war, called upon her, and, finding master pantaloon intolerant on the subject of his better-half, gave him a few blows with his cane.
Fastidio informed me the next day that the pantaloon and his wife refused to perform any more, but I made them alter their mind by giving them a benefit night.
The pantaloon's wife was much applauded, but she felt insulted because, in the midst of the applause, the pit called out, "Bravo, Duodo!" She presented herself to the general in his own box, in which I was generally, and complained of the manner in which she was treated. The general promised her, in my name, another benefit night for the close of the carnival, and I was of course compelled to ratify his promise. The fact is, that, to satisfy the greedy actors, I abandoned to my comedians, one by one, the seventeen nights I had reserved for myself. The benefit I gave to Marina was at the special request of Madame F----, who had taken her into great favour since she had had the honour of breakfasting alone with M. D---- R---- in a villa outside of the city.
My generosity cost me four hundred sequins, but the faro bank brought me a thousand and more, although I never held the cards, my management of the theatre taking up all my time. My manner with the actresses gained me great kindness; it was clearly seen that I
carried on no intrigue with any of them, although I had every facility for doing so. Madame F---- complimented me, saying that she had not entertained such a good opinion of my discretion. I was too busy through the carnival to think of love, even of the passion which filled my heart. It was only at the beginning of Lent, and after the departure of the comedians, that I could give rein to my feelings.
One morning Madame F---- sent, a messenger who, summoned me to her presence. It was eleven o'clock; I immediately went to her, and enquired what I could do for her service.
"I wanted to see you," she said, "to return the two hundred sequins which you lent me so nobly. Here they are; be good enough to give me back my note of hand."
"Your note of hand, madam, is no longer in my possession. I have deposited it in a sealed envelope with the notary who, according to this receipt of his, can return it only to you."
"Why did you not keep it yourself?"
"Because I was afraid of losing it, or of having it stolen. And in the event of my death I did not want such a document to fall into any other hands but yours."
"A great proof of your extreme delicacy, certainly, but I think you ought to have reserved the right of taking it out of the notary's custody yourself."
"I did not forsee the possibility of calling for it myself."
"Yet it was a very likely thing. Then I can send word to the notary to transmit it to me?"
"Certainly, madam; you alone can claim it."
She sent to the notary, who brought the himself.
She tore the envelope open, and found only a piece of paper besmeared with ink, quite illegible, except her own name, which had not been touched.
"You have acted," she said, "most nobly; but you must agree with me that I cannot be certain that this piece of paper is really my note of hand, although I see my name on it."
"True, madam; and if you are not certain of it, I confess myself in the wrong."
"I must be certain of it, and I am so; but you must grant that I
could not swear to it."
"Granted, madam."
During the following days it struck me that her manner towards me was singularly altered. She never received me in her dishabille, and I
had to wait with great patience until her maid had entirely dressed her before being admitted into her presence.
If I related any story, any adventure, she pretened not to understand, and affected not to see the point of an anecdote or a jest; very often she would purposely not look at me, and then I was sure to relate badly. If M. D---- R----- laughed at something I had just said, she would ask what he was laughing for, and when he had told her, she would say it was insipid or dull. If one of her bracelets became unfastened, I offered to fasten it again, but either she would not give me so much trouble, or I did not understand the fastening, and the maid was called to do it. I could not help shewing my vexation, but she did not seem to take the slightest notice of it. If M. D---- R----- excited me to say something amusing or witty, and I did not speak immediately, she would say that my budget was empty, laughing, and adding that the wit of poor M. Casanova was worn out. Full of rage, I would plead guilty by my silence to her taunting accusation, but I was thoroughly miserable, for I did not see any cause for that extraordinary change in her feelings, being conscious that I had not given her any motive for it.
I wanted to shew her openly my indifference and contempt, but whenever an opportunity offered, my courage would forsake me, and I
would let it escape.
One evening M. D---- R----- asking me whether I had often been in love, I answered, "Three times, my lord."
"And always happily, of course."
"Always unhappily. The first time, perhaps, because, being an ecclesiastic, I durst not speak openly of my love. The second, because a cruel, unexpected event compelled me to leave the woman I
loved at the very moment in which my happiness would have been complete. The third time, because the feeling of pity, with which I
inspired the beloved object, induced her to cure me of my passion, instead of crowning my felicity."
"But what specific remedies did she use to effect your cure?"
"She has ceased to be kind."
"I understand she has treated you cruelly, and you call that pity, do you? You are mistaken."
"Certainly," said Madame F----, "a woman may pity the man she loves, but she would not think of ill-treating him to cure him of his passion. That woman has never felt any love for you."
"I cannot, I will not believe it, madam."
"But are you cured?"
"Oh! thoroughly; for when I happen to think of her, I feel nothing but indifference and coldness. But my recovery was long."
"Your convalescence lasted, I suppose, until you fell in love with another."