Casanova overtook Lorenzi in the chestnut avenue. Speaking lightly,
he said: “May I have the pleasure of accompanying you on your walk,
Lieutenant Lorenzi?”
Lorenzi, without looking at him, answered in an arrogant tone which
seemed hardly in keeping with his situation: “As you please, Chevalier;
but I am afraid you will not find me an amusing companion.”
“Perhaps, Lieutenant, you will on the other hand find me an entertaining
companion. If you have no objection, let us take the path through the
vineyard, where our conversation will be undisturbed.”
They turned aside from the high-road into the narrow footway running
beside the garden wall, along which Casanova had walked with Olivo on
the previous day.
“You are right in supposing,” began Casanova, “that I have it in mind to
offer you the sum of money which you owe to the Marchese. Not as a loan.
That, if you will excuse my saying so, seems to me rather too risky a
venture. I could let you have it as a slight return for a service which
I think you may be able to do me.”
“Go on,” said Lorenzi coldly.
“Before I say any more,” answered Casanova, in a similar tone, “I must
make a condition upon your acceptance of which the continuance of this
conversation depends.”
“Name your condition.”
“Give me your word of honor that you will listen to me without
interruption, even though what I have to say may arouse your displeasure
or your wrath. When you have heard me to the end, it will rest entirely
with yourself whether you accept a proposal which, I am well aware,
is of an extremely unusual nature. But I want you to answer it with
a simple Yes or No. Whatever the issue, no one is to hear a word
concerning what passes at this interview between two men of honor, who
are perhaps no better than they should be.”
“I am ready to listen to your proposal.”
“You accept my condition?”
“I will not interrupt you.”
“And you will answer nothing beyond Yes or No?”
“Nothing beyond Yes or No.”
“Very well,” said Casanova. They walked slowly up the hill, between the
vine stocks, in the sultry heat of the late afternoon. Casanova began to
speak: “We shall perhaps understand one another best if we discuss the
matter logically. It is obvious that you have absolutely no chance of
obtaining the money you owe the Marchese within the prescribed time.
There can be no doubt that he has made up his mind to ruin you should
you fail to pay. Since he knows more of you than he actually disclosed
to us to-day”--Casanova was venturing beyond the limits of his own
knowledge, but he loved to take these little risks when following up a
path decided on in advance--“you are absolutely in the power of the old
ruffian, and your fate as an officer and a gentleman would be sealed.
There you have one side of the question. On the other hand, you will be
saved as soon as you have paid your debt, and as soon as you get back
those rings--however you may have come by them. This will mean the
recovery of an existence which is otherwise practically closed. Since
you are young, handsome, and bold, it will mean the recovery of an
existence which offers splendor, happiness, and renown. This appears
to me a most attractive prospect; especially seeing that the only
alternative is an inglorious, nay, a shameful ruin; for such a prospect,
I should be willing to sacrifice a prejudice which I had never really
possessed. I am well aware, Lorenzi,” he added quickly, as if expecting
contradiction and desiring to forestall it, “I am well aware, that you
have no more prejudices than I have or ever had. What I am going to ask
of you is merely what I should in your place under like circumstances
be willing to do, without a moment’s hesitation. Indeed, I have never
hesitated, at the call of destiny or as the outcome of caprice, to
commit a rascality, or rather, that to which fools give such a name.
Like you, Lorenzi, I have ever been ready to hazard my life for less
than nothing, and to call it quits. I am ready to do so now, if my
proposal prove inacceptable. We are made of the same stuff, you and I;
we are brothers in spirit; we may therefore disclose our souls to one
another without false shame, proud in our nakedness. Here are my two
thousand ducats. Call them yours, if you enable me to spend to-night
in your place with Marcolina.--Let us not stand still, if you please,
Lorenzi. Let us continue our walk.” They walked through the fields,
beneath the fruit trees, between which the vines, heavy with
grape-clusters, were trellised. Casanova went on without a pause: “Don’t
answer me yet, Lorenzi, for I have not finished. My request would
naturally be, if not monstrous, at least preposterous, if it were your
intention to make Marcolina your wife, or if Marcolina’s own hopes or
wishes turned in this direction. But just as last night was your first
night spent in love together”--he uttered this guess as if he had
absolute knowledge of the fact--“so also was the ensuing night
predestined, according to all human calculation, according to your own
expectations and Marcolina’s, to be your last night together for a long
period and probably for ever. I am absolutely convinced that Marcolina
herself, in order to save her lover from certain destruction, and simply
upon his wish, would be perfectly willing to give this one night to his
savior. For she, too, is a philosopher, and is therefore just as free
from prejudices as we are. Nevertheless, certain as I am that she would
meet the test, I am far from intending that it should be imposed upon
her. To possess a woman outwardly passive but inwardly resistant, would
be far from satisfying my desires, least of all in the present case. I
wish, not merely as a lover, but also as one beloved, to taste a rapture
which I should be prepared to pay for with my life. Understand this
clearly, Lorenzi. For the reason I have explained, Marcolina must not
for an instant suspect that I am the man whom she is clasping to her
sweet bosom; she must be firmly convinced that you are in her arms. It
is your part to pave the way for this deception; mine to maintain it.
You will not have much difficulty in making her understand that you will
have to leave her before dawn. Nor need you be at a loss for a pretext
as to the necessity for perfectly mute caresses when you return at
night, as you will promise to return. To avert all danger of discovery
at the last moment, I shall, when the time comes for me to leave, act as
if I heard a suspicious noise outside the window. Seizing my cloak,--or
rather yours, which you must of course lend me for the occasion--I shall
vanish through the window, never to return. For, of course, I shall take
my leave this evening. But half-way back to Mantua, telling the coachman
that I have forgotten some important papers, I shall return here on
foot. Entering the garden by the side door (you must give me the
master-key), I shall creep to Marcolina’s window, which must be
opened for me at midnight. I shall have taken off my clothes in the
carriage, even to my shoes and stockings, and shall wear only your
cloak, so that when I take to flight nothing will be left to betray
either you or me. The cloak and the two thousand ducats will be at your
disposal at five o’clock to-morrow morning in the inn at Mantua, so that
you may deliver over the money to the Marchese even before the appointed
hour. I pledge my solemn oath to fulfil my side of the bargain. I have
finished.”
Suddenly he stood still. The sun was near to setting. A gentle breeze
made the yellow ears rustle; the tower of Olivo’s house glowed red in
the evening light. Lorenzi, too, halted. His pale face was motionless,
as he gazed into vacancy over Casanova’s shoulder. His arms hung limp by
his sides, whereas Casanova’s hand, ready for any emergency, rested as
if by chance upon the hilt of his sword. A few seconds elapsed, and
Lorenzi was still silent. He seemed immersed in tranquil thought, but
Casanova remained on the alert, holding the kerchief with the ducats in
his left hand, but keeping the right upon his sword-hilt. He spoke once
more.
“You have honorably fulfilled my conditions. I know that it has not been
easy. For even though we may be free from prejudices, the atmosphere
in which we live is so full of them that we cannot wholly escape their
influence. And just as you, Lorenzi, during the last quarter of an hour,
have more than once been on the point of seizing me by the throat; so I,
I must confess, played for a time with the idea of giving you the
two thousand ducats as to my friend. Rarely, Lorenzi, have I been so
strangely drawn to anyone as I was to you from the first. But had
I yielded to this generous impulse, the next moment I should have
regretted it bitterly. In like manner you, Lorenzi, hi the moment before
you blow your brains out, would desperately regret having been such a
fool as to throw away a thousand nights of love with new and ever new
women for one single night of love which neither night nor day was to
follow.”
Lorenzi remained mute. His silence continued for many minutes, until
Casanova began to ask himself how long his patience was to be tried.
He was on the point of departing with a curt salutation, and of thus
indicating that he understood his proposition to have been rejected,
when Lorenzi, without a word slowly moved his right hand backwards into
the tail-pocket of his coat. Casanova, ever on his guard, instantly
stepped back a pace, and was ready to duck. Lorenzi handed him the key
of the garden door.
Casanova’s movement, which had certainly betokened fear, brought to
Lorenzi’s lips the flicker of a contemptuous smile. Casanova was able to
repress all sign of his rising anger, for he knew that had he given way
to it he might have ruined his design. Taking the key with a nod, he
merely said: “No doubt that means Yes. In an hour from now--an hour will
suffice for your understanding with Marcolina--I shall expect you in
the turret chamber. There, in exchange for your cloak, I shall have the
pleasure of handing you the two thousand gold pieces without further
delay. First of all, as a token of confidence; and secondly because I
really do not know what I should do with the money during the night.”
They parted without further formality. Lorenzi returned to the house by
the path along which they had both come. Casanova made his way to the
village by a different route. At the inn there, by paying a considerable
sum as earnest money, he was able to arrange for a carriage to await
him at ten o’clock that evening for the drive from Olivo’s house into
Mantua.