at times even he appeared to take a grim delight inhis forwardness. But of late his requests had been couched in humble, beseeching words which displayed, ever more plainly, the ache ofhomesickness and genuine repentance. 

The sins of his earlier years (the most unpardonable to the Venetiancouncillors was his free-thinking, not his dissoluteness, orquarrelsomeness, or rather sportive knavery) were by degrees passinginto oblivion, and so Casanova had a certain amount of confidence thathe would receive a hearing. The history of his marvellous escape fromThe Leads of Venice, which he had recounted on innumerable occasions atthe courts of princes, in the palaces of nobles, at the supper tables ofburghers, and in houses of ill fame, was beginning to make people forgetany disrepute which had attached to his name. Moreover, in letters toMantua, where he had been staying for two months, persons of influencehad conveyed hope to the adventurer, whose inward and outward lustrewere gradually beginning to fade, that ere long there would come afavorable turn in his fortunes. 

Since his means were now extremely slender, Casanova had decided toawait the expected pardon in the modest but respectable inn where he hadstayed in happier years. To make only passing mention of less spiritualamusements, with which he could not wholly dispense--he spent most ofhis time in writing a polemic against the slanderer Voltaire, hopingthat the publication of this document would serve, upon his return toVenice, to give him unchallenged position and prestige in the eyes ofall well-disposed citizens. 

One morning he went out for a walk beyond the town limits to excogitatethe final touches for some sentences that were to annihilate the infidelFrenchman. Suddenly he fell prey to a disquiet that almost amountedto physical distress. He turned over in his mind the life he hadbeen leading for the last three months. It had grown wearisomelyfamiliar--the morning walks into the country, the evenings spent ingambling for petty stakes with the reputed Baron Perotti and thelatter's pock-marked mistress. He thought of the affection lavished uponhimself by his hostess, a woman ardent but no longer young. He thoughtof how he had passed his time over the writings of Voltaire and over thecomposition of an audacious rejoinder which until that moment had seemedto him by no means inadequate. Yet now, in the dulcet atmosphere of amorning in late summer, all these things appeared stupid and repulsive. 

Muttering a curse without really knowing upon whose head he wished itto alight, gripping the hilt of his sword, darting angry glances in alldirections as if invisible scornful eyes were watching him in thesurrounding solitude, he turned on his heel and retraced his stepsback to the town, determined to make arrangements that very hour forimmediate departure. He felt convinced that a more genial mood wouldpossess him were he to diminish even by a few miles the distance thatseparated him from the home for which he longed. It was necessary tohasten, so that he might be sure of booking a place in the diligence. Itwas to leave at eventide by the eastward road. There was little elseto do, for he really need not bother to pay a farewell visit toBaron Perotti. Half an hour would suffice for the packing of all hispossessions. He thought of the two suits, the shabbier of which hewas wearing at that moment; of the much darned, though once elegant, underlinen. With two or three snuffboxes, a gold watch and chain, and afew books, these comprised his whole worldly wealth. He called to mindpast splendors, when he had travelled as a man of distinction, driving in a fine carriage; when he had been well furnished both withnecessaries and with superfluities; when he had even had his ownservingman--who had usually, of course, been a rogue. These memoriesbrought impotent anger in their train, and his eyes filled with tears. A young woman drove towards him, whip in hand. In her little cart, amidsacks and various odds and ends, lay her husband, drunk and snoring. Casanova strode by beneath the chestnut trees that lined the highway, his face working with wrath, unintelligible phrases hissing from betweenhis clenched teeth. The woman glanced at him inquisitively and mockinglyat first, then, on encountering an angry glare, with some alarm, andfinally, after she had passed, there was amorous invitation in the lookshe gave him over her shoulder. Casanova, who was well aware that rageand hatred can assume the semblance of youth more readily than cangentleness and amiability, was prompt to realize that a bold response onhis part would bring the cart to a standstill, and that the young womanwould be ready to give him any assignation he pleased. Nevertheless, although the recognition of this fact put him in a better humor for thenonce, it seemed hardly worth while to waste minutes upon so trivialan adventure. He was content, therefore, to allow the peasant woman todrive her cart and all its contents unimpeded through the dust of theroadway. 

The sun was now high in the heavens, and the shade of the trees hardlytempered the heat. Casanova was soon compelled to moderate his pace. 

Under the thick powder of dust the shabbiness of his garments was nolonger apparent, so that by his dress and bearing he might easily havebeen taken for a gentleman of station who had been pleased for once in away to walk instead of drive. He had almost reached the arched gatewaynear his inn, when he met a heavy country carriage lumbering along theroad. In it was seated a stoutish man, well dressed, and still fairlyyoung. His hands were clasped across his stomach, his eyelids drooped, and he seemed about to doze off, when of a sudden he caught sightof Casanova, and a great change took place in him. His whole aspectbetrayed great excitement. He sprang to his feet, but too quickly, andfell back into his seat. Rising again, he gave the driver a punch in theback, to make the fellow pull up. But since the carriage did not stopinstantly, the passenger turned round so as not to lose sight ofCasanova, signalled with both hands, and finally called to him thrice byname, in a thin, clear voice. Not till he heard the voice, did Casanovarecognize who it was. By now the carriage had stopped, and Casanovasmilingly seized two hands outstretched towards him, saying:

"Olivo, is it really you?"

"Yes, Signor Casanova, it is I. You recognize me, then?"

"Why not? Since I last saw you, on your wedding day, you've put onflesh; but very likely I've changed a good deal, too, in these fifteenyears, though not perhaps in the same fashion. "

"Not a bit of it, " exclaimed Olivo. "Why, Signor Casanova, you havehardly changed at all! And it is more than fifteen years; the sixteenyears were up a few days ago. As you can imagine, Amalia and I had agood talk about you on the anniversary of our wedding. "

"Indeed?" said Casanova cordially. "You both think of me at times?"

The tears came to Olivo's eyes. He was still holding Casanova's hands, and he pressed them fondly. 

"We have so much to thank you for, Signor Casanova. How could we everforget our benefactor? Should we do so. .. "

"Don't speak of it, " interrupted Casanova. "How is Signora Amalia? Doyou know, I have been living in Mantua three months, very quietly tobe sure, but taking plenty of walks as I always have done. How is it, Olivo, that I never met you or your wife before?"

"The matter is simple, Signor Casanova. Both Amalia and I detest thetown, and we gave up living there a long time ago. Would you do me thefavor to jump in? We shall be at home in an hour. "

Casanova tried to excuse himself, but Olivo insisted. 

"I will take no denial. How delighted Amalia will be to see you oncemore, and how proud to show you our three children. Yes, we have three, Signor Casanova. All girls. Thirteen, ten, and eight--not one of themold enough yet--you'll excuse me, won't you--to have her head turned byCasanova. "

He laughed good-humoredly, and made as if to help Casanova into thecarriage. The latter shook his head. He had been tempted for a momentby natural curiosity to accept Olivo's invitation. Then his impatiencereturned in full force, and he assured his would-be host thatunfortunately urgent business called him away from Mantua that veryafternoon. 

What could he expect to find in Olivo's house? Sixteen years were a longtime! Amalia would be no younger and no prettier. At his age, a girl ofthirteen would not find him interesting. Olivo, too, whom he had knownin old days as a lean and eager student, was now a portly, countrifiedpaterfamilias. The proposed visit did not offer sufficient attractionsto induce Casanova to abandon a journey that was to bring him thirty orforty miles nearer to Venice. 

Olivo, however, was disinclined to take no for an answer. Casanova mustat least accept a lift back to the inn, a kindly suggestion that couldnot decently be refused. It was only a few minutes' drive. The hostess, a buxom woman in the middle thirties, welcomed Casanova with a glancethat did not fail to disclose to Olivo the tender relationship betweenthe pair. She shook hands with Olivo as an old acquaintance. She was acustomer of Signor Olivo's, she explained to Casanova, for an excellentmedium-dry wine grown on his estate. 

Olivo hastened to announce that the Chevalier de Seingalt (the hostesshad addressed Casanova by this title, and Olivo promptly followed suit)was so churlish as to refuse the invitation of an old friend, on theridiculous plea that to-day of all days he had to leave Mantua. Thewoman's look of gloom convinced Olivo that this was the first she hadheard of Casanova's intended departure, and the latter felt it desirableto explain that his mention of the journey had been a mere pretext, lesthe should incommode his friend's household by an unexpected visit, andthat he had, in fact, an important piece of writing to finish during thenext few days, and no place was better suited for the work than the inn, where his room was agreeably cool and quiet. 

Olivo protested that the Chevalier de Seingalt would do his modest homethe greatest possible honor by finishing the work in question there. Achange to the country could not but be helpful in such an undertaking. If Casanova should need learned treatises and works of reference, therewould be no lack of them, for Olivo's niece, the daughter of a deceasedhalf-brother, a girl who though young was extremely erudite, had arriveda few weeks before with a whole trunkful of books. Should any guestsdrop in at times of an evening, the Chevalier need not put himselfabout--unless, indeed, after the labors of the day, cheerfulconversation or a game of cards might offer welcome distraction. Directly Casanova heard of the niece, he decided he would like to makeher acquaintance, and after a show of further reluctance he yielded toOlivo's solicitation, declaring, however, that on no account would he beable to leave Mantua for more than a day or two. He begged the hostessto forward promptly by messenger any letters that should arrive duringhis absence, since they might be of the first importance. 

Matters having thus been arranged to Olivo's complete satisfaction, Casanova went to his room, made ready for the journey, and returned tothe parlor in a quarter of an hour. Olivo, meanwhile, had been having alively business talk with the hostess. He now rose, drank off his glassof wine, and with a significant wink promised to bring the Chevalierback, not perhaps to-morrow or the day after, but in any case in goodorder and condition. Casanova, however, had suddenly grown distrait andirritable. So cold was his farewell to the fond hostess that, at thecarriage door, she whispered a parting word in his ear which wasanything but amiable. 

During the drive along the dusty road beneath the glare of the noondaysun, Olivo gave a garrulous and somewhat incoherent account of his lifesince the friends' last meeting. Shortly after his marriage he hadbought a plot of land near the town, and had started in a small way asmarket gardener. Doing well at this trade, he had gradually been able toundertake more ambitious farming ventures. At length, under God's favor, and thanks to his own and his wife's efficiency, he had been able threeyears earlier to buy from the pecuniarily embarrassed Count Marazzanithe latter's old and somewhat dilapidated country seat with a vineyardattached. He, his wife, and his children were comfortably settled uponthis patrician estate, though with no pretence to patrician splendor. All these successes were ultimately due to the hundred and fifty goldpieces that Casanova had presented to Amalia, or rather to her mother. But for this magical aid, Olivo's lot would still have been the same. He would still have been giving instruction in reading and writing toill-behaved youngsters. Most likely, he would have been an old bachelorand Amalia an old maid. 

Casanova let him ramble on without paying much heed. The incident wasone among many of the date to which it belonged. As he turned it over inhis mind, it seemed to him the most trivial of them all, it had hardlyeven troubled the waters of memory. 

He had been travelling from Rome to Turin or Paris--he had forgottenwhich. During a brief stay in Mantua, he caught sight of Amalia inchurch one morning. Pleased with her appearance, with her handsome butpale and somewhat woebegone face, he gallantly addressed her a friendlyquestion. In those days everyone had been complaisant to Casanova. Gladly opening her heart to him, the girl told him that she was not welloff; that she was in love with an usher who was likewise poor; that hisfather and her own mother were both unwilling to give their consent toso inauspicious a union. Casanova promptly declared himself readyto help matters on. He sought an introduction to Amalia's mother, agood-looking widow of thirty-six who was still quite worthy of beingcourted. Ere long Casanova was on such intimate terms with her thathis word was law. When her consent to the match had been won, Olivo'sfather, a merchant in reduced circumstances, was no longer adverse, being specially influenced by the fact that Casanova (presented to himas a distant relative of the bride's mother) undertook to defray theexpenses of the wedding and to provide part of the dowry. To Amalia, hergenerous patron seemed like a messenger from a higher world. She showedher gratitude in the manner prompted by her own heart. When, the eveningbefore her wedding, she withdrew with glowing cheeks from Casanova'slast embrace, she was far from thinking that she had done any wrongto her future husband, who after all owed his happiness solely to theamiability and open-handedness of this marvellous friend. Casanova hadnever troubled himself as to whether Amalia had confessed to Olivo thelength to which she had gone in gratitude to her benefactor; whether, perchance, Olivo had taken her sacrifice as a matter of course, and hadnot considered it any reason for retrospective jealousy; or whetherOlivo had always remained in ignorance of the matter. Nor did Casanovaallow these questions to harass his mind to-day. 

The heat continued to increase. The carriage, with bad springs and hardcushions, jolted the occupants abominably. Olivo went on chattering inhis high, thin voice; talking incessantly of the fertility of his land, the excellencies of his wife, the good behavior of his children, andthe innocent pleasures of intercourse with his neighbors--farmers andlanded gentry. Casanova was bored. He began to ask himself irritably whyon earth he had accepted an invitation which could bring nothing butpetty vexations, if not positive disagreeables. He thought longingly ofthe cool parlor in Mantua, where at this very hour he might have beenworking unhindered at his polemic against Voltaire. He had already madeup his mind to get out at an inn now in sight, hire whatever conveyancemight be available, and drive back to the town, when Olivo uttered aloud "Hullo!" A pony trap suddenly pulled up, and their own carriagecame to a halt, as if by mutual understanding. Three young girls sprangout, moving with such activity that the knife-board on which they hadbeen sitting flew into the air and was overturned. 

"My daughters, " said Olivo, turning to Casanova with a proprietary air. 

Casanova promptly moved as if to relinquish his seat in the carriage. 

"Stay where you are, my dear Chevalier, " said Olivo. "We shall be athome in a quarter of an hour, and for that little while we can all makeshift together. Maria, Nanetta, Teresina, this is the Chevalier deSeingalt, an old friend of mine. Shake hands with him. But for him youwould. .. . "

He broke off, and whispered to Casanova: "I was just going to saysomething foolish. "

Amending his phrase, he said: "But for him, things would have been verydifferent!"

Like their father, the girls had black hair and dark eyes. All of themincluding Teresina, the eldest, who was still quite the child, looked atthe stranger with frank rustic curiosity. Casanova did not stand uponceremony; he kissed each of the girls upon either cheek. Olivo said aword or two to the lad who was driving the trap in which the childrenhad come, and the fellow whipped up the pony and drove along the roadtowards Mantua. 

Laughing and joking, the girls took possession of the seat oppositeOlivo and Casanova. They were closely packed; they all spoke at once;and since their father likewise went on talking, Casanova found it farfrom easy at first to follow the conversation. One name caught his ear, that of Lieutenant Lorenzi. Teresina explained that the Lieutenant hadpassed them on horseback not long before, had said he intended to callin the evening, and had sent his respects to Father. Mother had at firstmeant to come with them to meet Father, but as it was so frightfullyhot she had thought it better to stay at home with Marcolina. As forMarcolina, she was still in bed when they left home. When they camealong the garden path they had pelted her with hazel nuts through theopen window, or she would still be asleep. 

"That's not Marcolina's way, " said Olivo to his guest. "Generally she isat work in the garden at six or even earlier, and sits over her bookstill dinner time. Of course we had visitors yesterday, and were up laterthan usual. We had a mild game of cards--not the sort of game you areused to, for we are innocent folk and don't want to win money from oneanother. Besides, our good Abbate usually takes a hand, so you canimagine, Chevalier, that we don't play for high stakes. "

At the mention of the Abbate, the three girls laughed again, had ananecdote to tell, and this made them laugh more than ever. Casanovanodded amicably, without paying much attention. In imagination he sawMarcolina, as yet unknown to him, lying in her white bed, opposite thewindow. She had thrown off the bedclothes; her form was half revealed;still heavy with sleep she moved her hands to ward off the hail of nuts. His senses flamed. He was as certain that Marcolina and LieutenantLorenzi were in love with one another as if he had seen them in apassionate embrace. He was just as ready to detest the unknown Lorenzias to long for the never seen Marcolina. 

Through the shimmering haze of noon, a small, square tower now becamevisible, thrusting upward through the greyish-green foliage. Thecarriage turned into a by-road. To the left were vineyards rising on agentle slope; to the right the crests of ancient trees showed above thewall of a garden. The carriage halted at a doorway in the wall. Theweather-worn door stood wide. The passengers alighted, and at themaster's nod the coachman drove away to the stable. A broad path ledthrough a chestnut avenue to the house, which at first sight had analmost neglected appearance. Casanova's attention was especiallyattracted by a broken window in the first story. Nor did it escape hisnotice that the battlements of the squat tower were crumbling in places. But the house door was gracefully carved; and directly he enteredthe hall it was plain that the interior was carefully kept, and wascertainly in far better condition than might have been supposed from theoutward aspect. 

"Amalia, " shouted Olivo, so loudly that the vaulted ceiling rang. "Comedown as quickly as you can! I have brought a friend home with me, an oldfriend whom you'll be delighted to see!"

Amalia had already appeared on the stairs, although to most of thosewho had just come out of the glaring sunlight she was invisible in thetwilit interior. Casanova, whose keen vision enabled him to see welleven in the dark, had noted her presence sooner than Olivo. He smiled, and was aware that the smile made him look younger. Amalia had not grownfat, as he had feared. She was still slim and youthful. She recognizedhim instantly. 

"What a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed without the slightestembarrassment, hastening down the stairs, and offering her cheek toCasanova. The latter, nothing loath, gave her a friendly hug. 

"Am I really to believe, " said he, "that Maria, Nanetta, and Teresinaare your very own daughters, Amalia? No doubt the passage of the yearsmakes it possible. .. . "

"And all the other evidence is in keeping, " supplemented Olivo. "Relyupon that, Chevalier!"

Amalia let her eyes dwell reminiscently upon the guest. "I suppose, " shesaid, "it was your meeting with the Chevalier that has made you so late, Olivo?"

"Yes, that is why I am late. But I hope there is still something toeat?"

"Marcolina and I were frightfully hungry, but of course we have waiteddinner for you. "

"Can you manage to wait a few minutes longer, " asked Casanova, "while Iget rid of the dust of the drive?"

"I will show you your room immediately, " answered Olivo. "I do hope, Chevalier, you will find it to your taste; almost as much to yourtaste, " he winked, and added in a low tone, "as your room in the inn atMantua--though here one or two little things may be lacking. "

He led the way upstairs into the gallery surrounding the hall. From oneof the corners a narrow wooden stairway led into the tower. At the top, Olivo opened the door into the turret chamber, and politely invitedCasanova to enter the modest guest chamber. A maidservant brought upthe valise. Casanova was then left alone in a medium-sized room, simplyfurnished, but equipped with all necessaries. It had four tall andnarrow bay-windows, commanding views to the four points of the compass, across the sunlit plain with its green vineyards, bright meadows, goldenfields, white roads, light-colored houses, and dusky gardens. Casanovaconcerned himself little about the view, and hastened to remove thestains of travel, being impelled less by hunger than by an eagercuriosity to see Marcolina face to face. He did not change, for hewished to reserve his best suit for evening wear. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

When Casanova reentered the hall, a panelled chamber on the groundfloor, there were seated at the well-furnished board, his host andhostess, their three daughters, and a young woman. She was wearinga simple grey dress of some shimmering material. She had a gracefulfigure. Her gaze rested on him as frankly and indifferently as if hewere a member of the household, or had been a guest a hundred timesbefore. Her face did not light up in the way to which he had grownaccustomed in earlier years, when he had been a charming youth, or laterin his handsome prime. But for a good while now Casanova had ceased toexpect this from a new acquaintance. Nevertheless, even of late themention of his name had usually sufficed to arouse on a woman's face anexpression of tardy admiration, or at least some trace of regret, whichwas an admission that the hearer would have loved to meet him a fewyears earlier. Yet now, when Olivo introduced him to Marcolina as SignorCasanova, Chevalier de Seingalt, she smiled as she would have smiled atsome utterly indifferent name that carried with it no aroma of adventureand mystery. Even when he took his seat by her side, kissed her hand, and allowed his eyes as they dwelt on her to gleam with delight anddesire, her manner betrayed nothing of the demure gratification thatmight have seemed an appropriate answer to so ardent a wooing. 

After a few polite commonplaces, Casanova told his neighbor that he hadbeen informed of her intellectual attainments, and asked what was herchosen subject of study. Her chief interest, she rejoined, was in thehigher mathematics, to which she had been introduced by ProfessorMorgagni, the renowned teacher at the university of Bologna. Casanovaexpressed his surprise that so charming a young lady should have aninterest, certainly exceptional, in a dry and difficult subject. Marcolina replied that in her view the higher mathematics was the mostimaginative of all the sciences; one might even say that its nature madeit akin to the divine. When Casanova asked for further enlightenmentupon a view so novel to him, Marcolina modestly declined to continuethe topic, declaring that the others at table, and above all her uncle, would much rather hear some details of a newly recovered friend'stravels than listen to a philosophical disquisition. 

Amalia was prompt to second the proposal; and Casanova, always willingto oblige in this matter, said in easy-going fashion that during recentyears he had been mainly engaged in secret diplomatic missions. Tomention only places of importance, he had continually been going to andfro between Madrid, Paris, London, Amsterdam, and St. Petersburg. Hegave an account of meetings and conversations, some grave and some gay, with men and women of all classes, and did not forget to speak of hisfriendly reception at the court of Catharine of Russia. He jestinglyrelated how Frederick the Great had nearly appointed him instructor at acadet school for Pomeranian junkers--a danger from which he had escapedby a precipitous flight. Of these and many other things he spoke asrecent happenings, although in reality they had occurred years ordecades before. Romancing freely, he was hardly conscious when he waslying either on a small scale or on a large, being equally delightedwith his own conceits and with the pleasure he was giving to hisauditors. While thus recounting real and imaginary incidents, he couldalmost delude himself into the belief that he was still the bold, radiant Casanova, the favorite of fortune and of beautiful women, thehonored guest of secular and spiritual princes, the man whose spendingsand gamblings and gifts must be reckoned in thousands. It was possiblefor him to forget that he was a decayed starveling, supported by pitifulremittances from former friends in England and Spain---doles which oftenfailed to arrive, so that he was reduced to the few and paltry goldpieces which he could win from Baron Perotti or from the Baron's guests. He could even forget that his highest aim now was to return to hisnatal city where he had been cast into prison and from which, sincehis escape, he had been banned; to return as one of the meanest of itscitizens, as writer, as beggar, as nonentity; to accept so inglorious aclose to a once brilliant career. 

Marcolina listened attentively like the others, but with the sameexpression as if she had been listening to someone reading aloud from anamusing narrative. Her face did not betray the remotest realization ofthe fact that the speaker was Casanova; that she was listening to theman who had had all these experiences and many more; that she wassitting beside the lover of a thousand women. Very different was thefire in Amalia's eyes. To her, Casanova was the same as ever. To her, his voice was no less seductive than it had been sixteen years earlier. He could not but be aware that at a word or a sign, and as soon as hepleased, he could revive this old adventure. But what to him was Amaliaat this hour, when he longed for Marcolina as he had never longed forwoman before. Beneath the shimmering folds of her dress he seemed tosee her naked body; her firm young breasts allured him; once when shestooped to pick up her handkerchief, Casanova's inflamed fancy made himattach so ardent a significance to her movement that he felt near toswooning. Marcolina did not fail to notice the involuntary pause inthe flow of his conversation; she perceived that his gaze had begun toflicker strangely. In her countenance he could read a sudden hostility, a protest, a trace of disgust. 

Casanova speedily recovered his self-command, and was about to continuehis reminiscences with renewed vigor, when a portly priest entered. Olivo introduced him as Abbate Rossi, and Casanova at once recognizedhim as the man he had met twenty-seven years earlier upon a market boatplying between Venice and Chioggia. 

"You had one eye bandaged, " said Casanova, who rarely missed a chanceof showing off his excellent memory. "A young peasant-woman wearing ayellow kerchief round her head advised you to use a healing unguentwhich an apothecary with an exceedingly hoarse voice happened to havewith him. "

The Abbate nodded, and smiled, well-pleased. Then, with a slyexpression, he came quite close to Casanova, as if about to tell him asecret. But he spoke out loud. 

"As for you, Signor Casanova, you were with a wedding party. I don'tknow whether you were one of the ordinary guests or whether youwere best man, but I remember that the bride looked at you far morelanguishingly than at the bridegroom. The wind rose; there was half agale; you began to read a risky poem. "

"No doubt the Chevalier only did so in order to lay the storm, " saidMarcolina. 

"I never claim the powers of a wizard, " rejoined Casanova. "But I willnot deny that after I had begun to read, no one bothered about thestorm. " The three girls had encircled the Abbate. For an excellentreason. From his capacious pockets he produced quantities of luscioussweets, and popped them into the children's mouths with his stumpyfingers. Meanwhile Olivo gave the newcomer a circumstantial account ofthe rediscovery of Casanova. Dreamily Amalia continued to gaze at thebeloved guest's masterful brown forehead. 

The children ran out into the garden; Marcolina had risen from the tableand was watching them through the open window. The Abbate had brought amessage from the Marchese Celsi, who proposed to call that evening, withhis wife, upon his dear friend Olivo. 

"Excellent, " said Olivo. "We shall have a pleasant game of cards inhonor of the Chevalier. I am expecting the two Ricardis; and Lorenzi isalso coming--the girls met him out riding this morning. "

"Is he still here?" asked the Abbate. "A week ago I was told he had torejoin his regiment. "

"I expect the Marchesa got him an extension of leave from the Colonel. "

"I am surprised, " interjected Casanova, "that any Mantuese officers canget leave at present. " He went on: "Two friends of mine, one from Mantuaand the other from Cremona, left last night with their regiments, marching towards Milan. "

"Has war broken out?" inquired Marcolina from the window. She had turnedround; her face betrayed nothing, but there was a slight quaver in hervoice which no one but Casanova noticed. 

"It may come to nothing, " he said lightly. "But the Spaniards seemrather bellicose, and it is necessary to be on the alert. "

Olivo looked important and wrinkled his brow. "Does anyone know, " heasked, "whether we shall side with Spain or with France?"

"I don't think Lieutenant Lorenzi will care a straw about that, "suggested the Abbate. "All he wants is a chance to prove his militaryprowess. "

"He has done so already, " said Amalia. "He was in the battle at Paviathree years ago. "

Marcolina said not a word. 

Casanova knew enough. He went to the window beside Marcolina and lookedout into the garden. He saw nothing but the wide greensward where thechildren were playing. It was surrounded by a close-set row of statelytrees within the encompassing wall. 

"What lovely grounds, " he said, turning to Olivo. "I should so like tohave a look at them. "

"Nothing would please me better, Chevalier, " answered Olivo, "than toshow you my vineyards and the rest of my estate. You need only askAmalia, and she will tell you that during the years since I bought thislittle place I have had no keener desire than to welcome you as guestupon my own land and under my own roof. Ten times at least I was on thepoint of writing you an invitation, but was always withheld by the doubtwhether my letter would reach you. If I did happen to hear from some onethat he had recently seen you in Lisbon, I could be quite sure that inthe interval you would have left for Warsaw or Vienna. Now, when asif by miracle I have caught you on the point of quitting Mantua, andwhen--I can assure you, Amalia, it was no easy matter--I have succeededin enticing you here, you are so niggard with your time that--would youbelieve it, Signor Abbate, he refuses to spare us more than a couple ofdays!"

"Perhaps the Chevalier will allow himself to be persuaded to prolong hisvisit, " said the Abbate, who was contentedly munching a huge mouthful ofpeach. As he spoke, he glanced at Amalia in a way that led Casanova toinfer that his hostess had told the Abbate more than she had told herhusband. 

"I fear that will be quite impossible, " said Casanova with decision. "I need not conceal from friends who are so keenly interested in myfortunes, that my Venetian fellow-citizens are on the point of atoningfor the injustice of earlier years. The atonement comes rather late, butis all the more honorable. I should seem ungrateful, or even rancorous, were I to resist their importunities any longer. " With a wave of hishand he warded off an eager but respectful enquiry which he saw takingshape upon his host's lips, and hastened to remark: "Well, Olivo, I amready. Show me your little kingdom. "

"Would it not be wiser, " interposed Amalia, "to wait until it is cooler?I am sure the Chevalier would prefer to rest for a while, or to strollin the shade. " Her eyes sought Casanova's with shy entreaty, as if shethought her fate would be decided once again during such a walk in thegarden. 

No one had anything to say against Amalia's suggestion, and they allwent out of doors. Marcolina, who led the way, ran across the sunlitgreensward to join the children in their game of battledore andshuttlecock. She was hardly taller than the eldest of the three girls;and when her hair came loose in the exercise and floated over hershoulders she too looked like a child. Olivo and the Abbate seatedthemselves on a stone bench beneath the trees, not far from the house. Amalia sauntered on with Casanova. As soon as the two were out ofhearing, she began to converse with Casanova in a tone which seemed toignore the lapse of years. 

"So we meet again, Casanova! How I have longed for this day. I neverdoubted its coming. "

"A mere chance has brought me, " said Casanova coldly. 

Amalia smiled. "Have it your own way, " she said. "Anyhow, you are here!All these sixteen years I have done nothing but dream of this day!"

"I can't help thinking, " countered Casanova, "that throughout the longinterval you must have dreamed of many other things--and must have donemore than dream. "

Amalia shook her head. "You know better, Casanova. Nor had you forgottenme, for were it otherwise, in your eagerness to get to Venice, you wouldnever have accepted Olivo's invitation. "

"What do you mean, Amalia? Can you imagine I have come here to betrayyour husband?"

"How can you use such a phrase, Casanova? Were I to be yours once again, there would be neither betrayal nor sin. "

Casanova laughed. "No sin? Wherefore not? Because I'm an old man?"

"You are not old. For me you can never be an old man. In your arms I hadmy first taste of bliss, and I doubt not it is my destiny that my lastbliss shall be shared with you!"

"Your last?" rejoined Casanova cynically, though he was not altogetherunmoved. "I think my friend Olivo would have a word to say about that. "

"What you speak of, " said Amalia reddening, "is duty, and even pleasure;but it is not and never has been bliss. "

They did not walk to the end of the grass alley. Both seemed to shun theneighborhood of the greensward, where Marcolina and the children wereplaying. As if by common consent they retraced their steps, and, silentnow, approached the house again. One of the ground-floor windows at thegable end of the house was open. Through this Casanova glimpsed in thedark interior a half-drawn curtain, from behind which the foot of a bedprojected. Over an adjoining chair was hanging a light, gauzy dress. 

"Is that Marcolina's room?" enquired Casanova. 

Amalia nodded. "Do you like her?" she said--nonchalantly, as it seemedto Casanova. 

"Of course, since she is good looking. "

"She's a good girl as well. "

Casanova shrugged, as if the goodness were no concern of his. Then:"Tell me, Amalia, did you think me still handsome when you first saw meto-day?"

"I do not know if your looks have changed. To me you seem just the sameas of old. You are as I have always seen you, as I have seen you in mydreams. "

"Look well, Amalia. See the wrinkles on my forehead; the loose folds ofmy neck; the crow's-feet round my eyes. And look, " he grinned, "I havelost one of my eye teeth. Look at these hands, too, Amalia. My fingersare like claws; there are yellow spots on the finger-nails; the blueveins stand out. They are the hands of an old man. "

She clasped both his hands as he held them out for her to see, andaffectionately kissed them one after the other in the shaded walk. "To-night, I will kiss you on the lips, " she said, with a mingling ofhumility and tenderness, which roused his gall. 

Close by, where the alley opened on to the greensward, Marcolina wasstretched on the grass, her hands clasped beneath her head, lookingskyward while the shuttlecocks flew to and fro. Suddenly reachingupwards, she seized one of them in mid air, and laughed triumphantly. The girls flung themselves upon her as she lay defenceless. 

Casanova thrilled. "Neither my lips nor my hands are yours to kiss. Your waiting for me and your dreams of me will prove to have beenvain--unless I should first make Marcolina mine. "

"Are you mad, Casanova?" exclaimed Amalia, with distress in her voice. 

"If I am, we are both on the same footing, " replied Casanova. "You aremad because in me, an old man, you think that you can rediscover thebeloved of your youth; I am mad because I have taken it into my headthat I wish to possess Marcolina. But perhaps we shall both berestored to reason. Marcolina shall restore me to youth--for you. Sohelp me to my wishes, Amalia!"

"You are really beside yourself, Casanova. What you ask is impossible. She will have nothing to do with any man. "

Casanova laughed. "What about Lieutenant Lorenzi?"

"Lorenzi? What do you mean?"

"He is her lover. I am sure of it. "

"You are utterly mistaken. He asked for her hand, and she rejected hisproposal. Yet he is young and handsome. I almost think him handsomerthan you ever were, Casanova!"

"He was a suitor for her hand?"

"Ask Olivo if you don't believe me. "

"Well, what do I care about that? What care I whether she be virgin orstrumpet, wife or widow--I want to make her mine!"

"I can't give her to you, my friend!" Amalia's voice expressed genuineconcern. 

"You see for yourself, " he said, "what a pitiful creature I have become. Ten years ago, five years ago, I should have needed neither helper noradvocate, even though Marcolina had been the very goddess of virtue. Andnow I am trying to make you play the procuress. If I were only a richman. Had I but ten thousand ducats. But I have not even ten. I am abeggar, Amalia. "

"Had you a hundred thousand, you could not buy Marcolina. What does shecare about money? She loves books, the sky, the meadows, butterflies, playing with children. She has inherited a small competence which morethan suffices for her needs. "

"Were I but a sovereign prince, " cried Casanova, somewhat theatrically, as was his wont when strongly moved. "Had I but the power to commit mento prison, to send them to the scaffold. But I am nothing. A beggar, anda liar into the bargain. I importune the Supreme Council for a post, acrust of bread, a home! What a poor thing have I become! Are you notsickened by me, Amalia?"

"I love you, Casanova!"

"Then give her to me, Amalia. It rests with you, I am confident. Tellher what you please. Say I have threatened you. Say you think I amcapable of setting fire to the house. Say I am a fool, a dangerouslunatic escaped from an asylum, but that the embraces of a virgin willrestore me to sanity. Yes, tell her that. "

"She does not believe in miracles. "

"Does not believe in miracles? Then she does not believe in God either. So much the better! I have influence with the Archbishop of Milan. Tellher so. I can ruin her. I can destroy you all. It is true, Amalia. Whatbooks does she read? Doubtless some of them are on the Index. Let me seethem. I will compile a list. A hint from me. .. . "

"Not a word more, Casanova! Here she comes. Keep yourself well in hand;do not let your eyes betray you. Listen, Casanova; I have never known apurer-minded girl. Did she suspect what I have heard from you, she wouldfeel herself soiled, and for the rest of your stay she would not so muchas look at you. Talk to her; talk to her. You will soon ask her pardonand mine. "

Marcolina came up with the girls, who ran on into the house. She paused, as if out of courtesy to the guest, standing before him, while Amaliadeliberately withdrew. Indeed, it actually seemed to Casanova thatfrom those pale, half-parted lips, from the smooth brow crowned withlight-brown hair now restored to order, there emanated an aroma ofaloofness and purity. Rarely had he had this feeling with regard to anywoman; nor had he had it in the case of Marcolina when they were withinfour walls. A devotional mood, a spirit of self-sacrifice knowingnothing of desire, seemed to take possession of his soul. Discreetly, ina respectful tone such as at that day was customary towards personsof rank, in a manner which she could not but regard as flattering, heenquired whether it was her purpose to resume her studies that evening. She answered that in the country her work was somewhat irregular. Nevertheless, even during free hours, mathematical problems uponwhich she had recently been pondering, would at times invade her mindunawares. This had just happened while she was lying on the greenswardgazing up into the sky. 

Casanova, emboldened by the friendliness of her demeanor, askedjestingly what was the nature of this lofty, urgent problem. Shereplied, in much the same tone, that it had nothing whatever to do withthe Cabala, with which, so rumor ran, the Chevalier de Seingalt workedwonders. He would therefore not know what to make of her problem. 

Casanova was piqued that she should speak of the Cabala with suchunconcealed contempt. In his rare hours of heart-searching he was wellaware that the mystical system of numbers which passed by that name hadneither sense nor purpose. He knew it had no correspondence with anynatural reality; that it was no more than an instrument whereby cheatsand jesters--Casanova assumed these roles by turn, and was a masterplayer in both capacities--could lead credulous fools by the nose. Nevertheless, in defiance of his own better judgment, he now undertookto defend the Cabala as a serious and perfectly valid science. He spokeof the divine nature of the number seven, to which there are so manyreferences in Holy Writ; of the deep prophetic significance of pyramidsof figures, for the construction of which he had himself invented a newsystem; and of the frequent fulfilment of the forecasts he had basedupon this system. In Amsterdam, a few years ago, through the use ofarithmancy, he had induced Hope the banker to take over the insurance ofa ship which was already reported lost, whereby the banker had made twohundred thousand gold guilders. He held forth so eloquently in defenceof his preposterous theories that, as often happened, he began tobelieve all the nonsense he was talking. At length he went so far as tomaintain that the Cabala was not so much a branch of mathematics as themetaphysical perfectionment of mathematics. 

At this point, Marcolina, who had been listening attentively andwith apparent seriousness, suddenly assumed a half-commiserating, half-mischievous expression, and said:

"You are trying, Signor Casanova"--she seemed deliberately to avoidaddressing him as Chevalier--"to give me an elaborate proof of yourrenowned talent as entertainer, and I am extremely grateful to you. But of course you know as well as I do that the Cabala has not merelynothing to do with mathematics, but is in conflict with the very essenceof mathematics. The Cabala bears to mathematics the same sort ofrelationship that the confused or fallacious chatter of the Sophistsbore to the serene, lofty doctrines of Plato and of Aristotle. "

"Nevertheless, beautiful and learned Marcolina, you will admit, "answered Casanova promptly, "that even the Sophists were far from beingsuch contemptible, foolish apprentices as your harsh criticism wouldimply. Let me give you a contemporary example. M. Voltaire's wholetechnique of thought and writing entitles us to describe him as anArch-Sophist. Yet no one will refuse the due meed of honor to hisextraordinary talent. I would not myself refuse it, though I am at thismoment engaged in composing a polemic against him. Let me add that I amnot allowing myself to be influenced in his favor by recollection of theextreme civility he was good enough to show me when I visited him atFerney ten years ago. "

"It is really most considerate of you to be so lenient in your criticismof the greatest mind of the century!" Marcolina smilingly retorted. 

"A great mind--the greatest of the century!" exclaimed Casanova. "Togive him such a designation seems to me inadmissible, were it onlybecause, for all his genius, he is an ungodly man--nay positively anatheist. No atheist can be a man of great mind. "

"As I see the matter, there is no such incompatibility. But the firstthing you have to prove is your title to describe Voltaire as anatheist. "

Casanova was now in his element. In the opening chapter of his polemiche had cited from Voltaire's works, especially from the famous_Pucelle_, a number of passages that seemed peculiarly well-fitted tojustify the charge of atheism. Thanks to his unfailing memory, hewas able to repeat these citations verbatim, and to marshal his owncounter-arguments. But in Marcolina he had to cope with an opponent whowas little inferior to himself in extent of knowledge and mental acumen;and who, moreover, excelled him, not perhaps in fluency of speech, butat any rate in artistry of presentation and clarity of expression. Thepassages Casanova had selected as demonstrating Voltaire's spirit ofmockery, his scepticism, and his atheism, were adroitly interpreted byMarcolina as testifying to the Frenchman's scientific genius, to hisskill as an author, and to his indefatigable ardor in the search fortruth. She boldly contended that doubt, mockery, nay unbelief itself, ifassociated with such a wealth of knowledge, such absolute honesty, andsuch high courage, must be more pleasing to God than the humility ofthe pious, which was apt to be a mask for lack of capacity to thinklogically, and often enough--there were plenty of examples--a mask forcowardice and hypocrisy. 

Casanova listened with growing astonishment. He felt quite incompetentto convert Marcolina to his own way of thinking; all the more as heincreasingly realized that her counterstrokes were threatening todemolish the tottering intellectual edifice which, of late years, hehad been accustomed to mistake for faith. He took refuge in the triteassertion that such views as Marcolina's were a menace, not only tothe ecclesiastical ordering of society, but to the very foundations ofsocial life. This enabled him to make a clever change of front, to passinto the field of politics, where he hoped that his wide experience andhis knowledge of the world would render it possible for him to get thebetter of his adversary. But although she lacked acquaintance withthe notable personalities of the age; although she was without insideknowledge of courtly and diplomatic intrigues; although, therefore, shehad to renounce any attempt to answer Casanova in detail, even whenshe felt there was good reason to distrust the accuracy of hisassertions--nevertheless, it was clear to him from the tenor of herremarks, that she had little respect for the princes of the earth orfor the institutions of state; and she made no secret of her convictionthat, alike in small things and in great, the world was not so much aworld ruled by selfishness and lust for power, as a world in a conditionof hopeless confusion. Rarely had Casanova encountered such freedom ofthought in women; never had he met with anything of the kind in a girlwho was certainly not yet twenty years old. It was painful to himto remember that in earlier and better days his own mind had withdeliberate, self-complacent boldness moved along the paths whereonMarcolina was now advancing--although in her case there did not seemto exist any consciousness of exceptional courage. Fascinated by theuniqueness of her methods of thought and expression, he almost forgotthat he was walking beside a young, beautiful, desirable woman, aforgetfulness all the more remarkable as the two were alone in the leafyalley, and at a considerable distance from the house. 

Suddenly, breaking off in the middle of a sentence, Marcolina joyfullyexclaimed, "Here comes my uncle!"

Casanova, as if he had to rectify an omission, whispered in her ear:"What a nuisance. I should have liked to go on talking to you for hours, Marcolina. " He was aware that his eyes were again lighting up withdesire. 

At this Marcolina, who in the spirited exchange of their recentconversation had almost abandoned her defensive attitude, displayed arenewed reserve. Her expression manifested the same protest, the samerepulsion, which had wounded Casanova earlier in the day. 

"Am I really so repulsive?" he anxiously asked himself. Then, replyingin thought to his own question: "No, that is not the reason. Marcolinais not really a woman. She is a she-professor, a she-philosopher, one ofthe wonders of the world perhaps--but not a woman. "

Yet even as he mused, he knew he was merely attempting to deceivehimself, console himself, save himself; and all his endeavors were vain. 

Olivo, who had now come up, addressed Marcolina. "Have I not done wellto invite some one here with whom you can converse as learnedly as withyour professors at Bologna?"

"Indeed, Uncle, " answered Marcolina, "there was not one of them whowould have ventured to challenge Voltaire to a duel!"

"What, Voltaire? The Chevalier has called him out?" cried Olivo, misunderstanding the jest. 

"Your witty niece, Olivo, refers to the polemic on which I have been atwork for the last few days, the pastime of leisure hours. I used to haveweightier occupations. "

Marcolina, ignoring this remark, said: "You will find it pleasantly coolnow for your walk. Goodbye for the present. " She nodded a farewell, andmoved briskly across the greensward to the house. 

Casanova, repressing an impulse to follow her with his eyes, enquired:"Is Signora Amalia coming with us?"

"No, Chevalier, " answered Olivo. "She has a number of things to attendto in the house; and besides, this is the girls' lesson time. "

"What an excellent housewife and mother! You're a lucky fellow, Olivo!"

"I tell myself the same thing every day, " responded Olivo, with tears inhis eyes. 

They passed by the gable end of the house. Marcolina's window was stillopen; the pale, diaphanous gown showed up against the dark background ofthe room. Along the wide chestnut avenue they made their way on to theroad, now completely in the shade. Leisurely, they walked up the slopeskirting the garden wall. Where it ended, the vineyard began. Betweentall poles, from which purple clusters hung, Olivo led his guest to thesummit. With a complacent air of ownership, he waved towards the house, lying at the foot of the hill. Casanova fancied he could detect a femalefigure flitting to and fro in the turret chamber. 

The sun was near to setting, but the heat was still considerable. Beadsof perspiration coursed down Olivo's cheeks, but Casanova's brow showedno trace of moisture. Strolling down the farther slope, they reached anolive grove. From tree to tree vines were trained trellis-wise, whilebetween the rows of olive trees golden ears of corn swayed in thebreeze. 

"In a thousand ways, " said Casanova appreciatively, "the sun bringsincrease. "

With even greater wealth of detail than before, Olivo recounted how hehad acquired this fine estate, and how two great vintage years and twogood harvests had made him a well-to-do, in fact a wealthy, man. 

Casanova pursued the train of his own thoughts, attending to Olivo'snarrative only in so far as was requisite to enable him from time totime to interpose a polite question or to make an appropriate comment. Nothing claimed his interest until Olivo, after talking of all andsundry, came back to the topic of his family, and at length toMarcolina. But Casanova learned little that was new. She had lost hermother early. Her father, Olivo's half-brother, had been a physician inBologna. Marcolina, while still a child, had astonished everyone by herprecocious intelligence; but the marvel was soon staled by custom. A fewyears later, her father died. Since then she had been an inmate in thehousehold of a distinguished professor at the university of Bologna, Morgagni to wit, who hoped that his pupil would become a woman of greatlearning. She always spent the summer with her uncle. There had beenseveral proposals for her hand; one from a Bolognese merchant; one froma neighboring landowner; and lastly the proposal of Lieutenant Lorenzi. She had refused them all, and it seemed to be her design to devote herwhole life to the service of knowledge. As Olivo rambled on with hisstory, Casanova's desires grew beyond measure, while the recognitionthat these desires were utterly foolish and futile reduced him almost todespair. 

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 own 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 totheir 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 echogradually 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 reëntered 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. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

The room in which Casanova was now left to his own devices was dimlylighted by two candles. His gaze roamed successively to the fourwindows, looking to the four quarters of heaven. The prospect was muchthe same from them all. The landscape had a bluish sheen. He saw broadplains with no more than trifling elevations, except to the northwardwhere the mountains were faintly visible. A few isolated houses, farms, and larger buildings, could be made out. Among these latter was onewhich stood higher than the rest. Here there was still a light in one ofthe windows, and Casanova imagined it must be the Marchese's mansion. 

The furniture of the room was simple. The double bed stood straight outinto the room. The two candles were on a long table. There were a fewchairs, and a chest of drawers bearing a gilt-framed mirror. Everythingwas in perfect order, and the valise had been unpacked. On the table, locked, lay the shabby portfolio containing Casanova's papers. Therewere also some books which he was using in his work; writing materialshad been provided. 

He did not feel sleepy. Taking his manuscript out of the portfolio, hereread what he had last written. Since he had broken off in the middleof a sentence, it was easy for him to continue. He took up the pen, wrote a phrase or two, then paused. 

"To what purpose?" he demanded of himself, as if in a cruel flash ofinner illumination. "Even if I knew that what I am writing, what I amgoing to write, would be considered incomparably fine; even if I couldreally succeed in annihilating Voltaire, and in making my renown greaterthan his--would I not gladly commit these papers to the flames could Ibut have Marcolina in my arms? For that boon, should I not be willing tovow never to set foot in Venice again, even though the Venetians shouldwish to escort me back to the city in triumph?"

"Venice!". .. .. He breathed the word once more. Its splendor captivatedhis imagination, and in a moment its old power over him had beenrestored. The city of his youth rose before his eyes, enshrined in allthe charms of memory. His heart ached with yearning more intense thanany that he could recall. To renounce the idea of returning home seemedto him the most incredible of the sacrifices which his destiny mightdemand. How could he go on living in this poor and faded world withoutthe hope, without the certainty, that he was one day to see the belovedcity again? After the years and decades of wanderings and adventures, after all the happiness and unhappiness he had experienced, afterall the honor and all the shame, after so many triumphs and so manydiscomfitures--he must at length find a resting place, must at lengthfind a home. 

Was there any other home for him than Venice? Was there any good fortunereserved for him other than this, that he should have a home oncemore? It was long since in foreign regions he had been able to commandenduring happiness. He could still at times grasp happiness, but fora moment only; he could no longer hold it fast. His power over hisfellows, over women no less than over men, had vanished. Only where heevoked memories could his words, his voice, his glance, still conjure;apart from this, his presence was void of interest. His day was done!

He was willing to admit what he had hitherto been sedulous to concealfrom himself, that even his literary labors, including the polemicagainst Voltaire upon which his last hopes reposed, would never secureany notable success. Here, likewise, he was too late. Had he in youthbut had leisure and patience to devote himself seriously to the work ofthe pen, he was confident he could have ranked with the leading membersof the profession of authorship, with the greatest imaginative writersand philosophers. He was as sure of this as he was sure that, grantedmore perseverance and foresight than he actually possessed, he couldhave risen to supreme eminence as financier or as diplomat. 

But what availed his patience and his foresight, what became of all hisplans in life, when the lure of a new love adventure summoned? Women, always women. For them he had again and again cast everything to thewinds; sometimes for women who were refined, sometimes for women whowere vulgar; for passionate women and for frigid women; for maidensand for harlots. All the honors and all the joys in the world had everseemed cheap to him in comparison with a successful night upon a newlove quest. 

Did he regret what he had lost through his perpetual seeking andnever or ever finding, through this earthly and superearthly flittingfrom craving to pleasure and from pleasure back to craving once more?No, he had no regrets. He had lived such a life as none other beforehim; and could he not still live it after his own fashion? Everywherethere remained women upon his path, even though they might no longer bequite so crazy about him as of old. 

Amalia? He could have her for the asking, at this very hour, in herdrunken husband's bed. The hostess in Mantua; was she not in love withhim, fired with affection and jealousy as if he were a handsome lad?Perotti's mistress, pockmarked, but a woman with a fine figure? Thevery name of Casanova had intoxicated her with its aroma of a thousandconquests. Had she not implored him to grant her but a single night oflove; and had he not spurned her as one who could still choose where hepleased?

But Marcolina--such as Marcolina were no longer at his disposal. Hadsuch as Marcolina ever been at his disposal? Doubtless there were womenof that kind. Perchance he had met more than one such woman before. Always, however, some more willing than she had been available, and hehad never been the man to waste a day in vain sighing. Since not evenLorenzi had succeeded with Marcolina, since she had rejected the hand ofthis comely officer who was as handsome and as bold as he, Casanova, hadbeen in youth, Marcolina might well prove to be that wonder of the worldin the existence of which he had hitherto disbelieved--the virtuouswoman. 

At this juncture he laughed, so that the walls reëchoed. "Thebungler, the greenhorn!" he exclaimed out loud, as so often in suchself-communings. "He did not know how to make a good use of hisopportunities. Or the Marchesa was hanging round his neck all the time. Or perhaps he took her as a next-best, when Marcolina, the philosopher, the woman of learning, proved unattainable!"

Suddenly a thought struck him. "To-morrow I will read her my polemicagainst Voltaire. I can think of no one else who would be a competentcritic. I shall convince her. She will admire me. She will say:'Excellent, Signor Casanova. Your style is that of a most brilliant oldgentleman!' God!. .. . 'You have positively annihilated Voltaire, youbrilliant senior!'"

He paced the chamber like a beast in a cage, hissing out the words inhis anger. A terrible wrath possessed him, against Marcolina, againstVoltaire, against himself, against the whole world. It was all he coulddo to restrain himself from roaring aloud in his rage. At length hethrew himself upon the bed without undressing, and lay with eyes wideopen, looking up at the joists among which spiders' webs were visible, glistening in the candlelight. Then, as often happened to him afterplaying cards late at night, pictures of cards chased one anotherswiftly through his brain, until he sank into a dreamless sleep. 

His slumber was brief. When he awakened it was to a mysterious silence. The southern and the eastern windows of the turret chamber were open. Through them from the garden and the fields entered a complex of sweetodors. Gradually the silence was broken by the vague noises from nearand from far which usually herald the dawn. Casanova could no longer liequiet; a vigorous impulse towards movement gripped him, and lured himinto the open. The song of the birds called to him; the cool breeze ofearly morning played upon his brow. Softly he opened the door and movedcautiously down the stairs. Cunning, from long experience, he was ableto avoid making the old staircase creak. The lower flight, leading tothe ground floor, was of stone. Through the hall, where half-emptiedglasses were still standing on the table, he made his way into thegarden. Since it was impossible to walk silently on the gravel, hepromptly stepped on to the greensward, which now, in the early twilight, seemed an area of vast proportions. He slipped into the side alley, from which he could see Marcolina's window. It was closed, barred, andcurtained, just as it had been overnight. Barely fifty paces from thehouse, Casanova seated himself upon a stone bench. He heard a cart rollby on the other side of the wall, and then everything was quiet again. Afine grey haze was floating over the greensward, giving it the aspect ofa pond with fugitive outlines. Once again Casanova thought of that nightlong ago in the convent garden at Murano; he thought of another gardenon another night; he hardly knew what memories he was recalling;perchance it was a composite reminiscence of a hundred nights, just asat times a hundred women whom he had loved would fuse in memory into onefigure that loomed enigmatically before his questioning senses. Afterall, was not one night just like another? Was not one woman just likeanother? Especially when the affair was past and gone? The phrase, "past and gone, " continued to hammer upon his temples, as if destinedhenceforth to become the pulse of his forlorn existence. 

It seemed to him that something was rattling behind him along the wall. Or was it only an echo that he heard? Yes, the noise had really comefrom the house. Marcolina's window had suddenly been opened, the irongrating had been pushed back, the curtain drawn. A shadowy formwas visible against the dark interior. Marcolina, clad in a whitenightdress, was standing at the window, as if to breathe the fragranceof morning. In an instant, Casanova slipped behind the bench. Peepingover the top of it, through the foliage in the avenue, he watchedMarcolina as if spellbound. She stood unthinking, it seemed, her gazevaguely piercing the twilight. Not until several seconds had elapsed didshe appear to collect herself, to grow fully awake and aware, directingher eyes slowly, now to right and now to left. Then she leaned forward, as if seeking for something on the gravel, and next she turned her head, from which her hair was hanging loosely, and looked up towards thewindows in the upper story. Thereafter, she stood motionless for awhile, supporting herself with a hand on either side of the window-frameas though she were fastened to an invisible cross. Now at length, suddenly illumined as it were from within, her features grew plain toCasanova's vision. A smile flitted across her face. Her arms fell to hersides; her lips moved strangely, as if whispering a prayer; oncemore she looked searchingly across the garden, then nodded almostimperceptibly, and at the instant someone who must hitherto have beencrouching at her feet swung across the sill into the open. It wasLorenzi. He flew rather than walked across the gravel into the alley, which he crossed barely ten yards from Casanova, who held his breathas he lay behind the bench. Lorenzi, hastening on, made his way down anarrow strip of grass running along the wall, and disappeared from view. Casanova heard a door groan on its hinges--the very door doubtlessthrough which he, Olivo, and the Marchese had reëntered the gardenon the previous day--and then all was still. Marcolina had remainedmotionless. As soon as she knew that Lorenzi was safely away, she drew adeep breath, and closed grating and window. The curtain fell back intoits place, and all was as it had been. Except for one thing; for now, asif there were no longer any reason for delay, day dawned over house andgarden. 

Casanova was still lying behind the bench, his arms outstretched beforehim. After a while he crept on all fours to the middle of the alley, andthence onward till he reached a place where he could not be seen fromMarcolina's window or from any of the others. Rising to his feet with anaching back, he stretched body and limbs, and felt himself restored tohis senses, as though re-transformed from a whipped hound into a humanbeing--doomed to feel the chastisement, not as bodily pain, but asprofound humiliation. 

"Why, " he asked himself, "did I not go to the window while it was stillopen? Why did I not leap over the sill? Could she have offered anyresistance; would she have dared to do so; hypocrite, liar, strumpet?"

He continued to rail at her as though he had a right to do so, as thoughhe had been her lover to whom she had plighted troth and whom she hadbetrayed. He swore to question her face to face; to denounce her beforeOlivo, Amalia, the Marchese, the Abbate, the servants, as nothing betterthan a lustful little whore. As if for practice, he recounted to himselfin detail what he had just witnessed, delighting in the invention ofincidents which would degrade her yet further. He would say that she hadstood naked at the window; that she had permitted the unchaste caressesof her lover while the morning wind played upon them both. 

After thus allaying the first vehemence of his anger, he turnedto consider whether he might not make a better use of his presentknowledge. Was she not in his power? Could he not now exact by threatsthe favors which she had not been willing to grant him for love? Butthis infamous design was speedily abandoned; not so much becauseCasanova realized its infamy, as because, even while the plan crossedhis mind, he was aware of its futility. Why should Marcolina, accountable to no one but herself, be concerned at his threats? In thelast resort she was astute enough, if needs must, to have him drivenfrom the house as a slanderer and blackmailer. Even if, for one reasonor another, she were willing to give herself to him in order to preservethe secret of her amours with Lorenzi (he was aware that he wasspeculating on something beyond the bounds of possibility), a pleasurethus extorted would become for him a nameless torment. Casanovaknew himself to be one whose rapture in a love relationship was athousandfold greater when conferring pleasure than when receiving it. Such a victory as he was contemplating would drive him to frenzy anddespair. 

Suddenly he found himself at the door in the garden wall. It was locked. Then Lorenzi had a master-key! But who, it now occurred to him to ask, had ridden the horse he had heard trotting away after Lorenzi had leftthe card table? A servant in waiting for the purpose, obviously. 

Involuntarily Casanova smiled his approval. They were worthy of oneanother, these two, Marcolina and Lorenzi, the woman philosopher and theofficer. A splendid career lay before them. 

"Who will be Marcolina's next lover?" he thought questioningly. "Theprofessor in Bologna in whose house she lives? Fool, fool! That isdoubtless an old story. Who next? Olivo? The Abbate? Wherefore not? Orthe serving-lad who stood gaping at the door yesterday when we drove up?She has given herself to all of them. I am sure of it. But Lorenzi doesnot know. I have stolen a march on him there. "

Yet all the while he was inwardly convinced that Lorenzi was Marcolina'sfirst lover. Nay, he even suspected that the previous night was thefirst on which she had given herself to Lorenzi. Nevertheless, as hemade the circuit in the garden within the wall, he continued to indulgethese spiteful, lascivious fantasies. 

At length he reached the hall door, which he had left open. He mustregain the turret chamber unseen and unheard. With all possible cautionhe crept upstairs, and sank into the armchair which stood in frontof the table. The loose leaves of the manuscript seemed to have beenawaiting his return. Involuntarily his eyes fell upon the sentence inthe middle of which he had broken off. He read: "Voltaire will doubtlessprove immortal. But this immortality will have been purchased at theprice of his immortal part. Wit has consumed his heart just as doubt hasconsumed his soul, and therefore. .. .. "

At this moment the morning sun flooded the chamber with red light, sothat the page in his hand glowed. As if vanquished, he laid it on thetable beside the others. Suddenly aware that his lips were dry, hepoured himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table; the drinkwas lukewarm and sweetish to the taste. Nauseated, he turned his headaway from the glass, and found himself facing his image in the mirrorupon the chest of drawers. A wan, aging countenance with dishevelledhair stared back at him. In a self-tormenting mood he allowed thecorners of his mouth to droop as if he were playing the part ofpantaloon on the stage; disarranged his hair yet more wildly; put outhis tongue at his own image in the mirror; croaked a string of inaneinvectives against himself; and finally, like a naughty child, blew theleaves of his manuscript from the table on to the floor. 

Then he began to rail against Marcolina again. He loaded her withobscene epithets. "Do you imagine, " he hissed between his teeth, "thatyour pleasure will last? You will become fat and wrinkled and old justlike the other women who were young when you were young. You will be anold woman with flaccid breasts; your hair will be dry and grizzled; youwill be toothless, you will have a bad smell. Last of all you will die. Perhaps you will die while you are still quite young. You will become amass of corruption, food for worms. "

To wreak final vengeance upon her, he endeavored to picture her as dead. He saw her lying in an open coffin, wrapped in a white shroud. But hewas unable to attach to her image any sign of decay, and her unearthlybeauty aroused him to renewed frenzy. Through his closed eyelids he sawthe coffin transform itself into a nuptial bed. Marcolina lay laughingthere with lambent eyes. As if in mockery, with her small, white handsshe unveiled her firm little breasts. But as he stretched forth hisarms towards her, in the moment when he was about to clasp her in hispassionate embrace, the vision faded. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

Someone was knocking at the door. Casanova awoke from a heavy sleep tofind Olivo standing before him. 

"At your writing so early?"

Casanova promptly collected his wits. "It is my custom, " he said, "towork the first thing in the morning. What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock, " answered Olivo. "Breakfast is ready in the garden. We will start on our drive to the nunnery as early as you please, Chevalier. How the wind has blown your papers about!"

He stooped to pick up the fallen leaves. Casanova did not interfere. Hehad moved to the window, and was looking down upon the breakfast tablewhich had been set on the greensward in the shade of the house. Amalia, Marcolina, and the three young girls, dressed in white, were atbreakfast. They called up a good-morning. He had no eyes for anyone butMarcolina, who smiled at him frankly and in the friendliest fashion. In her lap was a plateful of early-ripe grapes, which she was eatingdeliberately. 

Contempt, anger, and hatred vanished from Casanova's heart. All he knewwas that he loved her. Made drunken by the very sight of her, he turnedaway from the window to find Olivo on hands and knees still assemblingthe scattered pages of manuscript from under the table and chest ofdrawers. "Don't trouble any further, " he said to his host. "Leave me tomyself for a moment while I get ready for the drive. "

"No hurry, " answered Olivo, rising, and brushing the dust from hisknees. "We shall easily be home in time for dinner. We want to get backearly, anyhow, for the Marchese would like us to begin cards soon afterour meal. I suppose he wants to leave before sunset. "

"It doesn't matter to me what time you begin cards, " said Casanova, ashe arranged his manuscript in the portfolio. "Whatever happens, I shallnot take a hand in the game. "

"Yes you will, " explained Olivo with a decision foreign to his usualmanner. Laying a roll of gold pieces on the table, he continued: "Thusdo I pay my debt, Chevalier. A belated settlement, but it comes from agrateful heart. " Casanova made a gesture of refusal. 

"I insist, " said Olivo. "If you do not take the money, you will woundus deeply. Besides, last night Amalia had a dream which will certainlyinduce you--but I will let her tell the story herself. " He turned andleft the room precipitately. 

Casanova counted the money. Yes, there were one hundred and fifty goldpieces, the very sum that fifteen years earlier he had presented to thebridegroom, the bride, or the bride's mother--he had forgotten which. 

"The best thing I could do, " he mused, "would be to pack up the money, say farewell to Olivo and Amalia, and leave the place at once, ifpossible without seeing Marcolina again. Yet when was I ever guided byreason?--I wonder if news has reached Mantua from Venice? But my goodhostess promised to forward without fail anything that might arrive. "

The maid meanwhile had brought a large earthenware pitcher filled withwater freshly drawn from the spring. Casanova sponged himself all over. Greatly refreshed, he dressed in his best suit, the one he had intendedto wear the previous evening had there been time to change. Now, however, he was delighted that he would be able to appear beforeMarcolina better clad than on the previous day, to present himself in anew form as it were. 

So he sauntered into the garden wearing a coat of grey satin richlyembroidered and trimmed with Spanish lace; a yellow waistcoat; andknee-breeches of cherry-colored silk. His aspect was that of a man whowas distinguished without being proud. An amiable smile played about hislips, and his eyes sparkled with the fire of inextinguishable youth. Tohis disappointment, he found no one but Olivo, who bade him be seated, and invited him to fall to upon the modest fare. Casanova's breakfastconsisted of bread, butter, milk, and eggs, followed by peaches andgrapes, which seemed to him the finest he had ever eaten. Now the threegirls came running across the lawn. Casanova kissed them in turn, bestowing on the thirteen-year-old Teresina such caresses as the Abbatehad been free with on the previous day. Her eyes gleamed in a way withwhich Casanova was familiar. He was convinced this meant something moreto her than childish amusement. 

Olivo was delighted to see how well the Chevalier got on with the girls. "Must you really leave us to-morrow morning?" he enquired tentatively. "This very evening, " rejoined Casanova jovially. "You know, my dearOlivo, I must consider the wishes of the Venetian senators. .. . "

"How have they earned the right to any such consideration from you?"broke in Olivo. "Let them wait. Stay here for another two days at least;or, better still, for a week. "

Casanova slowly shook his head. He had seized Teresina's hands, and heldher prisoner between his knees. She drew herself gently away, with asmile no longer that of a child. At this moment Amalia and Marcolinaemerged from the house. Olivo besought them to second his invitation. But when neither found a word to say on the matter, Casanova's voice andexpression assumed an unduly severe emphasis as he answered: "Quite outof the question. "

On the way through the chestnut avenue to the road, Marcolina askedCasanova whether he had made satisfactory progress with the polemic. Olivo had told her that his guest had been at the writing-table sinceearly morning. 

Casanova was half inclined to make an answer that would have beenmalicious in its ambiguity, and would have startled his auditor withoutbetraying himself. Reflecting, however, that premature advances coulddo his cause nothing but harm, he held his wit in leash, and civillyrejoined that he had been content to make a few emendations, the fruitof his conversation with her yesterday. 

Now they all seated themselves in the lumbering carriage. Casanova satopposite Marcolina, Olivo opposite Amalia. The vehicle was so roomythat, notwithstanding the inevitable joltings, the inmates were notunduly jostled one against the other. Casanova begged Amalia to tell himher dream. She smiled cordially, almost brightly, no longer displayingany trace of mortification or resentment. 

"In my dream, Casanova, I saw you driving past a white building in asplendid carriage drawn by six chestnut horses. Or rather, the carriagepulled up in front of this building, and at first I did not know who wasseated inside. Then you got out. You were wearing a magnificent whitecourt dress embroidered with gold, so that your appearance was almostmore resplendent than it is to-day. " Her tone conveyed a spice of gentlemockery. "You were wearing, I am sure of it, the thin gold chain you arewearing to-day, and yet I had never seen it until this morning!" Thischain, with the gold watch and gold snuff-box set with garnets (Casanovawas fingering it as she spoke), were the only trinkets of value stillleft to him. "An old man, looking like a beggar, opened the carriagedoor. It was Lorenzi. As for you, Casanova, you were young, quite young, younger even than you seemed to me in those days. " She said "in thosedays" quite unconcernedly, regardless of the fact that in the train ofthese words all her memories came attendant, winging their way like aflight of birds. "You bowed right and left, although there was not asoul within sight; then you entered the house. The door slammed tobehind you. I did not know whether the storm had slammed it, or Lorenzi. So startling was the noise that the horses took fright and galloped awaywith the carriage. Then came a clamor from neighboring streets, as ifpeople were trying to save themselves from being run over; but soon allwas quiet again. Next I saw you at one of the windows. Now I knew it wasa gaming-house. Once more you bowed in all directions, though the wholetime there was no one to be seen. You looked over your shoulder, as ifsomeone were standing behind you in the room; but I knew that no one wasthere. Now, of a sudden, I saw you at another window, in a higher story, where the same gestures were repeated. Then higher still, and higher, and yet higher, as if the building were piled story upon story, interminably. From each window in succession, you bowed towards thestreet, and then turned to speak to persons behind you--who were notreally there at all. Lorenzi, meanwhile, kept on running up the stairs, flight after flight, but was never able to overtake you. He wanted youbecause you had forgotten to give him a gratuity. .. .. "

"What next?" enquired Casanova, when Amalia paused. 

"There was a great deal more, but I have forgotten, " said Amalia. 

Casanova was disappointed. In such cases, whether he was relating adream or giving an account of real incidents, it was his way toround off the narrative, attempting to convey a meaning. He remarkeddiscontentedly: "How strangely everything is distorted in dreams. Fancy, that I should be wealthy; and that Lorenzi should be a beggar, and old!"

"As far as Lorenzi is concerned, " interjected Olivo, "there is not muchwealth about him. His father is fairly well off, but no one can say thatof the son. "

Casanova had no need to ask questions. He was speedily informed thatit was through the Marchese that they had made the Lieutenant'sacquaintance. The Marchese had brought Lorenzi to the house only a fewweeks before. A man of the Chevalier's wide experience would hardlyneed prompting to enlighten him as to the nature of the young officer'srelationship to the Marchesa. After all, if the husband had noobjection, the affair was nobody else's business. 

"I think, Olivo, " said Casanova, "that you have allowed yourself to beconvinced of the Marchese's complaisance too easily. Did you not noticehis manner towards the young man, the mingling of contempt and ferocity?I should not like to wager that all will end well. "

Marcolina remained impassive. She seemed to pay no attention to thistalk about Lorenzi, but sat with unruffled countenance, and to allappearance quietly delighting in the landscape. The road led upwards bya gentle ascent zigzagging through groves of olives and holly trees. Now they reached a place where the horses had to go more slowly, andCasanova alighted to stroll beside the carriage. Marcolina talked ofthe lovely scenery round Bologna, and of the evening walks she wasin the habit of taking with Professor Morgagni's daughter. She alsomentioned that she was planning a journey to France next year, inorder to make the personal acquaintance of Saugrenue, the celebratedmathematician at the university of Paris, with whom she hadcorresponded. "Perhaps, " she said with a smile, "I may look in at Ferneyon the way, in order to learn from Voltaire's own lips how he hasbeen affected by the polemic of the Chevalier de Seingalt, his mostformidable adversary. "

Casanova was walking with a hand on the side of the carriage, close toMarcolina's arm. Her loose sleeve was touching his fingers. He answeredquietly: "It matters less what M. Voltaire thinks about the matterthan what posterity thinks. A final decision upon the merits of thecontroversy must be left to the next generation. "

"Do you really think, " said Marcolina earnestly, "that final decisionscan be reached in questions of this character?"

"I am surprised that you should ask such a thing, Marcolina. Though yourphilosophic views, and (if the term be appropriate) your religiousviews, seem to me by no means irrefutable, at least they must be firmlyestablished in your soul--if you believe that there is a soul. "

Marcolina, ignoring the personal animus in Casanova's words, sat lookingskyward over the tree-crests, and tranquilly rejoined: "Ofttimes, andespecially on a day like this"--to Casanova, knowing what he knew, thewords conveyed the thrill of reverence in the newly awakened heart of awoman--"I feel as if all that people speak of as philosophy and religionwere no more than playing with words. A sport nobler perhaps thanothers, nevertheless more unmeaning than them all. Infinity and eternitywill never be within the grasp of our understanding. Our path leads frombirth to death. What else is left for us than to live a life accordantwith the law that each of us bears within--or a life of rebellionagainst that law? For rebellion and submissiveness both issue from God. "

Olivo looked at his niece with timid admiration, then turned tocontemplate Casanova with some anxiety. Casanova was in search of arejoinder which should convince Marcolina that she was in one breathaffirming and denying God, or should prove to her that she wasproclaiming God and the Devil to be the same. He realized, however, thathe had nothing but empty words to set against her feelings, and to-daywords did not come to him readily. His expression showed him to besomewhat at a loss, and apparently reminded Amalia of the confusedmenaces he had uttered on the previous day. So she hastened to remark:"Marcolina is deeply religious all the same, I can assure you, Chevalier. "

Marcolina smiled. 

"We are all religious in our several ways, " said Casanova civilly. 

Now came a turn in the road, and the nunnery was in sight. The slendertops of cypresses showed above the encircling wall. At the sound of theapproaching carriage, the great doors had swung open. The porter, an oldman with a flowing white beard, bowed gravely and gave them admittance. Through the cloisters, between the columns of which they caught glimpsesof an overgrown garden, they advanced towards the main building, fromwhose unadorned, grey, and prison-like exterior an unpleasantly coolair was wafted. Olivo pulled the bellrope; the answering sound washigh-pitched, and died away in a moment. A veiled nun silently appeared, and ushered the guests into the spacious parlor. It contained merelya few plain wooden chairs, and the back was cut off by a heavy irongrating, beyond which nothing could be seen but a vague darkness. 

With bitterness in his heart, Casanova recalled the adventure whichstill seemed to him the most wonderful of all his experiences. It hadbegun in just such surroundings as the present. Before his eyes loomedthe forms of the two inmates of the Murano convent who had been friendsin their love for him. In conjunction they had bestowed upon him hoursof incomparable sweetness. When Olivo, in a whisper, began to speakof the strict discipline imposed upon this sisterhood--once they wereprofessed, the nuns must never appear unveiled before a man, and theywere vowed to perpetual silence--a smile flitted across Casanova's face. 

The Abbess suddenly emerged from the gloom, and was standing in theirmidst. In silence she saluted her guests, and with an exaggeratedreverence of her veiled head acknowledged Casanova's expressions ofgratitude for the admission of himself, a stranger. But when Marcolinawished to kiss her hand, the Abbess gathered the girl in her arms. Then, with a wave of the hand inviting them to follow, she led the way througha small room into a cloister surrounding a quadrangular flower-garden. In contrast to the outer garden, which had run wild, this inner gardenwas tended with especial care. The flower-beds, brilliant in thesunshine, showed a wonderful play of variegated colors. The warm odorswere almost intoxicating. One, intermingled with the rest, aroused noresponsive echo in Casanova's memory. Puzzled, he was about to say aword on the subject to Marcolina, when he perceived that the enigmatic, stimulating fragrance emanated from herself. She had removed her shawlfrom her shoulders and was carrying it over her arm. From the opening ofher gown came a perfume at once kindred to that of the thousand flowersof the garden, and yet unique. 

The Abbess, still without a word, conducted the visitors between theflower-beds upon narrow, winding paths which traversed the garden likea lovely labyrinth. The graceful ease of her gait showed that she wasenjoying the chance of showing others the motley splendors of hergarden. As if she had determined to make her guests giddy, she moved onfaster and ever faster like the leader of a lively folk-dance. Then, quite suddenly, so that Casanova seemed to awaken from a confusingdream, they all found themselves in the parlor once more. On the otherside of the grating, dim figures were moving. It was impossible todistinguish whether, behind the thick bars, three or five or twentyveiled women were flitting to and fro like startled ghosts. Indeed, nonebut Casanova, with eyes preternaturally acute to pierce the darkness, could discern that they were human outlines at all. 

The Abbess attended her guests to the door, mutely gave them a signof farewell, and vanished before they had found time to express theirthanks for her courtesy. 

Suddenly, just as they were about to leave the parlor, a woman's voicenear the grating breathed the word "Casanova. " Nothing but his name, ina tone that seemed to him quite unfamiliar. From whom came this breachof a sacred vow? Was it a woman he had once loved, or a woman he hadnever seen before? Did the syllables convey the ecstasy of an unexpectedreencounter, or the pain of something irrecoverably lost; or did itconvey the lamentation that an ardent wish of earlier days had been solate and so fruitlessly fulfilled? Casanova could not tell. All that heknew was that his name, which had so often voiced the whispers of tenderaffection, the stammerings of passion, the acclamations of happiness, had to-day for the first time pierced his heart with the full resonanceof love. But, for this very reason, to probe the matter curiously wouldhave seemed to him ignoble and foolish. The door closed behind theparty, shutting in a secret which he was never to unriddle. Were it notthat the expression on each face had shown timidly and fugitively thatthe call to Casanova had reached the ears of all, each might havefancied himself or herself a prey to illusion. No one uttered a word asthey walked through the cloisters to the great doors. Casanova broughtup the rear, with bowed head, as if on the occasion of some profoundlyaffecting farewell. 

The porter was waiting. He received his alms. The visitors stepped intothe carriage, and started on the homeward road. Olivo seemed perplexed;Amalia was distrait. Marcolina, however, was quite unmoved. Toopointedly, in Casanova's estimation, she attempted to engage Amalia in adiscussion of household affairs, a topic upon which Olivo was compelledto come to his wife's assistance. Casanova soon joined in thediscussion, which turned upon matters relating to kitchen and cellar. Anexpert on these topics, he saw no reason why he should hide his lightunder a bushel, and he seized the opportunity of giving a fresh proofof versatility. Thereupon, Amalia roused herself from her brown study. After their recent experience--at once incredible and haunting--to all, and especially to Casanova, there was a certain comfort derivable froman extremely commonplace atmosphere of mundane life. When the carriagereached home, where an inviting odor of roast meat and cookingvegetables assailed their nostrils, Casanova was in the midst of anappetizing description of a Polish pasty, a description to which evenMarcolina attended with a flattering air of domesticity. 

CHAPTER SIX

In a strangely tranquillized, almost happy mood, which was a surpriseto himself, Casanova sat at table with the others, and paid court toMarcolina in the sportive manner which might seem appropriate from adistinguished elderly gentleman towards a well-bred young woman of theburgher class. She accepted his attentions gracefully, in the spirit inwhich they appeared to be offered. He found it difficult to believe thathis demure neighbor was the same Marcolina from whose bedroom window hehad seen a young officer emerge, a man who had obviously held her inhis arms but a few moments earlier. It was equally difficult for him torealize how this tender girl, who was fond of romping on the grass withother children, could conduct a learned correspondence with Saugrenue, the renowned mathematician of Paris. Yet simultaneously he deridedhimself for the inertness of his imagination. Had he not learned athousand times that in the souls of all persons who are truly alive, discrepant elements, nay, apparently hostile elements, may coexist inperfect harmony? He himself, who shortly before had been so profoundlymoved, had been desperate, had been ready for evil deeds, was now sogentle, so kindly, in so merry a mood, that Olivo's little daughterswere shaking their sides with laughter. Nevertheless, as was usual withhim after strong excitement, his appetite was positively ferocious, andthis served to warn him that order was not yet fully restored in hissoul. 

With the last course, the maid brought in a despatch which had justarrived for the Chevalier by special messenger from Mantua. Olivonoticed that Casanova grew pale. He told the servant to provide themessenger with refreshment, then turned to his guest. 

"Pray don't stand upon ceremony, Chevalier. Read your letter. "

"If you will excuse me, " answered Casanova. He went to the window andopened the missive with simulated indifference. It was from SignorBragadino, an old friend of the family and a confirmed bachelor, overeighty years of age, and for the last decade a member of the SupremeCouncil. He had shown more interest than other patrons in pressingCasanova's suit. The letter was beautifully written, although thecharacters were a little shaky. It was as follows:

"My dear Casanova:

"I am delighted, at length, to be able to send you news which will, Ihope, be substantially accordant with your wishes. The Supreme Council, at its last sitting, which took place yesterday evening, did not merelyexpress its willingness to permit your return to Venice. It wentfurther. The Council desires that your advent should be as speedy aspossible, since there is an intention to turn to immediate account theactive gratitude which you have foreshadowed in so many of your letters. 

"Since Venice has been deprived for so long of the advantage of yourpresence, you may perhaps be unaware, my dear Casanova, that quiterecently the internal affairs of our beloved native city have taken arather unfavorable trend both politically and morally. Secret societieshave come into existence, directed against the constitution of theVenetian state, and even, it would seem, aiming at its forcibleoverthrow. As might be expected, the members of these societies, personswhom it would not be too harsh to denominate conspirators, are chieflydrawn from certain free-thinking, irreligious, and lawless circles. Notto speak of what goes on in private, we learn that in the public squaresand in coffee houses, the most outrageous, the most treasonableconversations, take place. But only in exceptional instances has it beenpossible to catch the guilty in the act, or to secure definite proofagainst the offenders. A few admissions have been enforced by the rack, but these confessions have proved so untrustworthy that several membersof the Council are of opinion that for the future it would be better toabstain from methods of investigation which are not only cruel but areapt to lead us astray. Of course there is no lack of individualswell-affected towards public order and devoted to the welfare of thestate, individuals who would be delighted to place their services at thedisposal of the government; but most of them are so well known asstalwart supporters of the existing constitution that when they arepresent people are chary in their utterances and are most unlikely togive vent to treasonable expressions. 

"At yesterday's sitting, one of the senators, whom I will not name, expressed the opinion that a man who had the reputation of being withoutmoral principle and who was furthermore regarded as a freethinker--inshort, Casanova, such a man as yourself--if recalled to Venice would notfail to secure prompt and sympathetic welcome in the very circles whichthe government regards with such well-grounded suspicion. If he playedhis cards well, such a man would soon inspire the most absoluteconfidence. 

"In my opinion, irresistibly, and as if by the force of a law of nature, there would gravitate around your person the very elements which theSupreme Council, in its indefatigable zeal for the state, is most eagerto render harmless and to punish in an exemplary manner. For yourpart, my dear Casanova, you would give us an acceptable proof of yourpatriotic zeal, and would furnish in addition an infallible sign of yourcomplete conversion from all those tendencies for which, during yourimprisonment in The Leads, you had to atone by punishment which, thoughsevere, was not, as you now see for yourself (if we are to believe yourepistolary assurances), altogether unmerited. I mean, should you beprepared, immediately on your return home, to act in the way previouslysuggested, to seek acquaintance with the elements sufficiently specifiedabove, to introduce yourself to them in the friendliest fashion asone who cherishes the same tendencies, and to furnish the Senatewith accurate and full reports of everything which might seem to yoususpicious or worthy of note. 

"For these services the authorities would offer you, to begin with, a salary of two hundred and fifty lire per month, apart from specialpayments in cases of exceptional importance. I need hardly say that youwould receive in addition, without too close a scrutiny of the items, anallowance for such expenses as you might incur in the discharge of yourduties (I refer, for instance, to the treating of this individual or ofthat, little gifts made to women, and so on). 

"I do not attempt to conceal from myself that you may have to fight downcertain scruples before you will feel inclined to fulfil our wishes. Permit me, however, as your old and sincere friend (who was himselfyoung once), to remind you that it can never be regarded as dishonorablefor a man to perform any services that may be essential for the safetyof his beloved fatherland--even if, to a shallow-minded and unpatrioticcitizen, such services might seem to be of an unworthy character. Let me add, Casanova, that your knowledge of human nature will certainlyenable you to draw a distinction between levity and criminality, todifferentiate the jester from the heretic. Thus it will be within yourpower, in appropriate cases, to temper justice with mercy, and todeliver up to punishment those only who, in your honest opinion, maydeserve it. 

"Above all I would ask you to consider that, should you reject thegracious proposal of the Supreme Council, the fulfilment of your dearestwish--your return to Venice--is likely to be postponed for a long and Ifear for an indefinite period; and that I myself, if I may allude to thematter, as an old man of eighty-one, should be compelled in all humanprobability to renounce the pleasing prospect of ever seeing you againin this life. 

"Since, for obvious reasons, your appointment will be of a confidentialand not of a public nature, I beg you to address to me personally yourreply, for which I make myself responsible, and which I wish to presentto the Council at its next sitting a week hence. Act with all convenientspeed, for, as I have previously explained, we are daily receivingoffers from thoroughly trustworthy persons who, from patrioticmotives, voluntarily place themselves at the disposal of the SupremeCouncil. Nevertheless, there is hardly one among them who can comparewith you, my dear Casanova, in respect of experience or intelligence. If, in addition to all the arguments I have adduced, you take mypersonal feelings into account, I find it difficult to doubt that youwill gladly respond to the call which now reaches you from so exaltedand so friendly a source. 

"Till then, receive the assurances of my undying friendship. 

"BRAGADINO. "

"Postscript. Immediately upon receipt of your acceptance, it will be apleasure to me to send you a remittance of two hundred lire through thebanking firm of Valori in Mantua. The sum is to defray the cost of yourjourney. 

"B. "

 * * * * *

Long after Casanova had finished reading the letter, he stood holdingthe paper so as to conceal the deathly pallor of his countenance. Fromthe dining-table came a continuous noise, the rattle of plates and theclinking of glasses; but conversation had entirely ceased. At lengthAmalia ventured to say: "The food is getting cold, Chevalier; won'tyou go on with your meal?"

"You must excuse me, " replied Casanova, letting his face be seen oncemore, for by now, owing to his extraordinary self-control, he hadregained outward composure. "I have just received the best possible newsfrom Venice, and I must reply instantly. With your leave, I will go tomy room. "

"Suit yourself, Chevalier, " said Olivo. "But do not forget that our cardparty begins in an hour. "

In the turret chamber Casanova sank into a chair. A chill sweat brokeout over his body; he shivered as if in the cold stage of a fever; hewas seized with such nausea that he felt as if he were about to choke. For a time he was unable to think clearly, and he could do no more thandevote his energies to the task of self-restraint without quite knowingwhy he did so. But there was no one in the house upon whom he could venthis fury; and he could not fail to realize the utter absurdity of ahalf-formed idea that Marcolina must be in some way contributory to theintolerable shame which had been put upon him. 

As soon as he was in some degree once more master of himself, his firstthought was to take revenge upon the scoundrels who had believed that hecould be hired as a police spy. He would return to Venice in disguise, and would exert all his cunning to compass the death of thesewretches--or at least of whomever it was that had conceived thedespicable design. 

Was Bragadino the prime culprit? Why not? An old man so lost to allsense of shame that he had dared to write such a letter to Casanova; adotard who could actually believe that Casanova, whom he had personallyknown, would set his hand to this ignominious task. He no longer knewCasanova! Nor did anyone know him, in Venice or elsewhere. But peopleshould learn to know him once more. 

It was true that he was no longer young enough or handsome enough toseduce an honest girl. Nor did he now possess the skill and the agilityrequisite for an escape from prison, or for gymnastic feats upon theroof-tops. But in spite of his age, he was cleverer than anyone else!Once back in Venice, he could do anything he pleased. The first step, the essential step, was to get back. Perhaps it would not be necessaryto kill anyone. There were other kinds of revenge, grimmer, moredevilish, than a commonplace murder. If he were to feign acceptance ofthe Council's proposal, it would be the easiest thing in the world tocompass the destruction of those whom he wished to destroy, instead ofbringing about the ruin of those whom the authorities had in mind, andwho were doubtless the finest fellows among all the inhabitants ofVenice! Monstrous! Because they were the enemies of this infamousgovernment, because they were reputed heretics, were they to languish inThe Leads where he had languished twenty-five years ago, or were they toperish under the executioner's axe? He detested the government a hundredtimes more than they did, and with better reason. He had been a lifelongheretic; was a heretic to-day, upon sincerer conviction than them all. What a queer comedy he had been playing of late years--simply fromtedium and disgust. He to believe in God? What sort of a God was it whowas gracious only to the young, and left the old in the lurch? A Godwho, when the fancy took him, became a devil; who transformed wealthinto poverty, fortune into misfortune, happiness into despair. "You playwith us--and we are to worship you? To doubt your existence is the onlyresource left open to us if we are not to blaspheme you! You do notexist; for if you did exist, I should curse you!"

Shaking his clenched fists heavenward, he rose to his feet. Involuntarily, a detested name rose to his lips. Voltaire! Yes, now hewas in the right mood to finish his polemic against the sage of Ferney. To finish it? No, now was the time to begin it. A new one! A differentone! One in which the ridiculous old fool should be shown up as hedeserved: for his pusillanimity, his half-heartedness, his subservience. He an unbeliever? A man of whom the latest news was that he was onexcellent terms with the priests, that he visited church, and on feastdays actually went to confession! He a heretic? He was a chatterbox, aboastful coward, nothing more! But the day of reckoning was at hand, and soon there would be nothing left of the great philosopher but aquill-driving buffoon. 

What airs he had given himself, this worthy M. Voltaire! "My dear M. Casanova, I am really vexed with you. What concern have I with the worksof Merlin? It is your fault that I have wasted four hours over suchnonsense. "

All a matter of taste, excellent M. Voltaire! People will continue toread Merlin long after _La Pucelle_ has been forgotten. Possibly theywill continue to prize my sonnets, the sonnets you returned to me witha shameless smile, and without saying a word about them. But theseare trifles. Do not let us spoil a great opportunity because of oursensitiveness as authors. We are concerned with philosophy--with God! Weshall cross swords, M. Voltaire, unless you die before I have a chanceto deal with you. 

He was already in the mind to begin his new polemic, when it occurred tohim that the messenger was waiting for an answer. He hastily inditeda letter to the old duffer Bragadino, a letter full of hypocriticalhumility and simulated delight. With joy and gratitude he accepted thepardon of the Council. He would expect the remittance by return of post, so that with all possible speed he might present himself before hispatrons, and above all before the honored old family friend, Bragadino. 

When he was in the act of sealing the letter, someone knocked gently atthe door. At the word, Olivo's eldest daughter, the thirteen-year-oldTeresina, entered, to tell him that the whole company was assembledbelow, and that the Chevalier was impatiently awaited at the cardtable. Her eyes gleamed strangely; her cheeks were flushed; her thick, black hair lay loose upon her temples; her little mouth was half open. 

"Have you been drinking wine, Teresina?" asked Casanova striding towardsher. 

"Yes. How did you know?" She blushed deeper, and in her embarrassmentshe moistened her lips with her tongue. 

Casanova seized her by the shoulders, and, breathing in her face, drewher to the bed. She looked at him with great helpless eyes in whichthe light was now extinguished. But when she opened her mouth as if toscream, Casanova's aspect was so menacing that she was almost paralyzedwith fear, and let him do whatever he pleased. 

He kissed her with a tender fierceness, whispering: "You must not tellthe Abbate anything about this, Teresina, not even in confession. Someday, when you have a lover or a husband, there is no reason why heshould know anything about it. You should always keep your own counsel. Never tell the truth to your father, your mother, or your sisters, thatit may be well with you on earth. Mark my words. " As he spoke thusblasphemously, Teresina seemed to regard his utterance as a piousadmonition, for she seized his hand and kissed it reverently as if ithad been a priest's. 

He laughed. "Come, " he said, "come, little wife, we will walk arm in arminto the room downstairs!"

She seemed a little coy at first, but smiled with genuine gratification. 

It was high time for them to go down, for they met Olivo coming up. Hewas flushed and wore a frown, so that Casanova promptly inferred thatthe Marchese or the Abbate had roused his suspicions by some coarse jestconcerning Teresina's prolonged absence. His brow cleared when he beheldCasanova on the threshold, standing arm in arm with the girl as if insport. 

"I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting, Olivo, " said Casanova. "I hadto finish my letter. " He held the missive out to Olivo in proof of hiswords. 

"Take it, " said Olivo to Teresina, smoothing her rumpled hair. "Hand itto the messenger. "

"Here are two gold pieces for the man, " added Casanova. "He must bestirhimself, so that the letter may leave Mantua for Venice to-day. And askhim to tell my hostess at the inn that I shall return this evening. "

"This evening?" exclaimed Olivo. "Impossible!"

"Oh, well, we'll see, " observed Casanova affably. "Here, Teresina, takethis, a gold piece for yourself. " When Olivo demurred, Casanova added:"Put it in your moneybox, Teresina. That letter is worth any amount ofgold pieces!"

Teresina tripped away, and Casanova nodded to himself contentedly. Indays gone by he had possessed the girl's mother and grandmother also, and he thought it a particularly good joke that he was paying the littlewench for her favors under the very eyes of her father. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

When Casanova entered the hall with Olivo, cards had already begun. Heacknowledged with serene dignity the effusive greeting of the company, and took his place opposite the Marchese, who was banker. The windowsinto the garden were open. Casanova heard voices outside; Marcolinaand Amalia strolled by, glanced into the room for a moment, and thendisappeared. 

While the Marchese was dealing, Lorenzi turned to Casanova withceremonious politeness, saying: "My compliments, Chevalier. You werebetter informed than I. My regiment is under orders to march tomorrowafternoon. "

The Marchese looked surprised. "Why did you not tell us sooner, Lorenzi?"

"The matter did not seem of such supreme importance. "

"It is of no great importance to me, " said the Marchese. "But don'tyou think it is of considerable importance to my wife?" He laughedraucously. "As a matter of fact, I have some interest in the mattermyself. You won four hundred ducats from me yesterday, and there is notmuch time left in which to win them back. "

"The Lieutenant won money from us too, " said the younger Ricardi. Theelder, silent as usual, looked over his shoulder at his brother, whostood behind the elder's chair as on the previous day. 

"Luck and women. .. .. " began the Abbate. 

The Marchese finished the sentence for him: ". .. .. Cannot beconstrained. "

Lorenzi carelessly scattered his gold on the table. "There you are. Iwill stake it all upon a single card, if you like, Marchese, so that youneed not wait for your money. "

Casanova suddenly became aware of a feeling of compassion for Lorenzi, a feeling he was puzzled to account for. But he believed himself to beendowed with second-sight, and he had a premonition that the Lieutenantwould fall in his first encounter. 

The Marchese did not accept the suggestion of high stakes, nor didLorenzi insist. They resumed the game, therefore, much as on theprevious night, everyone taking a hand at first, and only moderate sumsbeing ventured. A quarter of an hour later, however, the stakes beganto rise, and ere long Lorenzi had lost his four hundred ducats to theMarchese. 

Casanova had no constancy either in luck or ill-luck. He won, lost, andwon again, in an almost ludicrously regular alternation. 

Lorenzi drew a breath of relief when his last gold piece had gonethe way of the others. Rising from the table, he said: "I thank you, gentlemen. This, " he hesitated for a moment, "this will prove to havebeen my last game for a long time in your hospitable house. If you willallow me, Signor Olivo, I will take leave of the ladies beforeriding into town. I must reach Mantua ere nightfall in order to makepreparations for to-morrow. "

"Shameless liar, " thought Casanova. "You will return here to-night, toMarcolina's arms!" Rage flamed up in him anew. 

"What!" exclaimed the Marchese maliciously. "The evening will not comefor hours. Is the game to stop so early? If you like, Lorenzi, mycoachman shall drive home with a message to the Marchesa to let her knowthat you will be late. "

"I am going to ride to Mantua, " rejoined Lorenzi impatiently. TheMarchese, ignoring this statement, went on: "There is still plenty oftime. Put up some of your own money, if it be but a single gold piece. "He dealt Lorenzi a card. 

"I have not a single gold piece left, " said Lorenzi wearily. 

"Really?"

"Not one, " asserted Lorenzi, as if tired of the whole matter. 

"Never mind, " said the Marchese, with a sudden assumption of amiabilitywhich was far from congenial. "I will trust you as far as ten ducatsgoes, or even for a larger sum if needs must. "

"All right, a ducat, then, " said Lorenzi, taking up the card dealt tohim. 

The Marchese won. Lorenzi went on with the game, as if this were now amatter of course, and was soon in the Marchese's debt to the amount ofone hundred ducats. 

At this stage Casanova became banker, and had even better luck than theMarchese. There remained only three players. To-day the brothersRicardi stood aside without complaint. Olivo and the Abbate were merelyinterested onlookers. 

No one uttered a syllable. Only the cards spoke, and they spoke inunmistakable terms. By the hazard of fortune all the cash found its wayto Casanova. In an hour he had won two thousand ducats; he had won themfrom Lorenzi, though they came out of the pockets of the Marchese, whoat length sat there without a soldo. 

Casanova offered him whatever gold pieces he might need. The Marcheseshook his head. "Thanks, " he said, "I have had enough. The game is overas far as I am concerned. "

From the garden came the laughing voices of the girls. Casanova heardTeresina's voice in particular, but he was sitting with his back tothe window and did not turn round. He tried once more to persuade theMarchese to resume the game--for the sake of Lorenzi, though he hardlyknew what moved him. The Marchese refused with a yet more decisiveheadshake. 

Lorenzi rose, saying: "I shall have the honor, Signor Marchese, ofhanding the amount I owe you to you personally, before noon to-morrow. "

The Marchese laughed drily. "I am curious to know how you will managethat, Lieutenant Lorenzi. There is not a soul, in Mantua or elsewhere, who would lend you as much as ten ducats, not to speak of two thousand, especially to-day. For to-morrow you will be on the march, and who cantell whether you will ever return?"

"I give you my word of honor, Signor Marchese, that you shall have themoney at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. "

"Your word of honor, " said the Marchese, "is not worth a single ducat tome, let alone two thousand. "

The others held their breath. Lorenzi, apparently unmoved, merelyanswered: "You will give me satisfaction, Signor Marchese. "

"With pleasure, Signor Lieutenant, " rejoined the Marchese, "as soon asyou have paid your debt. "

Olivo, who was profoundly distressed, here intervened, stammeringslightly: "I stand surety for the amount, Signor Marchese. UnfortunatelyI have not sufficient ready money on the spot; but there is the house, the estate. .. .. " He closed the sentence with an awkward wave of thehand. 

"I refuse to accept your surety, for your own sake, " said the Marchese. "You would lose your money. "

Casanova saw that all eyes were turned towards the gold that lay onthe table before him. "What if I were to stand surety for Lorenzi, " hethought. "What if I were to pay the debt for him? The Marchese could notrefuse my offer. I almost think I ought to do it. It was the Marchese'smoney. "

But he said not a word. He felt that a plan was taking shape hi hismind, and that above all he needed time in which he might become clearas to its details. 

"You shall have the money this evening, before nightfall, " said Lorenzi. "I shall be in Mantua in an hour. "

"Your horse may break its neck, " replied the Marchese. "You too;intentionally, perhaps. "

"Anyhow, " said the Abbate indignantly, "the Lieutenant cannot get themoney here by magic. "

The two Ricardis laughed; but instantly restrained their mirth. 

Olivo once more addressed the Marchese. "It is plain that you must grantLieutenant Lorenzi leave to depart. "

"Yes, if he gives me a pledge, " exclaimed the Marchese with flashingeyes, as if this idea gave him peculiar delight. 

"That seems rather a good plan, " said Casanova, a littleabsent-mindedly, for his scheme was ripening. 

Lorenzi drew a ring from his finger and flicked it across the table. 

The Marchese took it up, saying: "That is good for a thousand. "

"What about this one?" Lorenzi threw down another ring in front of theMarchese. 

The latter nodded, saying: "That is good for the same amount. "

"Are you satisfied now, Signor Marchese?" enquired Lorenzi, moving as ifto go. 

"I am satisfied, " answered the Marchese, with an evil chuckle; "all themore, seeing that the rings are stolen. "

Lorenzi turned sharply, clenching his fist as if about to strike theMarchese. Olivo and the Abbate seized Lorenzi's arm. 

"I know both the stones, though they have been reset, " said the Marchesewithout moving from his place. "Look, gentlemen, the emerald is slightlyflawed, or it would be worth ten times the amount. The ruby is flawless, but it is not a large one. Both the stones come from a set of jewelswhich I once gave my wife. And, since it is quite impossible for meto suppose that the Marchesa had them reset in rings for LieutenantLorenzi, it is obvious that they have been stolen--that the whole sethas been stolen. Well, well, the pledge suffices, Signor Lieutenant, forthe nonce. "

"Lorenzi!" cried Olivo, "we all give you our word that no one shall everhear a syllable from us about what has just happened. "

"And whatever Signor Lorenzi may have done, " said Casanova, "you, SignorMarchese, are the greater rascal of the two. "

"I hope so, " replied the Marchese. "When anyone is as old as weare, Chevalier de Seingalt, assuredly he should not need lessons inrascality. Good-evening, gentlemen. "

He rose to his feet. No one responded to his farewell, and he went out. 

For a space the silence was so intense, that once again the girls'laughter was heard from the garden, now seeming unduly loud. 

Who would have ventured to utter the word that was searing Lorenzi'ssoul, as he stood at the table with his arm still raised? Casanova, theonly one of the company who had remained seated, derived an involuntaryartistic pleasure from the contemplation of this fine, threateninggesture, meaningless now, but seemingly petrified, as if the young manhad been transformed into a statue. 

At length Olivo turned to him with a soothing air; the Ricardis, too, drew near; and the Abbate appeared to be working himself up for aspeech. But a sort of shiver passed over Lorenzi's frame. Automaticallybut insistently he silently indicated his rejection of any offers atintervention. Then, with a polite inclination of the head, he quietlyleft the room. 

Casanova, who had meanwhile wrapped up the money in a silken kerchief, instantly followed. Without looking at the others' faces, he could feelthat they were convinced it was his instant intention to do what theyhad all the while been expecting, namely, to place his winnings atLorenzi's disposal. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

Casanova overtook Lorenzi in the chestnut avenue. Speaking lightly, he said: "May I have the pleasure of accompanying you on your walk, Lieutenant Lorenzi?"

Lorenzi, without looking at him, answered in an arrogant tone whichseemed hardly in keeping with his situation: "As you please, Chevalier;but I am afraid you will not find me an amusing companion. "

"Perhaps, Lieutenant, you will on the other hand find me an entertainingcompanion. If you have no objection, let us take the path through thevineyard, where our conversation will be undisturbed. "

They turned aside from the high-road into the narrow footway runningbeside the garden wall, along which Casanova had walked with Olivo onthe previous day. 

"You are right in supposing, " began Casanova, "that I have it in mind tooffer you the sum of money which you owe to the Marchese. Not as a loan. That, if you will excuse my saying so, seems to me rather too risky aventure. I could let you have it as a slight return for a service whichI think you may be able to do me. "

"Go on, " said Lorenzi coldly. 

"Before I say any more, " answered Casanova, in a similar tone, "I mustmake a condition upon your acceptance of which the continuance of thisconversation depends. "

"Name your condition. "

"Give me your word of honor that you will listen to me withoutinterruption, even though what I have to say may arouse your displeasureor your wrath. When you have heard me to the end, it will rest entirelywith yourself whether you accept a proposal which, I am well aware, is of an extremely unusual nature. But I want you to answer it witha simple Yes or No. Whatever the issue, no one is to hear a wordconcerning what passes at this interview between two men of honor, whoare perhaps no better than they should be. "

"I am ready to listen to your proposal. "

"You accept my condition?"

"I will not interrupt you. "

"And you will answer nothing beyond Yes or No?"

"Nothing beyond Yes or No. "

"Very well, " said Casanova. They walked slowly up the hill, between thevine stocks, in the sultry heat of the late afternoon. Casanova began tospeak: "We shall perhaps understand one another best if we discuss thematter logically. It is obvious that you have absolutely no chance ofobtaining the money you owe the Marchese within the prescribed time. There can be no doubt that he has made up his mind to ruin you shouldyou fail to pay. Since he knows more of you than he actually disclosedto us to-day"--Casanova was venturing beyond the limits of his ownknowledge, but he loved to take these little risks when following up apath decided on in advance--"you are absolutely in the power of the oldruffian, and your fate as an officer and a gentleman would be sealed. There you have one side of the question. On the other hand, you will besaved as soon as you have paid your debt, and as soon as you get backthose rings--however you may have come by them. This will mean therecovery of an existence which is otherwise practically closed. Sinceyou are young, handsome, and bold, it will mean the recovery of anexistence which offers splendor, happiness, and renown. This appearsto me a most attractive prospect; especially seeing that the onlyalternative is an inglorious, nay, a shameful ruin; for such a prospect, I should be willing to sacrifice a prejudice which I had never reallypossessed. I am well aware, Lorenzi, " he added quickly, as if expectingcontradiction and desiring to forestall it, "I am well aware, that youhave no more prejudices than I have or ever had. What I am going to askof you is merely what I should in your place under like circumstancesbe willing to do, without a moment's hesitation. Indeed, I have neverhesitated, at the call of destiny or as the outcome of caprice, tocommit a rascality, or rather, that to which fools give such a name. Like you, Lorenzi, I have ever been ready to hazard my life for lessthan nothing, and to call it quits. I am ready to do so now, if myproposal prove inacceptable. We are made of the same stuff, you and I;we are brothers in spirit; we may therefore disclose our souls to oneanother without false shame, proud in our nakedness. Here are my twothousand ducats. Call them yours, if you enable me to spend to-nightin your place with Marcolina. --Let us not stand still, if you please, Lorenzi. Let us continue our walk. " They walked through the fields, beneath the fruit trees, between which the vines, heavy withgrape-clusters, were trellised. Casanova went on without a pause: "Don'tanswer me yet, Lorenzi, for I have not finished. My request wouldnaturally be, if not monstrous, at least preposterous, if it were yourintention to make Marcolina your wife, or if Marcolina's own hopes orwishes turned in this direction. But just as last night was your firstnight spent in love together"--he uttered this guess as if he hadabsolute knowledge of the fact--"so also was the ensuing nightpredestined, according to all human calculation, according to your ownexpectations and Marcolina's, to be your last night together for a longperiod and probably for ever. I am absolutely convinced that Marcolinaherself, in order to save her lover from certain destruction, and simplyupon his wish, would be perfectly willing to give this one night to hissavior. For she, too, is a philosopher, and is therefore just as freefrom prejudices as we are. Nevertheless, certain as I am that she wouldmeet the test, I am far from intending that it should be imposed uponher. To possess a woman outwardly passive but inwardly resistant, wouldbe far from satisfying my desires, least of all in the present case. Iwish, not merely as a lover, but also as one beloved, to taste a rapturewhich I should be prepared to pay for with my life. Understand thisclearly, Lorenzi. For the reason I have explained, Marcolina must notfor an instant suspect that I am the man whom she is clasping to hersweet bosom; she must be firmly convinced that you are in her arms. Itis your part to pave the way for this deception; mine to maintain it. You will not have much difficulty in making her understand that you willhave to leave her before dawn. Nor need you be at a loss for a pretextas to the necessity for perfectly mute caresses when you return atnight, as you will promise to return. To avert all danger of discoveryat the last moment, I shall, when the time comes for me to leave, act asif I heard a suspicious noise outside the window. Seizing my cloak, --orrather yours, which you must of course lend me for the occasion--I shallvanish through the window, never to return. For, of course, I shall takemy leave this evening. But half-way back to Mantua, telling the coachmanthat I have forgotten some important papers, I shall return here onfoot. Entering the garden by the side door (you must give me themaster-key), I shall creep to Marcolina's window, which must beopened for me at midnight. I shall have taken off my clothes in thecarriage, even to my shoes and stockings, and shall wear only yourcloak, so that when I take to flight nothing will be left to betrayeither you or me. The cloak and the two thousand ducats will be at yourdisposal at five o'clock to-morrow morning in the inn at Mantua, so thatyou may deliver over the money to the Marchese even before the appointedhour. I pledge my solemn oath to fulfil my side of the bargain. I havefinished. "

Suddenly he stood still. The sun was near to setting. A gentle breezemade the yellow ears rustle; the tower of Olivo's house glowed red inthe evening light. Lorenzi, too, halted. His pale face was motionless, as he gazed into vacancy over Casanova's shoulder. His arms hung limp byhis sides, whereas Casanova's hand, ready for any emergency, rested asif by chance upon the hilt of his sword. A few seconds elapsed, andLorenzi was still silent. He seemed immersed in tranquil thought, butCasanova remained on the alert, holding the kerchief with the ducats inhis left hand, but keeping the right upon his sword-hilt. He spoke oncemore. 

"You have honorably fulfilled my conditions. I know that it has not beeneasy. For even though we may be free from prejudices, the atmospherein which we live is so full of them that we cannot wholly escape theirinfluence. And just as you, Lorenzi, during the last quarter of an hour, have more than once been on the point of seizing me by the throat; so I, I must confess, played for a time with the idea of giving you thetwo thousand ducats as to my friend. Rarely, Lorenzi, have I been sostrangely drawn to anyone as I was to you from the first. But hadI yielded to this generous impulse, the next moment I should haveregretted it bitterly. In like manner you, Lorenzi, hi the moment beforeyou blow your brains out, would desperately regret having been such afool as to throw away a thousand nights of love with new and ever newwomen for one single night of love which neither night nor day was tofollow. "

Lorenzi remained mute. His silence continued for many minutes, untilCasanova began to ask himself how long his patience was to be tried. He was on the point of departing with a curt salutation, and of thusindicating that he understood his proposition to have been rejected, when Lorenzi, without a word slowly moved his right hand backwards intothe tail-pocket of his coat. Casanova, ever on his guard, instantlystepped back a pace, and was ready to duck. Lorenzi handed him the keyof the garden door. 

Casanova's movement, which had certainly betokened fear, brought toLorenzi's lips the flicker of a contemptuous smile. Casanova was able torepress all sign of his rising anger, for he knew that had he given wayto it he might have ruined his design. Taking the key with a nod, hemerely said: "No doubt that means Yes. In an hour from now--an hour willsuffice for your understanding with Marcolina--I shall expect you inthe turret chamber. There, in exchange for your cloak, I shall have thepleasure of handing you the two thousand gold pieces without furtherdelay. First of all, as a token of confidence; and secondly because Ireally do not know what I should do with the money during the night. "

They parted without further formality. Lorenzi returned to the house bythe path along which they had both come. Casanova made his way to thevillage by a different route. At the inn there, by paying a considerablesum as earnest money, he was able to arrange for a carriage to awaithim at ten o'clock that evening for the drive from Olivo's house intoMantua. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

Returning to the house, Casanova disposed of his gold in a safe cornerof the turret chamber. Thence he descended to the garden, where aspectacle awaited him, not in itself remarkable, but one which touchedhim strangely in his present mood. Upon a bench at the edge of thegreensward Olivo was sitting beside Amalia, his arm round her waist. Reclining at their feet were the three girls, tired out by theafternoon's play. Maria, the youngest, had her head in her mother's lap, and seemed to be asleep; Nanetta lay at full length on the grass withher head pillowed on her arm; Teresina was leaning against her father'sknee, and he was stroking her hair. As Casanova drew near, Teresinagreeted him, not with the look of lascivious understanding which he hadinvoluntarily expected, but with a frank smile of childlike confidence, as if what had passed between them only a few hours before had beennothing more than some trivial pastime. Olivo's face lighted up infriendly fashion, and Amalia nodded a cordial greeting. It was plain toCasanova that they were receiving him as one who had just performed agenerous deed, but who would prefer, from a sense of refinement, that noallusion should be made to the matter. 

"Are you really determined to leave us tomorrow, Chevalier?" enquiredOlivo. 

"Not to-morrow, " answered Casanova, "but, as I told you, this veryevening. "

Olivo would fain have renewed his protests, but Casanova shrugged, saying in a tone of regret: "Unfortunately, my letter from Venice leavesme no option. The summons sent to me is so honorable in every respectthat to delay my return home would be an unpardonable affront to mydistinguished patrons. " He asked his host and hostess to excuse him fora brief space. He would go to his room, make all ready for departure, and would then be able to enjoy the last hours of his stay undisturbedin his dear friends' company. 

Disregarding further entreaties, he went to the turret chamber, andfirst of all changed his attire, since the simpler suit must sufficefor the journey. He then packed his valise, and listened for Lorenzi'sfootsteps with an interest which grew keener from moment to moment. Before the time was up, Lorenzi, knocking once at the door, entered, wearing a dark blue riding-cloak. Without a word, he slipped the cloakfrom his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, where it lay betweenthe two men, a shapeless mass of cloth. Casanova withdrew his kerchieffilled with the gold pieces from beneath the bolster, and emptied themoney on the table. He counted the coins under Lorenzi's eyes--a processwhich was soon over, for many of the gold pieces were worth severalducats each. Putting the stipulated sum into two purses, he handedthese to Lorenzi. This left about a hundred ducats for himself. Lorenzistuffed the purses into his tail-pockets, and was about to leave, stillsilent. 

"Wait a moment, Lorenzi, " said Casanova. "Our paths in life may crossonce again. If so let us meet as friends. We have made a bargain likemany another bargain; let us cry quits. "

Casanova held out his hand. Lorenzi would not take it. He spoke for thefirst time. "I cannot recall that anything was said about this in ouragreement. " Turning on his heel he left the room. "Do we stand sostrictly upon the letter, my friend?" thought Casanova. "It behooves meall the more to see to it that I am not duped in the end. " In truth, hehad given no serious thought to this possibility. He knew from personalexperience that such men as Lorenzi have their own peculiar code ofhonor, a code which cannot be written in formal propositions, but whichthey can be relied upon to observe. 

He packed Lorenzi's cloak in the top of the valise. Having stowed awayupon his person the remaining gold pieces, he took a final glance roundthe room which he was never likely to revisit. Then with sword and hat, ready for the journey, he made his way to the hall, where he foundOlivo, Amalia, and the children already seated at table. At the sameinstant, Marcolina entered by the garden door. The coincidence wasinterpreted by Casanova as a propitious sign. She answered hissalutation with a frank inclination of the head. 

Supper was now served. The conversation dragged a little at first, as ifall were oppressed by the thought of the imminent leave-taking. Amaliaseemed busied with her girls, concerned to see that they were not helpedto too much or too little. Olivo, somewhat irrelevantly, began to speakof a trifling lawsuit he had just won against a neighboring landowner. Next he referred to a business journey to Mantua and Cremona, which hewould shortly have to undertake. Casanova expressed the hope that erelong he would be able to entertain his friend in Venice, a city which, by a strange chance, Olivo had never visited. Amalia had seen the placeof wonder as a child. She could not recall the journey thither, butcould only remember having seen an old man wrapped in a scarlet cloak, disembarking from a long black boat. He had stumbled and had fallenprone. 

"Have you never been to Venice either?" asked Casanova of Marcolina, whowas seated facing him, so that she could see over his shoulder into thedeep gloom of the garden. She shook her head. Casanova mused: "If Icould but show you the city in which I passed my youth! Had you but beenyoung with me!" Another thought, as foolish as both of these, crossedhis mind: "Even now, if I could but take you there with me. "

While thus thinking, at the same time, with the ease of manner peculiarto him in moments of great excitement, he began to speak of his nativecity. At first his language was cool; he used an artist's touch, as ifpainting a picture. Warming up by degrees, he entered into details ofpersonal history, so that of a sudden his own figure appeared in thecentre of the canvas, filling it with life. He spoke of his mother, the celebrated actress, for whom her admirer Goldoni had written hisadmirable comedy, _La Pupilla_. Next he recounted the unhappy days spentin Dr. Gozzi's boarding school. Then he spoke of his childish passionfor the gardener's little daughter, who had subsequently run away with alackey; of his first sermon as a young abbate, after which he found inthe offertory bag, in addition to the usual collection, a number of loveletters; of his doings as a fiddler in the orchestra of the San SamueliTheatre; of the pranks which he and his companions had played in thealleys, taverns, dancing halls, and gaming-houses of Venice--sometimesmasked and sometimes unmasked. In telling the story of these riotousescapades, he was careful to avoid the use of any offensive epithet. Hephrased his narrative in choice imaginative language, as if paying dueregard to the presence of the young girls, who, like their elders, including Marcolina, listened with rapt attention. The hour grew late, and Amalia sent her daughters to bed. They all kissed Casanova a tendergood-night, Teresina behaving exactly like her sisters. He made thempromise that they would soon come with their father and mother to visithim in Venice. When they had gone, he spoke with less restraint, butcontinued to avoid any unsuitable innuendo or display of vanity. Hisaudience might have imagined themselves listening to the story of aParsifal rather than to that of a Casanova, the dangerous seducer andhalf-savage adventurer. 

He told them of the fair Unknown who had travelled with him for weeksdisguised as a man in officer's uniform, and one morning had suddenlydisappeared from his side; of the daughter of the gentleman cobbler inMadrid who, in the intervals between their embraces, had studiouslyendeavored to make a good Catholic of him; of Lia, the lovely Jewess ofTurin, who had a better seat on horseback than any princess; of ManonBalletti, sweet and innocent, the only woman he had almost married; ofthe singer whom he had hissed in Warsaw because of her bad performance, whereupon he had had to fight a duel with her lover, General Branitzky, and had been compelled to flee the city; of the wicked woman Charpillon, who had made such an abject fool of him in London; of the night when hecrossed the lagoons to Murano on the way to his adored nun, the nightwhen he nearly lost his life in a storm; of Croce the gamester, who, after losing a fortune at Spa, had taken a tearful farewell of Casanovaupon the high-road, and had set off on his way to St. Petersburg, justas he was, wearing silk stockings and a coat of apple-green satin, andcarrying nothing but a walking cane. 

He told of actresses, singers, dressmakers, countesses, dancers, chambermaids; of gamblers, officers, princes, envoys, financiers, musicians, and adventurers. So carried away was he by the rediscoveredcharm of his own past, so completely did the triumph of these splendidthough irrecoverable experiences eclipse the consciousness of theshadows that encompassed his present, that he was on the point oftelling the story of a pale but pretty girl who in a twilit church atMantua had confided her love troubles to him--absolutely forgetting thatthis same girl, sixteen years older, now sat at the table before himas the wife of his friend Olivo--when the maid came in to say that thecarriage was waiting. Instantly, with his incomparable talent for doingthe right thing, Casanova rose to bid adieu. He again pressed Olivo, whowas too much affected to speak, to bring wife and children to visit himin Venice. Having embraced his friend, he approached Amalia withintent to embrace her also, but she held out her hand and he kissed itaffectionately. 

When he turned to Marcolina, she said: "You ought to write downeverything you told us this evening, Chevalier, and a great deal more, just as you have penned the story of your flight from The Leads. "

"Do you really mean that, Marcolina?" he enquired, with the shyness of ayoung author. 

She smiled with gentle mockery, saying: "I fancy such a book might provefar more entertaining than your polemic against Voltaire. "

"Very likely, " he thought. "Perhaps I may follow your advice some day. If so, you, Marcolina, shall be the theme of the last chapter. "

This notion, and still more the thought that the last chapter was to belived through that very night, made his face light up so strangely thatMarcolina, who had given him her hand in farewell, drew it awayagain before he could stoop to kiss it. Without betraying eitherdisappointment or anger, Casanova turned to depart, after signifying, with one of those simple gestures of which he was a master, his desirethat no one, not even Olivo, should follow him. 

He strode rapidly through the chestnut avenue, handed a gold piece tothe maid who had brought his valise to the carriage, took his seat anddrove away. 

The sky was overcast. In the village, lamps were still burning in someof the cottages; but by the time the carriage regained the open road, the only light piercing the darkness was supplied by the yellow rays ofthe lantern dangling from the shaft. Casanova opened the valise, tookout Lorenzi's cloak, flung it over his shoulders, and under this coverrapidly undressed. He packed the discarded clothing, together with shoesand stockings, in the valise, and wrapped himself in the cloak. Then hecalled to the coachman:

"Stop, we must drive back!"

The coachman turned heavily hi his seat. 

"I have left some of my papers in the house. Don't you understand? Wemust drive back. "

When the coachman, a surly, thin greybeard, still hesitated, Casanovasaid: "Of course I will pay you extra for your trouble. Here you are!"He pressed a gold piece into the man's hand. 

The coachman nodded, muttered something, gave his horse a needless cutwith the whip, and turned the carriage round. When they drove backthrough the village, all the houses were dark. A little farther on, thecoachman was about to turn into the by-road leading up the gentle ascentto Olivo's house. 

"Halt!" cried Casanova. "We won't drive any nearer, lest we should wakethem all up. Wait for me here at the corner. I shall be back in a minuteor two. If I should happen to keep you longer, you shall have a ducatfor every hour!"

The man by his nod seemed to show he understood what was afoot. 

Casanova descended and made quickly past the closed door and along thewall to the corner. Here began the path leading through the vineyards. It still led along the wall. Having walked it twice by daylight, Casanova had no difficulty in the dark. Half way up the hill came asecond angle in the wall. Here he had again to turn to the right, acrosssoft meadow-land, and in the pitchy night had to feel along the walluntil he found the garden door. At length his fingers recognized thechange from smooth stone to rough wood, and he could easily make out theframework of the narrow door. He unlocked it, entered the garden, andmade all fast again behind him. 

Across the greensward he could now discern house and tower. They seemedincredibly far off and yet incredibly large. He stood where he was for awhile, looking around. What to other eyes would have been impenetrabledarkness, was to him no more than deep twilight. The gravel pathbeing painful to his bare feet, he walked upon the greensward, where, moreover, his footfall made no sound. So light was his tread that hefelt as if soaring. 

"Has my mood changed, " he thought, "since those days when, as a man ofthirty, I sought such adventures? Do I not now, as then, feel all theardors of desire and all the sap of youth course through my veins? Am Inot, as of old, Casanova? Being Casanova, why should I be subject, asothers are subject, to the pitiful law which is called age!"

Growing bolder, he asked himself: "Why am I creeping in disguise toMarcolina? Is not Casanova a better man than Lorenzi, even though he bethirty years older? Is not she the one woman who would have understoodthe incomprehensible? Was it needful to commit this lesser rascality, and to mislead another man into the commission of a greater rascality?Should I not, with a little patience, have reached the same goal?Lorenzi would in any case have gone to-morrow, whilst I should haveremained. Five days, three days, and she would have given herself to me, knowing me to be Casanova. "

He stood close to the wall of the house beneath Marcolina's window, which was still closed. His thoughts ran on: "Is it too late? Icould come back to-morrow or the next day. Could begin the work ofseduction--in honorable fashion, so to speak. To-night would be but aforetaste of the future. Marcolina must not learn that I have been hereto-day--or not until much later. "

CHAPTER TEN. 

Marcolina's window was still closed. There was no sign from within. Itwanted a few minutes to midnight. Should he make his presence known inany way? By tapping gently at the window? Since nothing of this sort hadbeen arranged, it might arouse Marcolina's suspicions. Better wait. Itcould not be much longer. The thought that she might instantly recognizehim, might detect the fraud before he had achieved his purpose, crossedhis mind--not for the first time, yet as a passing fancy, as a remotepossibility which it was logical to take into account, but not anythingto be seriously dreaded. 

A ludicrous adventure now recurred to his mind. Twenty years ago he hadspent a night with a middle-aged ugly vixen in Soleure, when he hadimagined himself to be possessing a beautiful young woman whom headored. He recalled how next day, in a shameless letter, she had deridedhim for the mistake that she had so greatly desired him to make andthat she had compassed with such infamous cunning. He shuddered at thethought. It was the last thing he would have wished to think of justnow, and he drove the detestable image from his mind. 

It must be midnight! How long was he to stand shivering there? Waitingin vain, perhaps? Cheated, after all? Two thousand ducats for nothing. Lorenzi behind the curtain, mocking at the fool outside!

Involuntarily he gripped the hilt of the sword he carried beneath thecloak, pressed to his naked body. After all, with a fellow like Lorenzione must be prepared for any tricks. 

At that instant he heard a gentle rattling, and knew it was made by thegrating of Marcolina's window hi opening. Then both wings of the windowwere drawn back, though the curtain still veiled the interior. Casanovaremained motionless for a few seconds more, until the curtain was pulledaside by an unseen hand. Taking this as a sign, he swung himself overthe sill into the room, and promptly closed window and grating behindhim. The curtain had fallen across his shoulders, so that he had to pushhis way beneath it. Now he would have been in absolute darkness hadthere not been shining from the depths of the distance, incredibly faraway, as if awakened by his own gaze, the faintest possible illuminationto show him the way. No more than three paces forward, and eager armsenfolded him. Letting the sword slip from his hand, the cloak from hisshoulders, he gave himself up to his bliss. 

From Marcolina's sigh of surrender, from the tears of happiness whichhe kissed from her cheeks, from the ever-renewed warmth with which shereceived his caresses, he felt sure that she shared his rapture; andto him this rapture seemed more intense than he had ever experienced, seemed to possess a new and strange quality. Pleasure became worship;passion was transfused with an intense consciousness. Here at last wasthe reality which he had often falsely imagined himself to be on thepoint of attaining, and which had always eluded his grasp. He held inhis arms a woman upon whom he could squander himself, with whom he couldfeel himself inexhaustible; the woman upon whose breast the moment ofultimate self-abandonment and of renewed desire seemed to coalesce intoa single instant of hitherto unimagined spiritual ecstasy. Were not lifeand death, time and eternity, one upon these lips? Was he not a god?Were not youth and age merely a fable; visions of men's fancy? Were nothome and exile, splendor and misery, renown and oblivion, senselessdistinctions, fit only for the use of the uneasy, the lonely, thefrustrate; had not the words become unmeaning to one who was Casanova, and who had found Marcolina?

More contemptible, more absurd, as the minutes passed, seemed to himthe prospect of keeping the resolution which he had made when stillpusillanimous, of acting on the determination to flee out of this nightof miracle dumbly, unrecognized, like a thief. With the infallibleconviction that he must be the bringer of delight even as he was thereceiver of delight, he felt prepared for the venture of disclosing hisname, even though he knew all the time that he would thus play fora great stake, the loss of which would involve the loss of his veryexistence. He was still shrouded in impenetrable darkness, and until thefirst glimmer of dawn made its way through the thick curtain, he couldpostpone a confession upon whose favorable acceptance by Marcolina hisfate, nay his life, depended. 

Besides, was not this mute, passionately sweet association the verything to bind Marcolina to him more firmly with each kiss that theyenjoyed? Would not the ineffable bliss of this night transmute intotruth what had been conceived in falsehood? His duped mistress, womanof women, had she not already an inkling that it was not Lorenzi, thestripling, but Casanova, the man, with whom she was mingling in thesedivine ardors?

He began to deem it possible that he might be spared the so greatlydesired and 'yet so intensely dreaded moment of revelation. He fanciedthat Marcolina, thrilling, entranced, transfigured, would spontaneouslywhisper his name. Then, when she had forgiven him, he would take herwith him that very hour. Together they would leave the house in the greydawn; together they would seek the carriage that was waiting at theturn of the road; together they would drive away. She would be his forevermore. This would be the crown of his life; that at an age whenothers were doomed to a sad senility, he, by the overwhelming might ofhis unconquerable personality, would have won for himself the youngest, the most beautiful, the most gifted of women. 

For this woman was his as no woman had ever been before. He glided withher through mysterious, narrow canals, between palaces in whoseshadows he was once more at home, under high-arched bridges whichblurred figures were swiftly crossing. Many of the wayfarers glanceddown for a moment over the parapet, and vanished ere their faces couldbe discerned. 

Now the gondola drew alongside. A marble stairway led up to the statelymansion of Senator Bragadino. It was the only palace holding festival. Masked guests were ascending and descending. Many of them paused withinquisitive glances; but who could recognize Casanova and Marcolina intheir dominoes?

He entered the hall with her. Here was a great company playing for highstakes. All the senators, Bragadino among them, were seated round thetable in their purple robes. As Casanova came through the door, theywhispered his name as if terror-stricken, for the flashing of his eyesbehind the mask had disclosed his identity. He did not sit down; he didnot take any cards, and yet he joined in the game. He won. He won allthe gold on the table, and this did not suffice. The senators had togive him notes of hand. They lost their possessions, their palaces, their purple robes; they were beggars; they crawled round him clad inrags, kissing his hands. 

Nearby, in a hall with crimson hangings, there was music and dancing. Casanova wished to dance with Marcolina, but she had vanished. Onceagain the senators in their purple robes were seated at the table; butnow Casanova knew that the hazards at stake were not those of a game ofcards; he knew that the destinies of accused persons, some criminal andsome innocent, hung in the balance. 

What had become of Marcolina? Had he not been holding her by the handall the time? He rushed down the staircase. The gondola was waiting. On, on, through the maze of canals. Of course the gondolier knew whereMarcolina was; but why was he, too, masked? That had not been the customof old in Venice. Casanova wished to question him, but was afraid. Doesa man become so cowardly when he grows old?

Onward, ever onward. How huge Venice had grown during thesefive-and-twenty years! At length the houses came to an end; the canalopened out; they were passing between islands; there stood the walls ofthe Murano nunnery, to which Marcolina had fled. 

There was no gondola now; he had to swim; how delightful! It was truethat in Venice the children were playing with his gold pieces. But whatwas money to him? The water was now warm, now cold; it dripped from hisclothing as he climbed over the wall. 

"Where is Marcolina?" he enquired in the parlor, in loud, challengingtones such as only a prince would dare to use. 

"I will summon her, " said the Lady Abbess, and sank into the ground. 

Casanova wandered about; he had wings; he fluttered to and fro along thegratings, fluttered like a bat. "If I had only known sooner that I canfly, " he thought. "I will teach Marcolina. "

Behind the gratings, the figures of women were moving hither andthither. They were nuns--and yet they were all wearing secular dress. He knew it, though he could not really see them. He knew who they were. Henriette the Unknown; Corticelli and Cristina, the dancers; the bride;Dubois the Beautiful; the accurst vixen of Soleure; Manon Balletti; ahundred others--but never Marcolina!

"You have betrayed me, " he cried to the gondolier, who was waiting forhim beneath. Never had he hated anyone as he hated this gondolier, andhe swore to take an exquisite revenge. 

But how foolish he had been to seek Marcolina in the Murano nunnery whenshe had gone to visit Voltaire. It was fortunate that he could fly, since he had no money left with which to pay for a carriage. 

He swam away. But he was no longer enjoying himself. The water grewcolder and colder; he was drifting out into the open sea, far fromMurano, far from Venice, and there was no ship within sight; his heavygold-embroidered garments were dragging him down; he tried to stripthem off, but it was impossible, for he was holding his manuscript, themanuscript he had to give to M. Voltaire. The water was pouring intohis mouth and nose; deadly fear seized him; he clutched at impalpablethings; there was a rattling in his throat; he screamed; and with agreat effort he opened his eyes. 

Between the curtain and the window-frame the dawn was making its waythrough in a narrow strip of light. Marcolina, in her white nightdressand with hands crossed upon her bosom, was standing at the foot of thebed contemplating Casanova with unutterable horror. Her glance instantlyrecalled him to his senses. Involuntarily he stretched out his armstowards her with a gesture of appeal. Marcolina, as if rejecting thisappeal, waved him away with her left hand, while with the right shecontinued to grasp her raiment convulsively. Casanova sat up, his eyesriveted upon her. Neither was able to look away from the other. Hisexpression was one of rage and shame; hers was one of shame anddisgust. Casanova knew how she saw him, for he saw himself figuredin imagination, just as he had seen himself yesterday in the bedroommirror. A yellow, evil face, deeply lined, with thin lips and staringeyes--a face three times worse than that of yesterday, because ofthe excesses of the night, the ghastly dream of the morning, and theterrible awakening. And what he read in Marcolina's countenance was notwhat he would a thousand times rather have read there; it was not thief, libertine, villain. He read only something which crushed him to earthmore ignominiously than could any terms of abuse; he read the word whichto him was the most dreadful of all words, since it passed a finaljudgment upon him--old man. 

Had it been within his power to annihilate himself by a spell, he wouldhave done so, that he might be spared from having to creep out of thebed and display himself to Marcolina in his nakedness, which must appearto her more loathsome than the sight of some loathsome beast. 

But Marcolina, as if gradually collecting herself, and manifestly inorder to give him the opportunity which was indispensable, turned herface to the wall. He seized the moment to get out of bed, to raise thecloak from the floor, and to wrap himself in it. He was quick, too, tomake sure of his sword. Now, when he conceived himself to have at leastescaped the worst contumely of all, that of ludicrousness, he began towonder whether it would not be possible to throw another light upon thisaffair in which he cut so pitiful a figure. He was an adept in the useof language. Could he not somehow or other, by a few well-chosen words, give matters a favorable turn?

From the nature of the circumstances, it was evidently impossible forMarcolina to doubt that Lorenzi had sold her to Casanova. Yet howeverintensely she might hate her wretched lover at that moment, Casanovafelt that he himself, the cowardly thief, must seem a thousand timesmore hateful. 

Perhaps another course offered better promise of satisfaction. He mightdegrade Marcolina by mockery and lascivious phrases, full of innuendo. But this spiteful idea could not be sustained in face of the aspect shehad now assumed. Her expression of horror had gradually been transformedinto one of infinite sadness, as if it had been not Marcolina'swomanhood alone which had been desecrated by Casanova, but as if duringthe night that had just closed a nameless and inexpiable offence hadbeen committed by cunning against trust, by lust against love, by ageagainst youth. Beneath this gaze which, to Casanova's extremest torment, reawakened for a brief space all that was still good in him, he turnedaway. Without looking round at Marcolina, he went to the window, drewthe curtain aside, opened casement and grating, cast a glance round thegarden which still seemed to slumber in the twilight, and swung himselfacross the sill into the open. 

Aware of the possibility that someone in the house might already beawake and might spy him from a window, he avoided the greensward andsought cover in the shaded alley. Passing through the door in the wall, he had hardly closed it behind him, when someone blocked his path. "Thegondolier!" was his first idea. For now he suddenly realized that thegondolier in his dream had been Lorenzi. The young officer stood beforehim. His silver-braided scarlet tunic glowed in the morning light. 

"What a splendid uniform, " was the thought that crossed Casanova'sconfused, weary brain. "It looks quite new. I am sure it has not beenpaid for. " These trivial reflections helped him to the full recovery ofhis wits; and as soon as he realized the situation, his mind was filledwith gladness. Drawing himself up proudly, and grasping the hilt ofhis sword firmly beneath the cloak, he said in a tone of the utmostamiability: "Does it not seem to you, Lieutenant Lorenzi, that thisnotion of yours has come a thought too late?"

"By no means, " answered Lorenzi, looking handsomer than any man Casanovahad ever seen before. "Only one of us two shall leave the place alive. "

"What a hurry you are in, Lorenzi, " said Casanova in an almost tendertone. "Cannot the affair rest until we reach Mantua? I shall bedelighted to give you a lift in my carriage, which is waiting at theturn of the road. There is a great deal to be said for observing theforms in these matters, especially in such a case as ours. "

"No forms are needed. You or I, Casanova, at this very hour. " He drewhis sword. 

Casanova shrugged. "Just as you please, Lorenzi. But you might at leastremember that I shall be reluctantly compelled to appear in a veryinappropriate costume. " He threw open the cloak and stood there nude, playing with the sword in his hand. 

Hate welled up in Lorenzi's eyes. "You shall not be at anydisadvantage, " he said, and began to strip with all possible speed. 

Casanova turned away, and for the moment wrapped himself in his cloakonce more, for though the sun was already piercing the morning mists, the air was chill. Long shadows lay across the fields, cast by thesparse trees on the hill-top. For an instant Casanova wondered whethersomeone might not come down the path. Doubtless it was used only byOlivo and the members of his household. It occurred to Casanova thatthese were perhaps the last minutes of his life, and he was amazed athis own calmness. 

"M. Voltaire is a lucky fellow, " came as a passing thought. But in truthhe had no interest in Voltaire, and he would have been glad at thissupreme moment to have been able to call up pleasanter images than thatof the old author's vulturine physiognomy. How strange it was that nobirds were piping in the trees over the wall. A change of weather mustbe imminent. But what did the weather matter to him? He would ratherthink of Marcolina, of the ecstasy he had enjoyed in her arms, and forwhich he was now to pay dear. Dear? Cheap enough! A few years of an oldman's life hi penury and obscurity. What was there left for him to do inthe world? To poison Bragadino? Was it worth the trouble? Nothing wasworth the trouble. How few trees there were on the hill! He began tocount them. "Five. .. Seven. .. Ten. --Have I nothing better to do?"

"I am ready, Casanova. "

Casanova turned smartly. Lorenzi stood before him, splendid in hisnakedness like a young god. No trace of meanness lingered in his face. He seemed equally ready to kill or to die. 

"What if I were to throw away my sword?" thought Casanova. "What if Iwere to embrace him?" He slipped the cloak from his shoulders and stoodlike Lorenzi, lean and naked. 

Lorenzi lowered his point in salute, in accordance with the rules offence. Casanova returned the salute. Next moment they crossed blades, and the steel glittered like silver in the sun. 

"How long is it, " thought Casanova, "since last I stood thus measuringsword with sword?" But none of his serious duels now recurred to hismind. He could think only of practice with the foils, such as ten yearsearlier he used to have every morning with his valet Costa, the rascalwho afterwards bolted with a hundred and fifty thousand lire. "All thesame, he was a fine fencer; nor has my hand forgotten its cunning!My arm is as true, my vision as keen, as ever. .. .. Youth and age arefables. Am I not a god? Are we not both gods? If anyone could see usnow. There are women who would pay a high price for the spectacle!"

The blades bent, the points sparkled; at each contact the rapiers sangsoftly in the morning air. "A fight? No, a fencing match! Why this lookof horror, Marcolina? Are we not both worthy of your love? He is but ayoungster; I am Casanova!"

Lorenzi sank to the ground, thrust through the heart. The sword fellfrom his grip. He opened his eyes wide, as if in utter astonishment. Once he raised his head for a moment, while his lips were fixed in a wrysmile. Then the head fell back again, his nostrils dilated, there was aslight rattling in his throat, and he was dead. 

Casanova bent over him, kneeled beside the body, saw a few drops ofblood ooze from the wound, held his hand in front of Lorenzi'smouth--but the breath was stilled. A cold shiver passed throughCasanova's frame. He rose and put on his cloak. Then, returning to thebody, he glanced at the fallen youth, lying stark on the turf inincomparable beauty. The silence was broken by a soft rustling, as themorning breeze stirred the tree-tops. 

"What shall I do?" Casanova asked himself. "Shall I summon aid? Olivo?Amalia? Marcolina? To what purpose? No one can bring him back to life. "

He pondered with the calmness invariable to him in the most dangerousmoments of his career. "It may be hours before anyone finds him; perhapsno one will come by before evening; perchance later still. That willgive me time, and time is of the first importance. "

He was still holding his sword. Noticing that it was bloody, he wiped iton the grass. He thought for a moment of dressing the corpse, but to dothis would have involved the loss of precious and irrecoverable minutes. Paying the last duties, he bent once more and closed Lorenzi's eyes. "Lucky fellow, " he murmured; and then, dreamily, he kissed the deadman's forehead. 

He strode along beside the wall, turned the angle, and regained theroad. The carriage was where he had left it, the coachman fast asleepon the box. Casanova was careful to avoid waking the man at first. Notuntil he had cautiously taken his seat did he call out: "Hullo, driveon, can't you?" and prodded him in the back. The startled coachmanlooked round, greatly astonished to find that it was broad daylight. Then he whipped up his horse and drove off. 

Casanova sat far back in the carriage, wrapped in the cloak which hadonce belonged to Lorenzi. In the village a few children were to be seenin the streets, but it was plain that the elders were already at work inthe fields. When the houses had been left behind Casanova drew a longbreath. Opening the valise, he withdrew his clothes, and dressed beneaththe cover of the cloak, somewhat concerned lest the coachman shouldturn and discover his fare's strange behavior. But nothing of the sorthappened. Unmolested, Casanova was able to finish dressing, to pack awayLorenzi's cloak, and resume his own. 

Glancing skyward, Casanova saw that the heavens were overcast. He hadno sense of fatigue, but felt tense and wakeful. He thought over hissituation, considering it from every possible point of view, and comingto the conclusion that, though grave, it was less alarming than it mighthave seemed to timid spirits. He would probably be suspected of havingkilled Lorenzi, but who could doubt that it had been in an honorablefight? Besides, Lorenzi had been lying in wait, had forced the encounterupon him, and no one could consider him a criminal for having fought inself-defence. But why had he left the body lying on the grass like thatof a dead dog? Well, nobody could reproach him on that account. To fleeaway swiftly had been well within his right, had been almost a duty. Inhis place, Lorenzi would have done the same. But perhaps Venice wouldhand him over? Directly he arrived, he would claim the protection of hispatron Bragadino. Yet this might involve his accusing himself of a deedwhich would after all remain undiscovered, or at any rate would perhapsnever be laid to his charge. What proof was there against him? Had henot been summoned to Venice? Who could say that he went thither as afugitive from justice? The coachman maybe, who had waited for him halfthe night. One or two additional gold pieces would stop the fellow'smouth. 

Thus his thoughts ran in a circle. Suddenly he fancied he heard thesound of horses' hoofs from the road behind him. "Already?" washis first thought. He leaned over the side of the carriage to lookbackwards. All was clear. The carriage had driven past a farm, and thesound he had heard had been the echo of his own horse's hoofs. Thediscovery of this momentary self-deception quieted his apprehensions fora time, so that it seemed to him the danger was over. He could now seethe towers of Mantua. "Drive on, man, drive on, " he said under hisbreath, for he did not really wish the coachman to hear. The coachman, nearing the goal, had given the horse his head. Soon they reached thegate through which Casanova had left the town with Olivo less thanforty-eight hours earlier. He told the coachman the name of the inn, andin a few minutes the carriage drew up at the sign of the Golden Lion. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

Casanova leaped from the carriage. The hostess stood in the doorway. Shewas bright and smiling, in the mood apparently to give Casanova the warmwelcome of a lover whose absence has been regretted and whose returnhas been eagerly desired. But Casanova looked warningly towards thecoachman, implying that the man might be an inconvenient witness, andthen told him to eat and drink to his heart's content. 

"A letter from Venice arrived for you yesterday, Chevalier, " announcedthe hostess. 

"Another?" enquired Casanova, going upstairs to his room. 

The hostess followed. A sealed despatch was lying on the table. Casanovaopened it in great excitement. He was anxious lest it should prove to bea revocation of the former offer. But the missive contained no more thana few lines from Bragadino, enclosing a draft for two hundred and fiftylire, in order that Casanova, should he have made up his mind to accept, might instantly set out for Venice. 

Turning to the hostess, Casanova explained with an air of well-simulatedvexation that he was unfortunately compelled to continue his journeyinstantly. Were he to delay, he would risk losing the post which hisfriend Bragadino had procured for him in Venice, a post for which therewere fully a hundred applicants. Threatening clouds gathered on thehostess' face, so Casanova was prompt to add that all he proposed was tomake sure of the appointment and to receive his patent as secretary tothe Supreme Council. As soon as he was installed in office, he would askpermission to return to Mantua, that he might arrange his affairs. Ofcourse this request could not be refused. He was going to leave mostof his effects here. When he returned, it would only depend upon hisbeloved and charming friend whether she would give up inn-keeping andaccompany him to Venice as his wife. She threw her arms round his neck, and with brimming eyes asked him whether before starting he would not atleast make a good breakfast, if she might bring it up to his room. Heknew she had in mind to provide a farewell feast, and though he feltno appetite for it, he agreed to the suggestion simply to be rid of her. 

As soon as she was gone, he packed his bag with such underclothing andbooks as he urgently needed. Then, making his way to the parlor, wherethe coachman was enjoying a generous meal, he asked the man whether, fora sum which was more than double the usual fare, he would with the samehorse drive along the Venice road as far as the next posting station. The coachman agreed without demur, thus relieving Casanova of hisprincipal anxiety for the time. 

Now the hostess entered, flushed with annoyance, to ask whether he hadforgotten that his breakfast was awaiting him in his room. Casanovanonchalantly replied that he had not forgotten for a moment, and beggedher, since he was short of time, to take his draft to the bank, and tobring back the two hundred and fifty lire. While she was hastening tofetch the money, Casanova returned to his room, and began to eat withwolfish voracity. He continued his meal when the hostess came back;stopping merely for an instant to pocket the money she brought him. 

When he had finished eating, he turned to the woman. Thinking that herhour had at length come, she had drawn near, and was pressing up againsthim in a manner which could not be misunderstood. He clasped hersomewhat roughly, kissed her on both cheeks, and, although she wasobviously ready to grant him the last favors then and there, exclaimed:"I must be off. Till our next meeting!" He tore himself away withsuch violence that she fell back on to the corner of the couch. Herexpression, with its mingling of disappointment, rage, and impotence, was so irresistibly funny that Casanova, as he closed the door behindhim, burst out laughing. 

The coachman could not fail to realize that his fare was in a hurry, butit was not his business to ask questions. He sat ready oil the box whenCasanova came out of the inn, and whipped up the horse the very momentthe passenger was seated. On his own initiative he decided not to drivethrough the town, but to skirt it, and to rejoin the posting road uponthe other side. The sun was not yet high, for it was only nine o'clock. Casanova reflected: "It is likely enough that Lorenzi's body has notbeen found yet. " He hardly troubled to think that he himself had killedLorenzi. All he knew was that he was glad to be leaving Mantua fartherand farther behind, and glad to have rest at last. 

He fell into a deep sleep, the deepest he had ever known. It lastedpractically two days and two nights. The brief interruptions to hisslumbers necessitated by the change of horses from time to time, and theinterruptions that occurred when he was sitting in inns, or walking upand down in front of posting stations, or exchanging a few casual wordswith postmasters, innkeepers, customhouse officers, and travellers, didnot linger in his memory as individual details. Thus it came to passthat the remembrance of these two days and nights merged as it were intothe dream he had dreamed in Marcolina's bed. Even the duel between thetwo naked men upon the green turf in the early sunshine seemed somehowto belong to this dream, wherein often enough, in enigmatic fashion, hewas not Casanova but Lorenzi; not the victor but the vanquished; not thefugitive, but the slain round whose pale young body the lonely wind ofmorning played. Neither he nor Lorenzi was any more real than were thesenators in the purple robes who had knelt before him like beggars; norany less real than such as that old fellow leaning against the parapetof a bridge, to whom at nightfall he had thrown alms from the carriage. Had not Casanova bent his powers of reason to the task of distinguishingbetween real experiences and dream experiences, he might well haveimagined that in Marcolina's arms he had fallen into a mad dream fromwhich he did not awaken until he caught sight of the Campanile ofVenice. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was on the third morning of his journey that Casanova, having reachedMestre, sighted once more the bell tower after over twenty years oflonging--a pillar of grey stone looming distantly in the twilight. Itwas but two leagues now to the beloved city in which he had been young. He paid the driver without remembering whether this was the fifth orthe sixth with whom he had had to settle since quitting Mantua, and, followed by a lad carrying his baggage, walked through the mean streetsto the harbor from which to-day, just as five-and-twenty years earlier, the boat was to leave for Venice at six in the morning. 

The vessel seemed to have been waiting for him; hardly had he seatedhimself upon a narrow bench, among petty traders, manual workers, andwomen bringing their wares to market, when she cast off. It was a cloudymorning; mist was rolling across the lagoons; there was a smell ofbilge-water, damp wood, fish, and fruit. The Campanile grew ever higher;additional towers appeared; cupolas became visible. The light of themorning sun was reflected from one roof, from two, from many. Individualhouses were distinguishable, growing larger by degrees. Boats, great andsmall, showed through the mist; greetings were shouted from vessel tovessel. The chatter around him grew louder. A little girl offered himsome grapes for sale. Munching the purple berries, he spat the skinsover the side after the manner of his countrymen. He entered intofriendly talk with someone who expressed satisfaction that the weatherseemed to be clearing at last. 

"What, has it been raining here for three days? That is news to me. Icome from the south, from Naples and Rome. "

The boat had entered the canals of the suburbs. Sordid houses stared athim with dirty windows, as if with vacant, hostile eyes. Twice or thricethe vessel stopped at a quay, and passengers came aboard; young fellows, one of whom had a great portfolio under his arm; women with baskets. 

Here, at last, was familiar ground. Was not that the church whereMartina used to go to confession? Was not that the house in which, afterhis own fashion, he had restored the pallid and dying Agatha to ruddyhealth? Was not that the place in which he had dealt with the charmingSylvia's rascal of a brother, had beaten the fellow black and blue? Upthat canal to the right, in the small yellow house upon whose splashedsteps the fat, bare-footed woman was standing. .. . 

Before he had fully recaptured the distant memory attaching to the housein question, the boat had entered the Grand Canal, and was passingslowly up the broad waterway with palaces on either hand. To Casanova, in his dreamy reflections, it seemed as if but yesterday he hadtraversed the same route. 

He disembarked at the Rialto Bridge, for, before visiting SignorBragadino, he wished to make sure of a room in a modest hostelrynearby--he knew where it was, though he could not recall the name. The place seemed more decayed, or at least more neglected, than heremembered it of old. A sulky waiter, badly in need of a shave, showedhim to an uninviting room looking upon the blind wall of a houseopposite. Casanova had no time to lose. Moreover, since he had spentnearly all his cash on the journey, the cheapness of these quarters wasa great attraction. He decided, therefore, to make his lodging therefor the present. Having removed the stains of travel, he deliberated fora while whether to put on his finer suit; then decided it was better towear the soberer raiment, and walked out of the inn. 

It was but a hundred paces, along a narrow alley and across a bridge, toBragadino's small but elegant palace. A young servingman with a ratherimpudent manner took in Casanova's name in a way which implied that itscelebrity had no meaning for him. Returning from his master's apartmentswith a more civil demeanor, he bade the guest enter. 

Bragadino was seated at breakfast beside the open window, and made as ifto rise; but Casanova begged him not to disturb himself. 

"My dear Casanova, " exclaimed Bragadino, "How delighted I am to seeyou once more! Who would have thought we should ever meet again?" Heextended both hands to the newcomer. 

Casanova seized them as if to kiss them, but did not do so. He answeredthe cordial greeting with warm words of thanks in the grandiloquentmanner usual to him on such occasions. Bragadino begged him to beseated, and asked him whether he had breakfasted. Told that his guestwas still fasting, Bragadino rang for his servant and gave thenecessary orders. As soon as the man had gone, Bragadino expressed hisgratification that Casanova had so unreservedly accepted the SupremeCouncil's offer. He would certainly not suffer for having decided todevote himself to the service of his country. Casanova respondedby saying that he would deem himself happy if he could but win theCouncil's approval. 

Such were Casanova's words, while his thoughts ran on. He could nolonger detect in himself any feeling of hatred towards Bragadino. Nay, he realized that he was rather sorry for this man advanced in years andgrown a trifle foolish, who sat facing him with a sparse white beard andred-rimmed eyes, and whose skinny hand trembled as he held his cup. Thelast time Casanova had seen him, Bragadino had probably been about asold as Casanova was to-day; but even then, to Casanova, Bragadino hadseemed an old man. 

The servant brought in Casanova's breakfast. The guest needed littlepressing to induce him to make a hearty meal, for on the road he had hadno more than a few snacks. 

"I have journeyed here from Mantua without pausing for a night's rest, so eager was I to show my readiness to serve the Council and to provemy undying gratitude to my benefactor. "--This was his excuse forthe almost unmannerly greed with which he gulped down the steamingchocolate. 

Through the window, from the Grand Canal and the lesser canals, rose themanifold noises of Venetian life. All other sounds were dominated by themonotonous shouts of the gondoliers. Somewhere close at hand, perhaps inthe opposite palace (was it not the Fogazzari palace?), a woman with afine soprano voice was practising; the singer was young--someone whocould not have been born at the time when Casanova escaped from TheLeads. 

He ate rolls and butter, eggs, cold meat, continually excusing himselffor his outrageous hunger, while Bragadino looked on well pleased. 

"I do like young people to have a healthy appetite, " said the Senator. "As far as I can remember, my dear Casanova, you have always been agood trencherman!" He recalled to mind a meal which he and Casanova hadenjoyed together in the early days of their acquaintance. "Or rather, asnow, I sat looking on while you ate. I had not taken a long walk, asyou had. It was shortly after you had kicked that physician out of thehouse, the man who had almost been the death of me with his perpetualbleedings. "

They went on talking of old times--when life had been better in Venicethan it was to-day. 

"Not everywhere, " said Casanova, with a smiling allusion to The Leads. 

Bragadino waved away the suggestion, as if this were not a suitable timefor a reference to such petty disagreeables. "Besides, you must knowthat I did everything I could to save you from punishment, thoughunfortunately my efforts proved unavailing. Of course, if in those daysI had already been a member of the Council of Ten!"

This broached the topic of political affairs. Warming to his theme, theold man recovered much of the wit and liveliness of earlier days. He told Casanova many remarkable details concerning the unfortunatetendencies which had recently begun to affect some of the Venetianyouth, and concerning the dangerous intrigues of which infallible signswere now becoming manifest. 

Casanova was thus well posted for his work. He spent the day in thegloomy chamber at the inn; and, simply as a means to secure calm afterthe recent excitements, he passed the hours in arranging his papers, andin burning those of which he wished to be rid. When evening fell, hemade his way to the Café Quadri in the Square of St. Mark, sincethis was supposed to be the chief haunt of the freethinkers andrevolutionists. Here he was promptly recognized by an elderly musicianwho had at one time been conductor of the orchestra in the San SamueliTheatre, where Casanova had been a violinist thirty years before. Bythis old acquaintance, and without any advances on his own part, he wasintroduced to the company. Most of them were young men, and many oftheir names were those which Bragadino had mentioned in the morning asbelonging to persons of suspicious character. 

But the name of Casanova did not produce upon his new acquaintances theeffect which he felt himself entitled to anticipate. It was plain thatmost of them knew nothing more of Casanova than that, a great many yearsago, he had for one reason or another, and perhaps for no reason atall, been imprisoned in The Leads; and that, surmounting all possibledangers, he had made his escape. The booklet wherein, some yearsearlier, he had given so lively a description of his flight, hadnot indeed passed unnoticed; but no one seemed to have read it withsufficient attention. Casanova found it amusing to reflect that it laywithin his power to help everyone of these young gentlemen to a speedypersonal experience of the conditions of prison life in The Leads, andto a realization of the difficulties of escape. He was far, however, from betraying the slightest trace that he harbored so ill-natured anidea. On the contrary, he was able to play the innocent and to adopt anamiable rôle. After his usual fashion, he entertained the companyby recounting all sorts of lively adventures, describing them asexperiences he had had during his last journey from Rome to Venice. Insubstance these incidents were true enough, but they all dated fromfifteen or twenty years earlier. He secured an eager and interestedaudience. 

Another member of the company announced as a noteworthy item of newsthat an officer of Mantua on a visit to a friend, a neighboringlandowner, had been murdered, and that the robbers had stripped him tothe skin. The story attracted no particular attention, for in those dayssuch occurrences were far from rare. Casanova resumed his narrativewhere it had been interrupted, resumed it as if this Mantua affairconcerned him just as little as it concerned the rest of the company. Infact, being now freed from a disquiet whose existence he had hardly beenwilling to admit even to himself, his manner became brighter and bolderthan ever. 

It was past midnight when, after a light-hearted farewell, he walkedalone across the wide, empty square. The heavens were veiled in luminousmist. He moved with the confident step of a sleep-walker. Without beingreally conscious that he was on a path which he had not traversed forfive-and-twenty years, he found the way through tortuous alleys, between dark houses, and over narrow bridges. At length he reached thedilapidated inn, and had to knock repeatedly before the door was openedto him with a slow unfriendliness. 

When, a few minutes later, having but half undressed, he threw himselfupon his uneasy pallet, he was overwhelmed with a weariness amountingto pain, while upon his lips was a bitter after-taste which seemed topermeate his whole being. Thus, at the close of his long exile, didhe first woo sleep in the city to which he had so eagerly desired toreturn. And here, when morning was about to break, the heavy anddreamless sleep of exhaustion came to console the aging adventurer. 

THE END

POSTFACE

It is a historical fact that Casanova visited Voltaire at Ferney. Thereis, however, no historical warrant for the account of the matter givenin the foregoing novel, and still less for the statement that Casanovawrote a polemic against Voltaire. It is a historical fact, likewise, that Casanova, when between fifty and sixty years of age, found itnecessary to enter Venetian service as a spy. Of this, and of many otherdoings of the celebrated adventurer to which casual allusion is made inthe course of the novel, fuller and more accurate accounts will be foundin Casanova's _Memoirs_. Speaking generally, nevertheless, _Casanova'sHomecoming_ is to be regarded throughout as a work of fiction. 

A. S.