Casanova's Homecoming

by Arthur Schnitzler

  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.