Casanova's Homecoming

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger and PGDistributed Proofreaders

  CASANOVA'S HOMECOMING

  By Arthur Schnitzler

  1922

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

  CHAPTER ONE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Olivo, is it really you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Casanova tried to excuse himself, but Olivo insisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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