Casanova's Homecoming

by Arthur Schnitzler

  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 pr
ove 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? Sh
e 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 reas
on 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.