CHAPTER TEN.
Marcolina's window was still closed. There was no sign from within. Itwanted a few minutes to midnight. Should he make his presence known inany way? By tapping gently at the window? Since nothing of this sort hadbeen arranged, it might arouse Marcolina's suspicions. Better wait. Itcould not be much longer. The thought that she might instantly recognizehim, might detect the fraud before he had achieved his purpose, crossedhis mind--not for the first time, yet as a passing fancy, as a remotepossibility which it was logical to take into account, but not anythingto be seriously dreaded.
A ludicrous adventure now recurred to his mind. Twenty years ago he hadspent a night with a middle-aged ugly vixen in Soleure, when he hadimagined himself to be possessing a beautiful young woman whom headored. He recalled how next day, in a shameless letter, she had deridedhim for the mistake that she had so greatly desired him to make andthat she had compassed with such infamous cunning. He shuddered at thethought. It was the last thing he would have wished to think of justnow, and he drove the detestable image from his mind.
It must be midnight! How long was he to stand shivering there? Waitingin vain, perhaps? Cheated, after all? Two thousand ducats for nothing.Lorenzi behind the curtain, mocking at the fool outside!
Involuntarily he gripped the hilt of the sword he carried beneath thecloak, pressed to his naked body. After all, with a fellow like Lorenzione must be prepared for any tricks.
At that instant he heard a gentle rattling, and knew it was made by thegrating of Marcolina's window hi opening. Then both wings of the windowwere drawn back, though the curtain still veiled the interior. Casanovaremained motionless for a few seconds more, until the curtain was pulledaside by an unseen hand. Taking this as a sign, he swung himself overthe sill into the room, and promptly closed window and grating behindhim. The curtain had fallen across his shoulders, so that he had to pushhis way beneath it. Now he would have been in absolute darkness hadthere not been shining from the depths of the distance, incredibly faraway, as if awakened by his own gaze, the faintest possible illuminationto show him the way. No more than three paces forward, and eager armsenfolded him. Letting the sword slip from his hand, the cloak from hisshoulders, he gave himself up to his bliss.
From Marcolina's sigh of surrender, from the tears of happiness whichhe kissed from her cheeks, from the ever-renewed warmth with which shereceived his caresses, he felt sure that she shared his rapture; andto him this rapture seemed more intense than he had ever experienced,seemed to possess a new and strange quality. Pleasure became worship;passion was transfused with an intense consciousness. Here at last wasthe reality which he had often falsely imagined himself to be on thepoint of attaining, and which had always eluded his grasp. He held inhis arms a woman upon whom he could squander himself, with whom he couldfeel himself inexhaustible; the woman upon whose breast the moment ofultimate self-abandonment and of renewed desire seemed to coalesce intoa single instant of hitherto unimagined spiritual ecstasy. Were not lifeand death, time and eternity, one upon these lips? Was he not a god?Were not youth and age merely a fable; visions of men's fancy? Were nothome and exile, splendor and misery, renown and oblivion, senselessdistinctions, fit only for the use of the uneasy, the lonely, thefrustrate; had not the words become unmeaning to one who was Casanova,and who had found Marcolina?
More contemptible, more absurd, as the minutes passed, seemed to himthe prospect of keeping the resolution which he had made when stillpusillanimous, of acting on the determination to flee out of this nightof miracle dumbly, unrecognized, like a thief. With the infallibleconviction that he must be the bringer of delight even as he was thereceiver of delight, he felt prepared for the venture of disclosing hisname, even though he knew all the time that he would thus play fora great stake, the loss of which would involve the loss of his veryexistence. He was still shrouded in impenetrable darkness, and until thefirst glimmer of dawn made its way through the thick curtain, he couldpostpone a confession upon whose favorable acceptance by Marcolina hisfate, nay his life, depended.
Besides, was not this mute, passionately sweet association the verything to bind Marcolina to him more firmly with each kiss that theyenjoyed? Would not the ineffable bliss of this night transmute intotruth what had been conceived in falsehood? His duped mistress, womanof women, had she not already an inkling that it was not Lorenzi, thestripling, but Casanova, the man, with whom she was mingling in thesedivine ardors?
He began to deem it possible that he might be spared the so greatlydesired and 'yet so intensely dreaded moment of revelation. He fanciedthat Marcolina, thrilling, entranced, transfigured, would spontaneouslywhisper his name. Then, when she had forgiven him, he would take herwith him that very hour. Together they would leave the house in the greydawn; together they would seek the carriage that was waiting at theturn of the road; together they would drive away. She would be his forevermore. This would be the crown of his life; that at an age whenothers were doomed to a sad senility, he, by the overwhelming might ofhis unconquerable personality, would have won for himself the youngest,the most beautiful, the most gifted of women.
For this woman was his as no woman had ever been before. He glided withher through mysterious, narrow canals, between palaces in whoseshadows he was once more at home, under high-arched bridges whichblurred figures were swiftly crossing. Many of the wayfarers glanceddown for a moment over the parapet, and vanished ere their faces couldbe discerned.
Now the gondola drew alongside. A marble stairway led up to the statelymansion of Senator Bragadino. It was the only palace holding festival.Masked guests were ascending and descending. Many of them paused withinquisitive glances; but who could recognize Casanova and Marcolina intheir dominoes?
He entered the hall with her. Here was a great company playing for highstakes. All the senators, Bragadino among them, were seated round thetable in their purple robes. As Casanova came through the door, theywhispered his name as if terror-stricken, for the flashing of his eyesbehind the mask had disclosed his identity. He did not sit down; he didnot take any cards, and yet he joined in the game. He won. He won allthe gold on the table, and this did not suffice. The senators had togive him notes of hand. They lost their possessions, their palaces,their purple robes; they were beggars; they crawled round him clad inrags, kissing his hands.
Nearby, in a hall with crimson hangings, there was music and dancing.Casanova wished to dance with Marcolina, but she had vanished. Onceagain the senators in their purple robes were seated at the table; butnow Casanova knew that the hazards at stake were not those of a game ofcards; he knew that the destinies of accused persons, some criminal andsome innocent, hung in the balance.
What had become of Marcolina? Had he not been holding her by the handall the time? He rushed down the staircase. The gondola was waiting.On, on, through the maze of canals. Of course the gondolier knew whereMarcolina was; but why was he, too, masked? That had not been the customof old in Venice. Casanova wished to question him, but was afraid. Doesa man become so cowardly when he grows old?
Onward, ever onward. How huge Venice had grown during thesefive-and-twenty years! At length the houses came to an end; the canalopened out; they were passing between islands; there stood the walls ofthe Murano nunnery, to which Marcolina had fled.
There was no gondola now; he had to swim; how delightful! It was truethat in Venice the children were playing with his gold pieces. But whatwas money to him? The water was now warm, now cold; it dripped from hisclothing as he climbed over the wall.
"Where is Marcolina?" he enquired in the parlor, in loud, challengingtones such as only a prince would dare to use.
"I will summon her," said the Lady Abbess, and sank into the ground.
Casanova wandered about; he had wings; he fluttered to and fro along thegratings, fluttered like a bat. "If I had only known sooner that I canfly," he thought. "I will teach Marcolina."
Behind the gratings, the figures of women were moving hither andthither. They were nuns--and yet they were al
l wearing secular dress.He knew it, though he could not really see them. He knew who they were.Henriette the Unknown; Corticelli and Cristina, the dancers; the bride;Dubois the Beautiful; the accurst vixen of Soleure; Manon Balletti; ahundred others--but never Marcolina!
"You have betrayed me," he cried to the gondolier, who was waiting forhim beneath. Never had he hated anyone as he hated this gondolier, andhe swore to take an exquisite revenge.
But how foolish he had been to seek Marcolina in the Murano nunnery whenshe had gone to visit Voltaire. It was fortunate that he could fly,since he had no money left with which to pay for a carriage.
He swam away. But he was no longer enjoying himself. The water grewcolder and colder; he was drifting out into the open sea, far fromMurano, far from Venice, and there was no ship within sight; his heavygold-embroidered garments were dragging him down; he tried to stripthem off, but it was impossible, for he was holding his manuscript, themanuscript he had to give to M. Voltaire. The water was pouring intohis mouth and nose; deadly fear seized him; he clutched at impalpablethings; there was a rattling in his throat; he screamed; and with agreat effort he opened his eyes.
Between the curtain and the window-frame the dawn was making its waythrough in a narrow strip of light. Marcolina, in her white nightdressand with hands crossed upon her bosom, was standing at the foot of thebed contemplating Casanova with unutterable horror. Her glance instantlyrecalled him to his senses. Involuntarily he stretched out his armstowards her with a gesture of appeal. Marcolina, as if rejecting thisappeal, waved him away with her left hand, while with the right shecontinued to grasp her raiment convulsively. Casanova sat up, his eyesriveted upon her. Neither was able to look away from the other. Hisexpression was one of rage and shame; hers was one of shame anddisgust. Casanova knew how she saw him, for he saw himself figuredin imagination, just as he had seen himself yesterday in the bedroommirror. A yellow, evil face, deeply lined, with thin lips and staringeyes--a face three times worse than that of yesterday, because ofthe excesses of the night, the ghastly dream of the morning, and theterrible awakening. And what he read in Marcolina's countenance was notwhat he would a thousand times rather have read there; it was not thief,libertine, villain. He read only something which crushed him to earthmore ignominiously than could any terms of abuse; he read the word whichto him was the most dreadful of all words, since it passed a finaljudgment upon him--old man.
Had it been within his power to annihilate himself by a spell, he wouldhave done so, that he might be spared from having to creep out of thebed and display himself to Marcolina in his nakedness, which must appearto her more loathsome than the sight of some loathsome beast.
But Marcolina, as if gradually collecting herself, and manifestly inorder to give him the opportunity which was indispensable, turned herface to the wall. He seized the moment to get out of bed, to raise thecloak from the floor, and to wrap himself in it. He was quick, too, tomake sure of his sword. Now, when he conceived himself to have at leastescaped the worst contumely of all, that of ludicrousness, he began towonder whether it would not be possible to throw another light upon thisaffair in which he cut so pitiful a figure. He was an adept in the useof language. Could he not somehow or other, by a few well-chosen words,give matters a favorable turn?
From the nature of the circumstances, it was evidently impossible forMarcolina to doubt that Lorenzi had sold her to Casanova. Yet howeverintensely she might hate her wretched lover at that moment, Casanovafelt that he himself, the cowardly thief, must seem a thousand timesmore hateful.
Perhaps another course offered better promise of satisfaction. He mightdegrade Marcolina by mockery and lascivious phrases, full of innuendo.But this spiteful idea could not be sustained in face of the aspect shehad now assumed. Her expression of horror had gradually been transformedinto one of infinite sadness, as if it had been not Marcolina'swomanhood alone which had been desecrated by Casanova, but as if duringthe night that had just closed a nameless and inexpiable offence hadbeen committed by cunning against trust, by lust against love, by ageagainst youth. Beneath this gaze which, to Casanova's extremest torment,reawakened for a brief space all that was still good in him, he turnedaway. Without looking round at Marcolina, he went to the window, drewthe curtain aside, opened casement and grating, cast a glance round thegarden which still seemed to slumber in the twilight, and swung himselfacross the sill into the open.
Aware of the possibility that someone in the house might already beawake and might spy him from a window, he avoided the greensward andsought cover in the shaded alley. Passing through the door in the wall,he had hardly closed it behind him, when someone blocked his path. "Thegondolier!" was his first idea. For now he suddenly realized that thegondolier in his dream had been Lorenzi. The young officer stood beforehim. His silver-braided scarlet tunic glowed in the morning light.
"What a splendid uniform," was the thought that crossed Casanova'sconfused, weary brain. "It looks quite new. I am sure it has not beenpaid for." These trivial reflections helped him to the full recovery ofhis wits; and as soon as he realized the situation, his mind was filledwith gladness. Drawing himself up proudly, and grasping the hilt ofhis sword firmly beneath the cloak, he said in a tone of the utmostamiability: "Does it not seem to you, Lieutenant Lorenzi, that thisnotion of yours has come a thought too late?"
"By no means," answered Lorenzi, looking handsomer than any man Casanovahad ever seen before. "Only one of us two shall leave the place alive."
"What a hurry you are in, Lorenzi," said Casanova in an almost tendertone. "Cannot the affair rest until we reach Mantua? I shall bedelighted to give you a lift in my carriage, which is waiting at theturn of the road. There is a great deal to be said for observing theforms in these matters, especially in such a case as ours."
"No forms are needed. You or I, Casanova, at this very hour." He drewhis sword.
Casanova shrugged. "Just as you please, Lorenzi. But you might at leastremember that I shall be reluctantly compelled to appear in a veryinappropriate costume." He threw open the cloak and stood there nude,playing with the sword in his hand.
Hate welled up in Lorenzi's eyes. "You shall not be at anydisadvantage," he said, and began to strip with all possible speed.
Casanova turned away, and for the moment wrapped himself in his cloakonce more, for though the sun was already piercing the morning mists,the air was chill. Long shadows lay across the fields, cast by thesparse trees on the hill-top. For an instant Casanova wondered whethersomeone might not come down the path. Doubtless it was used only byOlivo and the members of his household. It occurred to Casanova thatthese were perhaps the last minutes of his life, and he was amazed athis own calmness.
"M. Voltaire is a lucky fellow," came as a passing thought. But in truthhe had no interest in Voltaire, and he would have been glad at thissupreme moment to have been able to call up pleasanter images than thatof the old author's vulturine physiognomy. How strange it was that nobirds were piping in the trees over the wall. A change of weather mustbe imminent. But what did the weather matter to him? He would ratherthink of Marcolina, of the ecstasy he had enjoyed in her arms, and forwhich he was now to pay dear. Dear? Cheap enough! A few years of an oldman's life hi penury and obscurity. What was there left for him to do inthe world? To poison Bragadino? Was it worth the trouble? Nothing wasworth the trouble. How few trees there were on the hill! He began tocount them. "Five... seven... ten.--Have I nothing better to do?"
"I am ready, Casanova."
Casanova turned smartly. Lorenzi stood before him, splendid in hisnakedness like a young god. No trace of meanness lingered in his face.He seemed equally ready to kill or to die.
"What if I were to throw away my sword?" thought Casanova. "What if Iwere to embrace him?" He slipped the cloak from his shoulders and stoodlike Lorenzi, lean and naked.
Lorenzi lowered his point in salute, in accordance with the rules offence. Casanova returned the salute. Next moment they crossed blades,and the steel glittered like silver in the su
n.
"How long is it," thought Casanova, "since last I stood thus measuringsword with sword?" But none of his serious duels now recurred to hismind. He could think only of practice with the foils, such as ten yearsearlier he used to have every morning with his valet Costa, the rascalwho afterwards bolted with a hundred and fifty thousand lire. "All thesame, he was a fine fencer; nor has my hand forgotten its cunning!My arm is as true, my vision as keen, as ever..... Youth and age arefables. Am I not a god? Are we not both gods? If anyone could see usnow. There are women who would pay a high price for the spectacle!"
The blades bent, the points sparkled; at each contact the rapiers sangsoftly in the morning air. "A fight? No, a fencing match! Why this lookof horror, Marcolina? Are we not both worthy of your love? He is but ayoungster; I am Casanova!"
Lorenzi sank to the ground, thrust through the heart. The sword fellfrom his grip. He opened his eyes wide, as if in utter astonishment.Once he raised his head for a moment, while his lips were fixed in a wrysmile. Then the head fell back again, his nostrils dilated, there was aslight rattling in his throat, and he was dead.
Casanova bent over him, kneeled beside the body, saw a few drops ofblood ooze from the wound, held his hand in front of Lorenzi'smouth--but the breath was stilled. A cold shiver passed throughCasanova's frame. He rose and put on his cloak. Then, returning to thebody, he glanced at the fallen youth, lying stark on the turf inincomparable beauty. The silence was broken by a soft rustling, as themorning breeze stirred the tree-tops.
"What shall I do?" Casanova asked himself. "Shall I summon aid? Olivo?Amalia? Marcolina? To what purpose? No one can bring him back to life."
He pondered with the calmness invariable to him in the most dangerousmoments of his career. "It may be hours before anyone finds him; perhapsno one will come by before evening; perchance later still. That willgive me time, and time is of the first importance."
He was still holding his sword. Noticing that it was bloody, he wiped iton the grass. He thought for a moment of dressing the corpse, but to dothis would have involved the loss of precious and irrecoverable minutes.Paying the last duties, he bent once more and closed Lorenzi's eyes."Lucky fellow," he murmured; and then, dreamily, he kissed the deadman's forehead.
He strode along beside the wall, turned the angle, and regained theroad. The carriage was where he had left it, the coachman fast asleepon the box. Casanova was careful to avoid waking the man at first. Notuntil he had cautiously taken his seat did he call out: "Hullo, driveon, can't you?" and prodded him in the back. The startled coachmanlooked round, greatly astonished to find that it was broad daylight.Then he whipped up his horse and drove off.
Casanova sat far back in the carriage, wrapped in the cloak which hadonce belonged to Lorenzi. In the village a few children were to be seenin the streets, but it was plain that the elders were already at work inthe fields. When the houses had been left behind Casanova drew a longbreath. Opening the valise, he withdrew his clothes, and dressed beneaththe cover of the cloak, somewhat concerned lest the coachman shouldturn and discover his fare's strange behavior. But nothing of the sorthappened. Unmolested, Casanova was able to finish dressing, to pack awayLorenzi's cloak, and resume his own.
Glancing skyward, Casanova saw that the heavens were overcast. He hadno sense of fatigue, but felt tense and wakeful. He thought over hissituation, considering it from every possible point of view, and comingto the conclusion that, though grave, it was less alarming than it mighthave seemed to timid spirits. He would probably be suspected of havingkilled Lorenzi, but who could doubt that it had been in an honorablefight? Besides, Lorenzi had been lying in wait, had forced the encounterupon him, and no one could consider him a criminal for having fought inself-defence. But why had he left the body lying on the grass like thatof a dead dog? Well, nobody could reproach him on that account. To fleeaway swiftly had been well within his right, had been almost a duty. Inhis place, Lorenzi would have done the same. But perhaps Venice wouldhand him over? Directly he arrived, he would claim the protection of hispatron Bragadino. Yet this might involve his accusing himself of a deedwhich would after all remain undiscovered, or at any rate would perhapsnever be laid to his charge. What proof was there against him? Had henot been summoned to Venice? Who could say that he went thither as afugitive from justice? The coachman maybe, who had waited for him halfthe night. One or two additional gold pieces would stop the fellow'smouth.
Thus his thoughts ran in a circle. Suddenly he fancied he heard thesound of horses' hoofs from the road behind him. "Already?" washis first thought. He leaned over the side of the carriage to lookbackwards. All was clear. The carriage had driven past a farm, and thesound he had heard had been the echo of his own horse's hoofs. Thediscovery of this momentary self-deception quieted his apprehensions fora time, so that it seemed to him the danger was over. He could now seethe towers of Mantua. "Drive on, man, drive on," he said under hisbreath, for he did not really wish the coachman to hear. The coachman,nearing the goal, had given the horse his head. Soon they reached thegate through which Casanova had left the town with Olivo less thanforty-eight hours earlier. He told the coachman the name of the inn, andin a few minutes the carriage drew up at the sign of the Golden Lion.
Casanova's Homecoming Page 10
