After leaving Dr. Righelini I went to sup with M. de Bragadin, and gave the generous and worthy2 old man a happy evening. This was always the case; I made him and his two good friends happy whenever I took meals with them.
Leaving them at an early hour, I went to my lodging3 and was greatly surprised to find my bedroom balcony occupied. A young lady of an exquisite4 figure rose as soon as she saw me, and gracefully5 asked me pardon for the liberty she had taken.
“I am,” she said, “the statue you saw this morning. We do not light the candles in the evening for fear of attracting the gnats6, but when you want to go to bed we will shut the door and go away. I beg to introduce you to my younger sister, my mother has gone to bed.”
I answered her to the effect that the balcony was always at her service, and that since it was still early I begged their permission to put on my dressing8-gown and to keep them company. Her conversation was charming; she made me spend two most delightful9 hours, and did not leave me till twelve o’clock. Her younger sister lighted me a candle, and as they went they wished me a good night.
I lay down full of this pretty girl, and I could not believe that she was really ill. She spoke10 to the point, she was cheerful, clever, and full of spirits. I could not understand how it came to pass that she had not been already cured in a town like Venice, if her cure was really only to be effected in the manner described by Dr. Righelini; for in spite of her pallor she seemed to me quite fair enough to charm a lover, and I believed her to be spirited enough to determine to take the most agreeable medicine a doctor can prescribe.
In the morning I rang the bell as I was getting up, and the younger sister came into my room, and said that as they kept no servant she had come to do what I wanted. I did not care to have a servant when I was not at M. de Bragadin’s, as I found myself more at liberty to do what I liked. After she had done me some small services, I asked her how her sister was.
“Very well,” said she, “for her pale complexion11 is not an illness, and she only suffers when her breath fails her. She has a very good appetite, and sleeps as well as I do.”
“Whom do I hear playing the violin?”
“It’s the dancing master giving my sister a lesson.”
I hurried over my dressing that I might see her; and I found her charming, though her old dancing master allowed her to turn in her toes. All that this young and beautiful girl wanted was the Promethean spark, the colour of life; her whiteness was too like snow, and was distressing12 to look at.
The dancing master begged me to dance a minuet with his pupil, and I assented13, asking him to play larghissimo. “The signorina would find it too tiring,” said he; but she hastened to answer that she did not feel weak, and would like to dance thus. She danced very well, but when we had done she was obliged to throw herself in a chair. “In future, my dear master,” said she, “I will only dance like that, for I think the rapid motion will do me good.”
When the master was gone, I told her that her lessons were too short, and that her master was letting her get into bad habits. I then set her feet, her shoulders, and her arms in the proper manner. I taught her how to give her hand gracefully, to bend her knees in time; in fine, I gave her a regular lesson for an hour, and seeing that she was getting rather tired I begged her to sit down, and I went out to pay a visit to M. M.
I found her very sad, for C—— C——‘s father was dead, and they had taken her out of the convent to marry her to a lawyer. Before leaving C—— C—— had left a letter for me, in which she said that if I would promise to marry her at some time suitable to myself, she would wait for me, and refuse all other offers. I answered her straightforwardly14 that I had no property and no prospects15, that I left her free, advising her not to refuse any offer which might be to her advantage.
In spite of this dismissal C—— C—— did not marry N—— till after my flight from The Leads, when nobody expected to see me again in Venice. I did not see her for nineteen years, and then I was grieved to find her a widow, and poorly off. If I went to Venice now I should not marry her, for at my age marriage is an absurdity16, but I would share with her my little all, and live with her as with a dear sister.
When I hear women talking about the bad faith and inconstancy of men, and maintaining that when men make promises of eternal constancy they are always deceivers, I confess that they are right, and join in their complaints. Still it cannot be helped, for the promises of lovers are dictated17 by the heart, and consequently the lamentations of women only make me want to laugh. Alas18! we love without heeding19 reason, and cease to love in the same manner.
About this time I received a letter from the Abbe de Bernis, who wrote also to M—— M——. He told me that I ought to do my utmost to make our nun20 take a reasonable view of things, dwelling21 on the risks I should run in carrying her off and bringing her to Paris, where all his influence would be of no avail to obtain for us that safety so indispensable to happiness. I saw M—— M——; we shewed each other our letters, she had some bitter tears, and her grief pierced me to the heart. I still had a great love for her in spite of my daily infidelities, and when I thought of those moments in which I had seen her given over to voluptuousness22 I could not help pitying her fate as I thought of the days of despair in store for her. But soon after this an event happened which gave rise to some wholesome23 reflections. One day, when I had come to see her, she said,
“They have just been burying a nun who died of consumption the day before yesterday in the odour of sanctity. She was called ‘Maria Concetta.’ She knew you, and told C—— C—— your name when you used to come to mass on feast days. C—— C—— begged her to be discreet24, but the nun told her that you were a dangerous man, whose presence should be shunned25 by a young girl. C—— C—— told me all this after the mask of Pierrot.”
“What was this saint’s name when she was in the world?”
“Martha.”
“I know her.”
I then told M—— M—— the whole history of my loves with Nanette and Marton, ending with the letter she wrote me, in which she said that she owed me, indirectly26, that eternal salvation27 to which she hoped to attain28.
In eight or ten days my conversation with my hostess’ daughter — conversation which took place on the balcony, and which generally lasted till midnight — and the lesson I gave her every morning, produced the inevitable29 and natural results; firstly, that she no longer complained of her breath failing, and, secondly30, that I fell in love with her. Nature’s cure had not yet relieved her, but she no longer needed to be let blood. Righelini came to visit her as usual, and seeing that she was better he prophesied31 that nature’s remedy, without which only art could keep her alive, would make all right before the autumn. Her mother looked upon me as an angel sent by God to cure her daughter, who for her part shewed me that gratitude32 which with women is the first step towards love. I had made her dismiss her old dancing master, and I had taught her to dance with extreme grace.
At the end of these ten or twelve days, just as I was going to give her her lesson, her breath failed instantaneously, and she fell back into my arms like a dead woman. I was alarmed, but her mother, who had become accustomed to see her thus, sent for the surgeon, and her sister unlaced her. I was enchanted33 with her exquisite bosom34, which needed no colouring to make it more beautiful. I covered it up, saying that the surgeon would make a false stroke if he were to see her thus uncovered; but feeling that I laid my hand upon her with delight, she gently repulsed35 me, looking at me with a languishing37 gaze which made the deepest impression on me.
The surgeon came and bled her in the arm, and almost instantaneously she recovered full consciousness. At most only four ounces of blood were taken from her, and her mother telling me that this was the utmost extent to which she was blooded, I saw it was no such matter for wonder as Righelini represented it, for being blooded twice a week she lost three pounds of blood a month, which she would have done naturally if the vessels38 had not been obstructed39.
The surgeon had hardly gone out of the door when to my astonishment40 she told me that if I would wait for her a moment she would come back and begin her dancing. This she did, and danced as if there had been nothing the matter.
Her bosom, on which two of my senses were qualified41 to give evidence, was the last stroke, and made me madly in love with her. I returned to the house in the evening, and found her in her room with the sister. She told me that she was expecting her god-father, who was an intimate friend of her father’s, and had come every evening to spend an hour with her for the last eighteen years.
“How old is he?”
“He is over fifty.”
“Is he a married man?”
“Yes, his name is Count S——. He is as fond of me as a father would be, and his affection has continued the same since my childhood. Even his wife comes to see me sometimes, and to ask me to dinner. Next autumn I am going into the country with her, and I hope the fresh air will do me good. My god-father knows you are staying with us and is satisfied. He does not know you, but if you like you can make his acquaintance.”
I was glad to hear all this, as I gained a good deal of useful information without having to ask any awkward questions. The friendship of this Greek looked very like love. He was the husband of Countess S— — who had taken me to the convent at Muran two years before.
I found the count a very polite man. He thanked me in a paternal42 manner for my kindness to his daughter, and begged me to do him the honour of dining with him on the following day, telling me that he would introduce me to his wife. I accepted his invitation with pleasure, for I was fond of dramatic situations, and my meeting with the countess promised to be an exciting one. This invitation bespoke43 the courteous44 gentleman, and I charmed my pretty pupil by singing his praises after he had gone.
“My god-father,” said she, “is in possession of all the necessary documents for withdrawing from the house of Persico our family fortune, which amounts to forty thousand crowns. A quarter of this sum belongs to me, and my mother has promised my sister and myself to share her dowry between us.”
I concluded from this that she would bring her husband fifteen thousand Venetian ducats.
I guessed that she was appealing to me with her fortune, and wished to make me in love with her by shewing herself chary45 of her favours; for whenever I allowed myself any small liberties, she checked me with words, of remonstrance46 to which I could find no answer. I determined47 to make her pursue another course.
Next day I took her with me to her god-father’s without telling her that I knew the countess. I fancied the lady would pretend not to know me, but I was wrong, as she welcomed me in the handsomest manner as if I were an old friend. This, no doubt, was a surprise for the count, but he was too much a man of the world to, shew any astonishment. He asked her when she had made my acquaintance, and she, like a woman of experience, answered without the slightest hesitation48 that we had seen each other two years ago at Mira. The matter was settled, and we spent a very pleasant day.
Towards evening I took the young lady in my gondola49 back to the house, but wishing to shorten the journey I allowed myself to indulge in a few caresses50. I was hurt at being responded to by reproaches, and for that reason, as soon as she had set foot on her own doorstep, instead of getting out I went to Tonine’s house, and spent nearly the whole night there with the ambassador, who came a little after me. Next day, as I did not get up till quite late, there was no dancing lesson, and when I excused myself she told me not to trouble any more about it. In the evening I sat on the balcony far into the night, but she did not come. Vexed51 at this air of indifference52 I rose early in the morning and went out, not returning till nightfall. She was on the balcony, but as she kept me at a respectful distance I only talked to her on commonplace subjects. In the morning I was roused by a tremendous noise. I got up, and hurriedly putting on my dressing-gown ran into her room to see what was the matter, only to find her dying. I had no need to feign53 an interest in her, for I felt the most tender concern. As it was at the beginning of July it was extremely hot, and my fair invalid was only covered by a thin sheet. She could only speak to me with her eyes, but though the lids were lowered she looked upon me so lovingly! I asked her if she suffered from palpitations, and laying my hand upon her heart I pressed a fiery54 kiss upon her breast. This was the electric spark, for she gave a sigh which did her good. She had not strength to repulse36 the hand which I pressed amorously55 upon her heart, and becoming bolder I fastened my burning lips upon her languid mouth. I warmed her with my breath, and my audacious hand penetrated57 to the very sanctuary58 of bliss59. She made an effort to push me back, and told me with her eyes, since she could not speak, how insulted she felt. I drew back my hand, and at that moment the surgeon came. Hardly was the vein60 opened when she drew a long breath, and by the time the operation was over she wished to get up. I entreated61 her to stay in bed, and her mother added her voice to mine; at last I persuaded her, telling her that I would not leave her for a second, and that I would have my dinner by her bedside. She then put on a corset and asked her sister to draw a sarcenet coverlet over her, as her limbs could be seen as plainly as through a crape veil.
Having given orders for my dinner, I sat down by her bedside, burning with love, and taking her hand and covering it with kisses I told her that I was sure she would get better if she would let herself love.
“Alas!” she said, “whom shall I love, not knowing whether I shall be loved in return?”
I did not leave this question unanswered, and continuing the amorous56 discourse62 with animation63 I won a sigh and a lovelorn glance. I put my hand on her knee, begging her to let me leave it there, and promising64 to go no farther, but little by little I attained65 the center, and strove to give her some pleasant sensations.
“Let me alone,” said she, in a sentimental66 voice, drawing away, “’tis perchance the cause of my illness.”
“No, sweetheart,” I replied, “that cannot be.” And my mouth stopped all her objections upon her lips.
I was enchanted, for I was now in a fair way, and I saw the moment of bliss in the distance, feeling certain that I could effect a cure if the doctor was not mistaken. I spared her all indiscreet questions out of regard for her modesty67; but I declared myself her lover, promising to ask nothing of her but what was necessary to feed the fire of my love. They sent me up a very good dinner, and she did justice to it; afterwards saying that she was quite well she got up, and I went away to dress myself for going out. I came back early in the evening, and found her on my balcony. There, as I sat close to her looking into her face, speaking by turns the language of the eyes and that of sighs, fixing my amorous gaze upon those charms which the moonlight rendered sweeter, I made her share in the fire which consumed me; and as I pressed her amorously to my bosom she completed my bliss with such warmth that I could easily see that she thought she was receiving a favour and not granting one. I sacrificed the victim without staining the altar with blood.
Her sister came to tell her that it grew late.
“Do you go to bed,” she answered; “the fresh air is doing me good, and I want to enjoy it a little longer.”
As soon as we were alone we went to bed together as if we had been doing it for a whole year, and we passed a glorious night, I full of love and the desire of curing her, and she of tender and ardent68 voluptuousness. At day-break she embraced me, her eyes dewy with bliss, and went to lie down in her own bed. I, like her, stood in need of a rest, and on that day there was no talk of a dancing lesson. In spite of the fierce pleasure of enjoyment69 and the transports of this delightful girl, I did not for a moment lay prudence70 aside. We continued to pass such nights as these for three weeks, and I had the pleasure of seeing her thoroughly71 cured. I should doubtless have married her, if an event had not happened to me towards the end of the month, of which I shall speak lower down.
You will remember, dear reader, about a romance by the Abbe Chiari, a satirical romance which Mr. Murray had given me, and in which I fared badly enough at the author’s hands I had small reason to be pleased with him, and I let him know my opinion in such wise that the abbe who dreaded72 a caning73, kept upon his guard. About the same time I received an anonymous74 letter, the writer of which told me that I should be better occupied in taking care of myself than in thoughts of chastising75 the abbe, for I was threatened by an imminent76 danger. Anonymous letter-writers should be held in contempt, but one ought to know how, on occasion, to make the best of advice given in that way. I did nothing, and made a great mistake.
About the same time a man named Manuzzi, a stone setter for his first trade, and also a spy, a vile77 agent of the State Inquisitors — a man of whom I knew nothing — found a way to make my acquaintance by offering to let me have diamonds on credit, and by this means he got the entry of my house. As he was looking at some books scattered78 here and there about the room, he stopped short at the manuscripts which were on magic. Enjoying foolishly enough, his look of astonishment, I shewed him the books which teach one how to summon the elementary spirits. My readers will, I hope, do me the favour to believe that I put no faith in these conjuring79 books, but I had them by me and used to amuse myself with them as one does amuse one’s self with the multitudinous follies80 which proceed from the heads of visionaries. A few days after, the traitor81 came to see me and told me that a collector, whose name he might not tell me, was ready to give me a thousand sequins for my five books, but that he would like to examine them first to see if they were genuine. As he promised to let me have them back in twenty-four hours, and not thinking much about the matter, I let him have them. He did not fail to bring them back the next day, telling me that the collector thought them forgeries82. I found out, some years after, that he had taken them to the State Inquisitors, who thus discovered that I was a notable magician.
Everything that happened throughout this fatal month tended to my ruin, for Madame Memmo, mother of Andre, Bernard, and Laurent Memmo, had taken it into her head that I had inclined her sons to atheistic83 opinions, and took counsel with the old knight84 Antony Mocenigo, M. de Bragadin’s uncle, who was angry with me, because, as he said, I had conspired85 to seduce86 his nephew. The matter was a serious one, and an auto-da-fe was very possible, as it came under the jurisdiction87 of the Holy Office — a kind of wild beast, with which it is not good to quarrel. Nevertheless, as there would be some difficulty in shutting me up in the ecclesiastical prisons of the Holy Office, it was determined to carry my case before the State Inquisitors, who took upon themselves the provisional duty of putting a watch upon my manner of living.
M. Antony Condulmer, who as a friend of Abbe Chiari’s was an enemy of mine, was then an Inquisitor of State, and he took the opportunity of looking upon me in the light of a disturber of the peace of the commonwealth88. A secretary of an embassy, whom I knew some years after, told me that a paid informer, with two other witnesses, also, doubtless, in the pay of this grand tribunal, had declared that I was guilty of only believing in the devil, as if this absurd belief, if it were possible, did not necessarily connote a belief in God! These three honest fellows testified with an oath that when I lost money at play, on which occasion all the faithful are wont90 to blaspheme, I was never heard to curse the devil. I was further accused of eating meat all the year round, of only going to hear fine masses, and I was vehemently91 suspected of being a Freemason. It was added that I frequented the society of foreign ministers, and that living as I did with three noblemen, it was certain that I revealed, for the large sums which I was seen to lose, as many state secrets as I could worm out of them.
All these accusations92, none of which had any foundation in fact, served the Tribunal as a pretext93 to treat me as an enemy of the commonwealth and as a prime conspirator94. For several weeks I was counselled by persons whom I might have trusted to go abroad whilst the Tribunal was engaged on my case. This should have been enough, for the only people who can live in peace at Venice are those whose existence the Tribunal is ignorant of, but I obstinately95 despised all these hints. If I had listened to the indirect advice which was given me, I should have become anxious, and I was the sworn foe96 of all anxiety. I kept saying to myself, “I feel remorse97 for nothing and I am therefore guilty of nothing, and the innocent have nothing to fear.” I was a fool, for I argued as if I had been a free man in a free country. I must also confess that what to a great extent kept me from thinking of possible misfortune was the actual misfortune which oppressed me from morning to night. I lost every day, I owed money everywhere, I had pawned98 all my jewels, and even my portrait cases, taking the precaution, however, of removing the portraits, which with my important papers and my amorous letters I had placed in the hands of Madame Manzoni. I found myself avoided in society. An old senator told me, one day, that it was known that the young Countess Bonafede had become mad in consequence of the love philtres I had given her. She was still at the asylum99, and in her moments of delirium100 she did nothing but utter my name with curses. I must let my readers into the secret of this small history.
This young Countess Bonafede, to whom I had given some sequins a few days after my return to Venice, thought herself capable of making me continue my visits, from which she had profited largely. Worried by her letters I went to see her several times, and always left her a few sequins, but with the exception of my first visit I was never polite enough to give her any proofs of my affection. My coldness had baulked all her endeavours for a year, when she played a criminal part, of which, though I was never able absolutely to convict her, I had every reason to believe her guilty.
She wrote me a letter, in which she importuned101 me to come and see her at a certain hour on important business.
My curiosity, as well as a desire to be of service to her, took me there at the appointed time; but as soon as she saw me she flung her arms round my neck, and told me that the important business was love. This made me laugh heartily102, and I was pleased to find her looking neater than usual, which, doubtless, made me find her looking prettier. She reminded me of St. Andre, and succeeded so well in her efforts that I was on the point of satisfying her desires. I took off my cloak, and asked her if her father were in. She told me he had gone out. Being obliged to go out for a minute, in coming back I mistook the door, and I found myself in the next room, where I was much astonished to see the count and two villainous-looking fellows with him.
“My dear count,” I said, “your daughter has just told me that you were out.”
“I myself told her to do so, as I have some business with these gentlemen, which, however, can wait for another day.”
I would have gone, but he stopped me, and having dismissed the two men he told me that he was delighted to see me, and forthwith began the tale of his troubles, which were of more than one kind. The State Inquisitors had stopped his slender pension, and he was on the eve of seeing himself driven out with his family into the streets to beg his bread. He said that he had not been able to pay his landlord anything for three years, but if he could pay only a quarter’s rent, he would obtain a respite103, or if he persisted in turning him out, he could make a night-flitting of it, and take up his abode104 somewhere else. As he only wanted twenty ducats, I took out six sequins and gave them to him. He embraced me, and shed tears of joy; then, taking his poor cloak, he called his daughter, told her to keep me company, and went out.
Alone with the countess, I examined the door of communication between the two rooms and found it slightly open.
“Your father,” I said, “would have surprised me, and it is easy to guess what he would have done with the two sbirri who were with him. The plot is clear, and I have only escaped from it by the happiest of chances.”
She denied, wept, called God to witness, threw herself on her knees; but I turned my head away, and taking my cloak went away without a word. She kept on writing to me, but her letters remained unanswered, and I saw her no more.
It was summer-time, and between the heat, her passions, hunger, and wretchedness, her head was turned, and she became so mad that she went out of the house stark106 naked, and ran up and down St. Peter’s Place, asking those who stopped her to take her to my house. This sad story went all over the town and caused me a great deal of annoyance107. The poor wretch105 was sent to an asylum, and did not recover her reason for five years. When she came out she found herself reduced to beg her bread in the streets, like all her brothers, except one, whom I found a cadet in the guards of the King of Spain twelve years afterwards.
At the time of which I am speaking all this had happened a year ago, but the story was dug up against me, and dressed out in the attire108 of fiction, and thus formed part of those clouds which were to discharge their thunder upon me to my destruction.
In the July of 1755 the hateful court gave Messer-Grande instructions to secure me, alive or dead. In this furious style all orders for arrests proceeding109 from the Three were issued, for the least of their commands carried with it the penalty of death.
Three or four days before the Feast of St. James, my patron saint, M—— M—— made me a present of several ells of silver lace to trim a sarcenet dress which I was going to wear on the eve of the feast. I went to see her, dressed in my fine suit, and I told her that I should come again on the day following to ask her to lend me some money, as I did not know where to turn to find some. She was still in possession of the five hundred sequins which she had put aside when I had sold her diamonds.
As I was sure of getting the money in the morning I passed the night at play, and I lost the five hundred sequins in advance. At day- break, being in need of a little quiet, I went to the Erberia, a space of ground on the quay110 of the Grand Canal. Here is held the herb, fruit, and flower market.
People in good society who come to walk in the Erberia at a rather early hour usually say that they come to see the hundreds of boats laden111 with vegetables, fruit and flowers, which hail from the numerous islands near the town; but everyone knows that they are men and women who have been spending the night in the excesses of Venus or Bacchus, or who have lost all hope at the gaming-table, and come here to breath a purer air and to calm their minds. The fashion of walking in this place shews how the character of a nation changes. The Venetians of old time who made as great a mystery of love as of state affairs, have been replaced by the modern Venetians, whose most prominent characteristic is to make a mystery of nothing. Those who come to the Erberia with women wish to excite the envy of their friends by thus publishing their good fortune. Those who come alone are on the watch for discoveries, or on the look-out for materials to make wives or husbands jealous, the women only come to be seen, glad to let everybody know that they are without any restraint upon their actions. There was certainly no question of smartness there, considering the disordered style of dress worn. The women seemed to have agreed to shew all the signs of disorder112 imaginable, to give those who saw them something to talk about. As for the men, on whose arms they leaned, their careless and lounging airs were intended to give the idea of a surfeit113 of pleasure, and to make one think that the disordered appearance of their companions was a sure triumph they had enjoyed. In short it was the correct thing to look tired out, and as if one stood in need of sleep.
This veracious114 description, reader, will not give you a very high opinion of the morals of my dear fellow citizens; but what object should I have at my age for deceiving? Venice is not at the world’s end, but is well enough known to those whose curiosity brings them into Italy; and everyone can see for himself if my pictures are overdrawn115.
After walking up and down for half an hour, I came away, and thinking the whole house still a-bed I drew my key out to open the door, but what was my astonishment to find it useless, as the door was open, and what is more, the lock burst off. I ran upstairs, and found them all up, and my landlady116 uttering bitter lamentations.
“Messer-Grande,” she told me, “has entered my house forcibly, accompanied by a band of sbirri. He turned everything upside down, on the pretext that he was in search of a portmanteau full of salt — a highly contraband117 article. He said he knew that a portmanteau had been landed there the evening before, which was quite true; but it belonged to Count S— — and only contained linen118 and clothes. Messer-Grande, after inspecting it, went out without saying a word.”
He had also paid my room a visit. She told me that she must have some reparation made her, and thinking she was in the right I promised to speak to M. de Bragadin on the matter the same day. Needing rest above all things, I lay down, but my nervous excitement, which I attributed to my heavy losses at play, made me rise after three or four hours, and I went to see M. de Bragadin, to whom I told the whole story begging him to press for some signal amends119. I made a lively representation to him of all the grounds on which my landlady required proportionate amends to be made, since the laws guaranteed the peace of all law-abiding people.
I saw that the three friends were greatly saddened by what I said, and the wise old man, quietly but sadly, told me that I should have my answer after dinner.
De la Haye dined with us, but all through the meal, which was a melancholy120 one, he spoke not a word. His silence should have told me all, if I had not been under the influence of some malevolent121 genii who would not allow me to exercise my common sense: as to the sorrow of my three friends, I put that down to their friendship for me. My connection with these worthy men had always been the talk of the town, and as all were agreed that it could not be explained on natural grounds, it was deemed to be the effect of some sorcery exercised by me. These three men were thoroughly religious and virtuous122 citizens; I was nothing if not irreligious, and Venice did not contain a greater libertine123. Virtue124, it was said, may have compassion125 on vice7, but cannot become its friend.
After dinner M. de Bragadin took me into his closet with his two friends, from whom he had no secrets. He told me with wonderful calmness that instead of meditating126 vengeance127 on Messer-Grande I should be thinking of putting myself in a place of safety. “The portmanteau,” said he, “was a mere128 pretext; it was you they wanted and thought to find. Since your good genius has made them miss you, look out for yourself; perhaps by to-morrow it may be too late. I have been a State Inquisitor for eight months, and I know the way in which the arrests ordered by the court are carried out. They would not break open a door to look for a box of salt. Indeed, it is possible that they knew you were out, and sought to warn you to escape in this manner. Take my advice, my dear son, and set out directly for Fusina, and thence as quickly as you can make your way to Florence, where you can remain till I write to you that you may return with safety. If you have no money I will give you a hundred sequins for present expenses. Believe me that prudence bids you go.”
Blinded by my folly129, I answered him that being guilty of nothing I had nothing to fear, and that consequently, although I knew his advice was good, I could not follow it.
“The high court,” said he, “may deem you guilty of crimes real or imaginary; but in any case it will give you no account of the accusations against you. Ask your oracle130 if you shall follow my advice or not.” I refused because I knew the folly of such a proceeding, but by way of excuse I said that I only consulted it when I was in doubt. Finally, I reasoned that if I fled I should be shewing fear, and thus confessing my guilt89, for an innocent man, feeling no remorse, cannot reasonably be afraid of anything.
“If secrecy,” said I, “is of the essence of the Court, you cannot possibly judge, after my escape, whether I have done so rightly or wrongly. The same reasons, which, according to your excellence131, bid me go, would forbid my return. Must I then say good-bye for ever to my country, and all that is dear to me?” As a last resource he tried to persuade me to pass the following day and night, at least, at the palace. I am still ashamed of having refused the worthy old man to whom I owed so much this favour; for the palace of a noble is sacred to the police who dare not cross its threshold without a special order from the Tribunal, which is practically never given; by yielding to his request I should have avoided a grievous misfortune, and spared the worthy old man some acute grief.
I was moved to see M. de Bragadin weeping, and perhaps I might have granted to his tears that which I had obstinately refused to his arguments and entreaties132. “For Heaven’s sake!” said I, “spare me the harrowing sight of your tears.” In an instant he summoned all his strength to his assistance, made some indifferent remarks, and then, with a smile full of good nature, he embraced me, saying, “Perhaps I may be fated never to see you again, but ‘Fata viam invenient’.”
I embraced him affectionately, and went away, but his prediction was verified, for I never saw him again; he died eleven years afterwards. I found myself in the street without feeling the slightest fear, but I was in a good deal of trouble about my debts. I had not the heart to go to Muran to take away from M. M. her last five hundred sequins, which sum I owed to the man who won it from me in the night; I preferred asking him to wait eight days, and I did so. After performing this unpleasant piece of business I returned home, and, having consoled my landlady to the utmost of my power, I kissed the daughter, and lay down to sleep. The date was July 25th, 1755.
Next morning at day-break who should enter my room but the awful Messer-Grande. To awake, to see him, and to hear him asking if I were Jacques Casanova, was the work of a moment. At my “yes, I am Casanova,” he told me to rise, to put on my clothes, to give him all the papers and manuscripts in my possession, and to follow him.
“On whose authority do you order me to do this?”
“By the authority of the Tribunal.”
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1
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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3
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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4
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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gnats
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| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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10
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
straightforwardly
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| adv.正直地 | |
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15
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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17
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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18
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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19
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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20
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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22
voluptuousness
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| n.风骚，体态丰满 | |
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23
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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24
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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25
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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27
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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28
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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29
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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30
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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31
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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33
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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34
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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35
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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36
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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37
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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38
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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39
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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40
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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41
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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42
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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43
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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44
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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45
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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46
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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47
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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48
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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49
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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50
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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51
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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52
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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53
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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54
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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55
amorously
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| adv.好色地，妖艳地；脉；脉脉；眽眽 | |
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56
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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57
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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58
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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59
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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60
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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61
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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63
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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64
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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65
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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66
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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67
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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68
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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69
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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70
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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71
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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72
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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73
caning
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| n.鞭打 | |
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74
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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75
chastising
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的现在分词 ) | |
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76
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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77
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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78
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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79
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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80
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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81
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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82
forgeries
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| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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83
atheistic
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| adj.无神论者的 | |
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84
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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85
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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86
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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87
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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88
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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89
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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90
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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91
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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92
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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93
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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94
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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95
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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96
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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97
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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98
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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99
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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100
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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101
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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102
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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103
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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104
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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105
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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106
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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107
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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108
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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109
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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110
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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111
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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112
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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113
surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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114
veracious
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| adj.诚实可靠的 | |
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115
overdrawn
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| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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116
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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117
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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118
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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119
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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