Progress of My Amour

Progress of My Amour–My Journey to Otranto–I Enter the
Service of Madame F.–A Fortunate Excoriation

The room I entered was full of people. His excellency, seeing me, smiled
and drew upon me the attention of all his guests by saying aloud, “Here
comes the young man who is a good judge of princes.”

“My lord, I have become a judge of nobility by frequenting the society of
men like you.”

“The ladies are curious to know all you have done from the time of your
escape from Corfu up to your return.”

“Then you sentence me, monsignor, to make a public confession?”

“Exactly; but, as it is to be a confession, be careful not to omit the
most insignificant circumstance, and suppose that I am not in the room.”

“On the contrary, I wish to receive absolution only from your excellency.
But my history will be a long one.”

“If such is the case, your confessor gives you permission to be seated.”

I gave all the particulars of my adventures, with the exception of my
dalliance with the nymphs of the island.

“Your story is a very instructive one,” observed the general.

“Yes, my lord, for the adventures shew that a young man is never so near
his utter ruin than when, excited by some great passion, he finds himself
able to minister to it, thanks to the gold in his purse.”

I was preparing to take my leave, when the majordomo came to inform me
that his excellency desired me to remain to supper. I had therefore the
honour of a seat at his table, but not the pleasure of eating, for I was
obliged to answer the questions addressed to me from all quarters, and I
could not contrive to swallow a single mouthful. I was seated next to the
Proto-Papa Bulgari, and I entreated his pardon for having ridiculed
Deldimopulo’s oracle. “It is nothing else but regular cheating,” he said,
“but it is very difficult to put a stop to it; it is an old custom.”

A short time afterwards, Madame F—- whispered a few words to the
general, who turned to me and said that he would be glad to hear me
relate what had occurred to me in Constantinople with the wife of the
Turk Yusuf, and at another friend’s house, where I had seen bathing by
moonlight. I was rather surprised at such an invitation, and told him
that such frolics were not worth listening to, and the general not
pressing me no more was said about it. But I was astonished at Madame
F—-’s indiscretion; she had no business to make my confidences public.
I wanted her to be jealous of her own dignity, which I loved even more
than her person.

Two or three days later, she said to me,

“Why did you refuse to tell your adventures in Constantinople before the
general?”

“Because I do not wish everybody to know that you allow me to tell you
such things. What I may dare, madam, to say to you when we are alone, I
would certainly not say to you in public.”

“And why not? It seems to me, on the contrary, that if you are silent in
public out of respect for me, you ought to be all the more silent when we
are alone.”

“I wanted to amuse you, and have exposed myself to the danger of
displeasing you, but I can assure you, madam, that I will not run such a
risk again.”

“I have no wish to pry into your intentions, but it strikes me that if
your wish was to please me, you ought not to have run the risk of
obtaining the opposite result. We take supper with the general this
evening, and M. D—- R—– has been asked to bring you. I feel certain
that the general will ask you again for your adventures in
Constantinople, and this time you cannot refuse him.”

M. D—- R—- came in and we went to the general’s. I thought as we were
driving along that, although Madame F—- seemed to have intended to
humiliate me, I ought to accept it all as a favour of fortune, because,
by compelling me to explain my refusal to the general; Madame F—- had,
at the same time, compelled me to a declaration of my feelings, which was
not without importance.

The ‘proveditore-generale’ gave me a friendly welcome, and kindly handed
me a letter which had come with the official dispatches from
Constantinople. I bowed my thanks, and put the letter in my pocket: but
he told me that he was himself a great lover of news, and that I could
read my letter. I opened it; it was from Yusuf, who announced the death
of Count de Bonneval. Hearing the name of the worthy Yusuf, the general
asked me to tell him my adventure with his wife. I could not now refuse,
and I began a story which amused and interested the general and his
friends for an hour or so, but which was from beginning to end the work
of my imagination.

Thus I continued to respect the privacy of Yusuf, to avoid implicating
the good fame of Madame F—-, and to shew myself in a light which was
tolerably advantageous to me. My story, which was full of sentiment, did
me a great deal of honour, and I felt very happy when I saw from the
expression of Madame F—-’s face that she was pleased with me, although
somewhat surprised.

When we found ourselves again in her house she told me, in the presence
of M. D—- R—–, that the story I had related to the general was
certainly very pretty, although purely imaginary, that she was not angry
with me, because I had amused her, but that she could not help remarking
my obstinacy in refusing compliance with her wishes. Then, turning to M.
D—- R—–, she said,

“M. Casanova pretends that if he had given an account of his meeting with
Yusuf’s wife without changing anything everybody would think that I
allowed him to entertain me with indecent stories. I want you to give
your opinion about it. Will you,” she added, speaking to me, “be so good
as to relate immediately the adventure in the same words which you have
used when you told me of it?”

“Yes, madam, if you wish me to do so.”

Stung to the quick by an indiscretion which, as I did not yet know women
thoroughly, seemed to me without example, I cast all fears of displeasing
to the winds, related the adventure with all the warmth of an impassioned
poet, and without disguising or attenuating in the least the desires
which the charms of the Greek beauty had inspired me with.

“Do you think,” said M. D—- R—- to Madame F—–, “that he ought to
have related that adventure before all our friends as he has just related
it to us?”

“If it be wrong for him to tell it in public, it is also wrong to tell it
to me in private.”

“You are the only judge of that: yes, if he has displeased you; no, if he
has amused you. As for my own opinion, here it is: He has just now amused
me very much, but he would have greatly displeased me if he had related
the same adventure in public.”

“Then,” exclaimed Madame F—-, “I must request you never to tell me in
private anything that you cannot repeat in public.”

“I promise, madam, to act always according to your wishes.”

“It being understood,” added M. D—- R—–, smiling, “that madam
reserves all rights of repealing that order whenever she may think fit.”

I was vexed, but I contrived not to show it. A few minutes more, and we
took leave of Madame F—-.

I was beginning to understand that charming woman, and to dread the
ordeal to which she would subject me. But love was stronger than fear,
and, fortified with hope, I had the courage to endure the thorns, so as
to gather the rose at the end of my sufferings. I was particularly
pleased to find that M. D—- R—- was not jealous of me, even when she
seemed to dare him to it. This was a point of the greatest importance.

A few days afterwards, as I was entertaining her on various subjects, she
remarked how unfortunate it had been for me to enter the lazzaretto at
Ancona without any money.

“In spite of my distress,” I said, “I fell in love with a young and
beautiful Greek slave, who very nearly contrived to make me break through
all the sanitary laws.”

“How so?”

“You are alone, madam, and I have not forgotten your orders.”

“Is it a very improper story?”

“No: yet I would not relate it to you in public.”

“Well,” she said, laughing, “I repeal my order, as M. D—- R—- said I
would. Tell me all about it.”

I told my story, and, seeing that she was pensive, I exaggerated the
misery I had felt at not being able to complete my conquest.

“What do you mean by your misery? I think that the poor girl was more to
be pitied than you. You have never seen her since?”

“I beg your pardon, madam; I met her again, but I dare not tell you when
or how.”

“Now you must go on; it is all nonsense for you to stop. Tell me all; I
expect you have been guilty of some black deed.”

“Very far from it, madam, for it was a very sweet, although incomplete,
enjoyment.”

“Go on! But do not call things exactly by their names. It is not
necessary to go into details.”

Emboldened by the renewal of her order, I told her, without looking her
in the face, of my meeting with the Greek slave in the presence of
Bellino, and of the act which was cut short by the appearance of her
master. When I had finished my story, Madame F—- remained silent, and I
turned the conversation into a different channel, for though I felt
myself on an excellent footing with her, I knew likewise that I had to
proceed with great prudence. She was too young to have lowered herself
before, and she would certainly look upon a connection with me as a
lowering of her dignity.

Fortune which had always smiled upon me in the most hopeless cases, did
not intend to ill-treat me on this occasion, and procured me, on that
very same day, a favour of a very peculiar nature. My charming ladylove
having pricked her finger rather severely, screamed loudly, and stretched
her hand towards me, entreating me to suck the blood flowing from the
wound. You may judge, dear reader, whether I was long in seizing that
beautiful hand, and if you are, or if you have ever been in love, you
will easily guess the manner in which I performed my delightful work.
What is a kiss? Is it not an ardent desire to inhale a portion of the
being we love? Was not the blood I was sucking from that charming wound a
portion of the woman I worshipped? When I had completed my work, she
thanked me affectionately, and told me to spit out the blood I had
sucked.

“It is here,” I said, placing my hand on my heart, “and God alone knows
what happiness it has given me.”

“You have drunk my blood with happiness! Are you then a cannibal?”

“I believe not, madam; but it would have been sacrilege in my eyes if I
had suffered one single drop of your blood to be lost.”

One evening, there was an unusually large attendance at M. D—- R—–’s
assembly, and we were talking of the carnival which was near at hand.
Everybody was regretting the lack of actors, and the impossibility of
enjoying the pleasures of the theatre. I immediately offered to procure a
good company at my expense, if the boxes were at once subscribed for, and
the monopoly of the faro bank granted to me. No time was to be lost, for
the carnival was approaching, and I had to go to Otranto to engage a
troop. My proposal was accepted with great joy, and the
proveditore-generale placed a felucca at my disposal. The boxes were all
taken in three days, and a Jew took the pit, two nights a week excepted,
which I reserved for my own profit.

The carnival being very long that year, I had every chance of success. It
is said generally that the profession of theatrical manager is difficult,
but, if that is the case, I have not found it so by experience, and am
bound to affirm the contrary.

I left Corfu in the evening, and having a good breeze in my favour, I
reached Otranto by day-break the following morning, without the oarsmen
having had to row a stroke. The distance from Corfu to Otranto is only
about fifteen leagues.

I had no idea of landing, owing to the quarantine which is always
enforced for any ship or boat coming to Italy from the east. I only went
to the parlour of the lazaretto, where, placed behind a grating, you can
speak to any person who calls, and who must stand behind another grating
placed opposite, at a distance of six feet.

As soon as I announced that I had come for the purpose of engaging a
troupe of actors to perform in Corfu, the managers of the two companies
then in Otranto came to the parlour to speak to me. I told them at once
that I wished to see all the performers, one company at a time.

The two rival managers gave me then a very comic scene, each manager
wanting the other to bring his troupe first. The harbour-master told me
that the only way to settle the matter was to say myself which of the two
companies I would see first: one was from Naples, the other from Sicily.
Not knowing either I gave the preference to the first. Don Fastidio, the
manager, was very vexed, while Battipaglia, the director of the second,
was delighted because he hoped that, after seeing the Neapolitan troupe,
I would engage his own.

An hour afterwards, Fastidio returned with all his performers, and my
surprise may be imagined when amongst them I recognized Petronio and his
sister Marina, who, the moment she saw me, screamed for joy, jumped over
the grating, and threw herself in my arms. A terrible hubbub followed,
and high words passed between Fastidio and the harbour-master. Marina
being in the service of Fastidio, the captain compelled him to confine
her to the lazaretto, where she would have to perform quarantine at his
expense. The poor girl cried bitterly, but I could not remedy her
imprudence.

I put a stop to the quarrel by telling Fastidio to shew me all his
people, one after the other. Petronio belonged to his company, and
performed the lovers. He told me that he had a letter for me from
Therese. I was also glad to see a Venetian of my acquaintance who played
the pantaloon in the pantomime, three tolerably pretty actresses, a
pulcinella, and a scaramouch. Altogether, the troupe was a decent one.

I told Fastidio to name the lowest salary he wanted for all his company,
assuring him that I would give the preference to his rival, if he should
ask me too much.

“Sir,” he answered, “we are twenty, and shall require six rooms with ten
beds, one sitting-room for all of us, and thirty Neapolitan ducats a day,
all travelling expenses paid. Here is my stock of plays, and we will
perform those that you may choose.”

Thinking of poor Marina who would have to remain in the lazaretto before
she could reappear on the stage at Otranto, I told Fastidio to get the
contract ready, as I wanted to go away immediately.

I had scarcely pronounced these words than war broke out again between
the manager-elect and his unfortunate competitor. Battipaglia, in his
rage, called Marina a harlot, and said that she had arranged beforehand
with Fastidio to violate the rules of the lazaretto in order to compel me
to choose their troupe. Petronio, taking his sister’s part, joined
Fastidio, and the unlucky Battipaglia was dragged outside and treated to
a generous dose of blows and fisticuffs, which was not exactly the thing
to console him for a lost engagement.

Soon afterwards, Petronio brought me Therese’s letter. She was ruining
the duke, getting rich accordingly, and waiting for me in Naples.

Everything being ready towards evening, I left Otranto with twenty
actors, and six large trunks containing their complete wardrobes. A light
breeze which was blowing from the south might have carried us to Corfu in
ten hours, but when we had sailed about one hour my cayabouchiri informed
me that he could see by the moonlight a ship which might prove to be a
corsair, and get hold of us. I was unwilling to risk anything, so I
ordered them to lower the sails and return to Otranto. At day-break we
sailed again with a good westerly wind, which would also have taken us to
Corfu; but after we had gone two or three hours, the captain pointed out
to me a brigantine, evidently a pirate, for she was shaping her course so
as to get to windward of us. I told him to change the course, and to go
by starboard, to see if the brigantine would follow us, but she
immediately imitated our manoeuvre. I could not go back to Otranto, and I
had no wish to go to Africa, so I ordered the men to shape our course, so
as to land on the coast of Calabria, by hard rowing and at the nearest
point. The sailors, who were frightened to death, communicated their
fears to my comedians, and soon I heard nothing but weeping and sobbing.
Every one of them was calling earnestly upon some saint, but not one
single prayer to God did I hear. The bewailings of scaramouch, the dull
and spiritless despair of Fastidio, offered a picture which would have
made me laugh heartily if the danger had been imaginary and not real.
Marina alone was cheerful and happy, because she did not realize the
danger we were running, and she laughed at the terror of the crew and of
her companions.

A strong breeze sprang up towards evening, so I ordered them to clap on
all sail and scud before the wind, even if it should get stronger. In
order to escape the pirate, I had made up my mind to cross the gulf. We
took the wind through the night, and in the morning we were eighty miles
from Corfu, which I determined to reach by rowing. We were in the middle
of the gulf, and the sailors were worn out with fatigue, but I had no
longer any fear. A gale began to blow from the north, and in less than an
hour it was blowing so hard that we were compelled to sail close to the
wind in a fearful manner. The felucca looked every moment as if it must
capsize. Every one looked terrified but kept complete silence, for I had
enjoined it on penalty of death. In spite of our dangerous position, I
could not help laughing when I heard the sobs of the cowardly scaramouch.
The helmsman was a man of great nerve, and the gale being steady I felt
we would reach Corfu without mishap. At day-break we sighted the town,
and at nine in the morning we landed at Mandrachia. Everybody was
surprised to see us arrive that way.

As soon as my company was landed, the young officers naturally came to
inspect the actresses, but they did not find them very desirable, with
the exception of Marina, who received uncomplainingly the news that I
could not renew my acquaintance with her. I felt certain that she would
not lack admirers. But my actresses, who had appeared ugly at the
landing, produced a very different effect on the stage, and particularly
the pantaloon’s wife. M. Duodo, commander of a man-of-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 pretended 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.”

“With another, madam? I thought I had just told you that the third time I
loved was the last.”

A few days after that conversation, M. D—- R—- told me that Madame
F—- was not well, that he could not keep her company, and that I ought
to go to her, as he was sure she would be glad to see me. I obeyed, and
told Madame F—- what M. D—- R—- had said. She was lying on a sofa.
Without looking at me, she told me she was feverish, and would not ask me
to remain with her, because I would feel weary.

“I could not experience any weariness in your society, madam; at all
events, I can leave you only by your express command, and, in that case,
I must spend the next four hours in your ante-room, for M. D— R—- has
told me to wait for him here.”

“If so, you may take a seat.”

Her cold and distant manner repelled me, but I loved her, and I had never
seen her so beautiful, a slight fever animating her complexion which was
then truly dazzling in its beauty. I kept where I was, dumb and as
motionless as a statue, for a quarter of an hour. Then she rang for her
maid, and asked me to leave her alone for a moment. I was called back
soon after, and she said to me,

“What has become of your cheerfulness?”

“If it has disappeared, madam, it can only be by your will. Call it back,
and you will see it return in full force.”

“What must I do to obtain that result?”

“Only be towards me as you were when I returned from Casopo. I have been
disagreeable to you for the last four months, and as I do not know why, I
feel deeply grieved.”

“I am always the same: in what do you find me changed?”

“Good heavens! In everything, except in beauty. But I have taken my
decision.”

“And what is it?”

“To suffer in silence, without allowing any circumstance to alter the
feelings with which you have inspired me; to wish ardently to convince
you of my perfect obedience to your commands; to be ever ready to give
you fresh proofs of my devotion.”

“I thank you, but I cannot imagine what you can have to suffer in silence
on my account. I take an interest in you, and I always listen with
pleasure to your adventures. As a proof of it, I am extremely curious to
hear the history of your three loves.”

I invented on the spot three purely imaginary stories, making a great
display of tender sentiments and of ardent love, but without alluding to
amorous enjoyment, particularly when she seemed to expect me to do so.
Sometimes delicacy, sometimes respect or duty, interfered to prevent the
crowning pleasure, and I took care to observe, at such moments of
disappointment, that a true lover does not require that all important
item to feel perfectly happy. I could easily see that her imagination was
travelling farther than my narrative, and that my reserve was agreeable
to her. I believed I knew her nature well enough to be certain that I was
taking the best road to induce her to follow me where I wished to lead
her. She expressed a sentiment which moved me deeply, but I was careful
not to shew it. We were talking of my third love, of the woman who, out
of pity, had undertaken to cure me, and she remarked,

“If she truly loved you, she may have wished not to cure you, but to cure
herself.”

On the day following this partial reconciliation, M. F—-, her husband,
begged my commanding officer, D—- R—–, to let me go with him to
Butintro for an excursion of three days, his own adjutant being seriously
ill.

Butintro is seven miles from Corfu, almost opposite to that city; it is
the nearest point to the island from the mainland. It is not a fortress,
but only a small village of Epirus, or Albania, as it is now called, and
belonging to the Venetians. Acting on the political axiom that “neglected
right is lost right,” the Republic sends every year four galleys to
Butintro with a gang of galley slaves to fell trees, cut them, and load
them on the galleys, while the military keep a sharp look-out to prevent
them from escaping to Turkey and becoming Mussulmans. One of the four
galleys was commanded by M. F—- who, wanting an adjutant for the
occasion, chose me.

I went with him, and on the fourth day we came back to Corfu with a large
provision of wood. I found M. D—- R—- alone on the terrace of his
palace. It was Good Friday. He seemed thoughtful, and, after a silence of
a few minutes, he spoke the following words, which I can never forget:

“M. F—–, whose adjutant died yesterday, has just been entreating me to
give you to him until he can find another officer. I have told him that I
had no right to dispose of your person, and that he, ought to apply to
you, assuring him that, if you asked me leave to go with him, I would not
raise any objection, although I require two adjutants. Has he not
mentioned the matter to you?”

“No, monsignor, he has only tendered me his thanks for having accompanied
him to Butintro, nothing else.”

“He is sure to speak to you about it. What do you intend to say?”

“Simply that I will never leave the service of your excellency without
your express command to do so.”

“I never will give you such an order.”

As M. D—- R—- was saying the last word, M. and Madame F—- came in.
Knowing that the conversation would most likely turn upon the subject
which had just been broached, I hurried out of the room. In less than a
quarter of an hour I was sent for, and M. F—- said to me,
confidentially,

“Well, M. Casanova, would you not be willing to live with me as my
adjutant?”

“Does his excellency dismiss me from his service?”

“Not at all,” observed M. D—- R—-, “but I leave you the choice.”

“My lord, I could not be guilty of ingratitude.”

And I remained there standing, uneasy, keeping my eyes on the ground, not
even striving to conceal my mortification, which was, after all, very
natural in such a position. I dreaded looking at Madame F—-, for I knew
that she could easily guess all my feelings. An instant after, her
foolish husband coldly remarked that I should certainly have a more
fatiguing service with him than with M. D—- R—-, and that, of course,
it was more honourable to serve the general governor of the galeazze than
a simple sopra-committo. I was on the point of answering, when Madame
F—- said, in a graceful and easy manner, “M. Casanova is right,” and she
changed the subject. I left the room, revolving in my mind all that had
just taken place.

My conclusion was that M. F—- had asked M. D—- R—- to let me go with
him at the suggestion of his wife, or, at least with her consent, and it
was highly flattering to my love and to my vanity. But I was bound in
honour not to accept the post, unless I had a perfect assurance that it
would not be disagreeable to my present patron. “I will accept,” I said
to myself, “if M. D—- R—- tells me positively that I shall please him
by doing so. It is for M. F to make him say it.”

On the same night I had the honour of offering my arm to Madame
F—during the procession which takes place in commemoration of the death
of our Lord and Saviour, which was then attended on foot by all the
nobility. I expected she would mention the matter, but she did not. My
love was in despair, and through the night I could not close my eyes. I
feared she had been offended by my refusal, and was overwhelmed with
grief. I passed the whole of the next day without breaking my fast, and
did not utter a single word during the evening reception. I felt very
unwell, and I had an attack of fever which kept me in bed on Easter
Sunday. I was very weak on the Monday, and intended to remain in my room,
when a messenger from Madame F—- came to inform me that she wished to
see me. I told the messenger not to say that he had found me in bed, and
dressing myself rapidly I hurried to her house. I entered her room, pale,
looking very ill: yet she did not enquire after my health, and kept
silent a minute or two, as if she had been trying to recollect what she
had to say to me.

“Ah! yes, you are aware that our adjutant is dead, and that we want to
replace him. My husband, who has a great esteem for you, and feels that
M. D—- R—- leaves you perfectly free to make your choice, has taken
the singular fancy that you will come, if I ask you myself to do us that
pleasure. Is he mistaken? If you would come to us, you would have that
room.”

She was pointing to a room adjoining the chamber in which she slept, and
so situated that, to see her in every part of her room, I should not even
require to place myself at the window.

“M. D—- R—–,” she continued, “will not love you less, and as he will
see you here every day, he will not be likely to forget his interest in
your welfare. Now, tell me, will you come or not?”

“I wish I could, madam, but indeed I cannot.”

“You cannot? That is singular. Take a seat, and tell me what there is to
prevent you, when, in accepting my offer, you are sure to please M.
D—- R—- as well as us.”

“If I were certain of it, I would accept immediately; but all I have
heard from his lips was that he left me free to make a choice.”

“Then you are afraid to grieve him, if you come to us?”

“It might be, and for nothing on earth….”

“I am certain of the contrary.”

“Will you be so good as to obtain that he says so to me himself?”

“And then you will come?”

“Oh, madam! that very minute!”

But the warmth of my exclamation might mean a great deal, and I turned my
head round so as not to embarrass her. She asked me to give her her
mantle to go to church, and we went out. As we were going down the
stairs, she placed her ungloved hand upon mine. It was the first time
that she had granted me such a favour, and it seemed to me a good omen.
She took off her hand, asking me whether I was feverish. “Your hand,” she
said, “is burning.”

When we left the church, M. D—- R—–’s carriage happened to pass, and
I assisted her to get in, and as soon as she had gone, hurried to my room
in order to breathe freely and to enjoy all the felicity which filled my
soul; for I no longer doubted her love for me, and I knew that, in this
case, M. D—- R—- was not likely to refuse her anything.

What is love? I have read plenty of ancient verbiage on that subject, I
have read likewise most of what has been said by modern writers, but
neither all that has been said, nor what I have thought about it, when I
was young and now that I am no longer so, nothing, in fact, can make me
agree that love is a trifling vanity. It is a sort of madness, I grant
that, but a madness over which philosophy is entirely powerless; it is a
disease to which man is exposed at all times, no matter at what age, and
which cannot be cured, if he is attacked by it in his old age. Love being
sentiment which cannot be explained! God of all nature!–bitter and sweet
feeling! Love!–charming monster which cannot be fathomed! God who, in
the midst of all the thorns with which thou plaguest us, strewest so many
roses on our path that, without thee, existence and death would be united
and blended together!

Two days afterwards, M. D—- R—–, told me to go and take orders from
M. F—- on board his galley, which was ready for a five or six days’
voyage. I quickly packed a few things, and called for my new patron who
received me with great joy. We took our departure without seeing madam,
who was not yet visible. We returned on the sixth day, and I went to
establish myself in my new home, for, as I was preparing to go to M.
D—- R—–, to take his orders, after our landing, he came himself, and
after asking M. F—- and me whether we were pleased with each other, he
said to me,

“Casanova, as you suit each other so well, you may be certain that you
will greatly please me by remaining in the service of M. F.”

I obeyed respectfully, and in less than one hour I had taken possession
of my new quarters. Madame F—- told me how delighted she was to see that
great affair ended according to her wishes, and I answered with a deep
reverence.

I found myself like the salamander, in the very heart of the fire for
which I had been longing so ardently.

Almost constantly in the presence of Madame F—-, dining often alone
with her, accompanying her in her walks, even when M. D—- R—- was not
with us, seeing her from my room, or conversing with her in her chamber,
always reserved and attentive without pretension, the first night passed
by without any change being brought about by that constant intercourse.
Yet I was full of hope, and to keep up my courage I imagined that love
was not yet powerful enough to conquer her pride. I expected everything
from some lucky chance, which I promised myself to improve as soon as it
should present itself, for I was persuaded that a lover is lost if he
does not catch fortune by the forelock.

But there was one circumstance which annoyed me. In public, she seized
every opportunity of treating me with distinction, while, when we were
alone, it was exactly the reverse. In the eyes of the world I had all the
appearance of a happy lover, but I would rather have had less of the
appearance of happiness and more of the reality. My love for her was
disinterested; vanity had no share in my feelings.

One day, being alone with me, she said,

“You have enemies, but I silenced them last night.”

“They are envious, madam, and they would pity me if they could read the
secret pages of my heart. You could easily deliver me from those
enemies.”

“How can you be an object of pity for them, and how could I deliver you
from them?”

“They believe me happy, and I am miserable; you would deliver me from
them by ill-treating me in their presence.”

“Then you would feel my bad treatment less than the envy of the wicked?”

“Yes, madam, provided your bad treatment in public were compensated by
your kindness when we are alone, for there is no vanity in the happiness
I feel in belonging to you. Let others pity me, I will be happy on
condition that others are mistaken.”

“That’s a part that I can never play.”

I would often be indiscreet enough to remain behind the curtain of the
window in my room, looking at her when she thought herself perfectly
certain that nobody saw her; but the liberty I was thus guilty of never
proved of great advantage to me. Whether it was because she doubted my
discretion or from habitual reserve, she was so particular that, even
when I saw her in bed, my longing eyes never could obtain a sight of
anything but her head.

One day, being present in her room while her maid was cutting off the
points of her long and beautiful hair, I amused myself in picking up all
those pretty bits, and put them all, one after the other, on her
toilettable, with the exception of one small lock which I slipped into my
pocket, thinking that she had not taken any notice of my keeping it; but
the moment we were alone she told me quietly, but rather too seriously,
to take out of my pocket the hair I had picked up from the floor.
Thinking she was going too far, and such rigour appearing to me as cruel
as it was unjust and absurd, I obeyed, but threw the hair on the
toilet-table with an air of supreme contempt.

“Sir, you forget yourself.”

“No, madam, I do not, for you might have feigned not to have observed
such an innocent theft.”

“Feigning is tiresome.”

“Was such petty larceny a very great crime?”

“No crime, but it was an indication of feelings which you have no right
to entertain for me.”

“Feelings which you are at liberty not to return, madam, but which hatred
or pride can alone forbid my heart to experience. If you had a heart you
would not be the victim of either of those two fearful passions, but you
have only head, and it must be a very wicked head, judging by the care it
takes to heap humiliation upon me. You have surprised my secret, madam,
you may use it as you think proper, but in the meantime I have learned to
know you thoroughly. That knowledge will prove more useful than your
discovery, for perhaps it will help me to become wiser.”

After this violent tirade I left her, and as she did not call me back
retired to my room. In the hope that sleep would bring calm, I undressed
and went to bed. In such moments a lover hates the object of his love,
and his heart distils only contempt and hatred. I could not go to sleep,
and when I was sent for at supper-time I answered that I was ill. The
night passed off without my eyes being visited by sleep, and feeling weak
and low I thought I would wait to see what ailed me, and refused to have
my dinner, sending word that I was still very unwell. Towards evening I
felt my heart leap for joy when I heard my beautiful lady-love enter my
room. Anxiety, want of food and sleep, gave me truly the appearance of
being ill, and I was delighted that it should be so. I sent her away very
soon, by telling her with perfect indifference that it was nothing but a
bad headache, to which I was subject, and that repose and diet would
effect a speedy cure.

But at eleven o’clock she came back with her friend, M. D—- R—–, and
coming to my bed she said, affectionately,

“What ails you, my poor Casanova?”

“A very bad headache, madam, which will be cured to-morrow.”

“Why should you wait until to-morrow? You must get better at once. I have
ordered a basin of broth and two new-laid eggs for you.”

“Nothing, madam; complete abstinence can alone cure me.”

“He is right,” said M. D—- R—–, “I know those attacks.”

I shook my head slightly. M. D—- R—- having just then turned round to
examine an engraving, she took my hand, saying that she would like me to
drink some broth, and I felt that she was giving me a small parcel. She
went to look at the engraving with M. D—- R—–.

I opened the parcel, but feeling that it contained hair, I hurriedly
concealed it under the bed-clothes: at the same moment the blood rushed
to my head with such violence that it actually frightened me. I begged
for some water, she came to me, with M. D—- R—–, and then were both
frightened to see me so red, when they had seen me pale and weak only one
minute before.

Madame F—- gave me a glass of water in which she put some Eau des carmes
which instantly acted as a violent emetic. Two or three minutes after I
felt better, and asked for something to eat. Madame F—- smiled. The
servant came in with the broth and the eggs, and while I was eating I
told the history of Pandolfin. M. D—- R—- thought it was all a
miracle, and I could read, on the countenance of the charming woman,
love, affection, and repentance. If M. D—- R—- had not been present,
it would have been the moment of my happiness, but I felt certain that I
should not have long to wait. M. D—- R—- told Madame F—- that, if he
had not seen me so sick, he would have believed my illness to be all
sham, for he did not think it possible for anyone to rally so rapidly.

“It is all owing to my Eau des carmes,” said Madame F—–, looking at
me, “and I will leave you my bottle.”

“No, madam, be kind enough to take it with you, for the water would have
no virtue without your presence.”

“I am sure of that,” said M. D—- R—–, “so I will leave you here with
your patient.”

“No, no, he must go to sleep now.”

I slept all night, but in my happy dreams I was with her, and the reality
itself would hardly have procured me greater enjoyment than I had during
my happy slumbers. I saw I had taken a very long stride forward, for
twenty-four hours of abstinence gave me the right to speak to her openly
of my love, and the gift of her hair was an irrefutable confession of her
own feelings.

On the following day, after presenting myself before M. F—-, I went to
have a little chat with the maid, to wait until her mistress was visible,
which was not long, and I had the pleasure of hearing her laugh when the
maid told her I was there. As soon as I went in, without giving me time
to say a single word, she told me how delighted she was to see me looking
so well, and advised me to call upon M. D—- R—–.

It is not only in the eyes of a lover, but also in those of every man of
taste, that a woman is a thousand times more lovely at the moment she
comes out of the arms of Morpheus than when she has completed her toilet.
Around Madame F—- more brilliant beams were blazing than around the sun
when he leaves the embrace of Aurora. Yet the most beautiful woman thinks
as much of her toilet as the one who cannot do without it–very likely
because more human creatures possess the more they want.

In the order given to me by Madame F—- to call on M. D—- R—–, I saw
another reason to be certain of approaching happiness, for I thought
that, by dismissing me so quickly, she had only tried to postpone the
consummation which I might have pressed upon her, and which she could not
have refused.

Rich in the possession of her hair, I held a consultation with my love to
decide what I ought to do with it, for Madame F—-, very likely in her
wish to atone for the miserly sentiment which had refused me a small bit,
had given me a splendid lock, full a yard and a half long. Having thought
it over, I called upon a Jewish confectioner whose daughter was a skilful
embroiderer, and I made her embroider before me, on a bracelet of green
satin, the four initial letters of our names, and make a very thin chain
with the remainder. I had a piece of black ribbon added to one end of the
chain, in the shape of a sliding noose, with which I could easily
strangle myself if ever love should reduce me to despair, and I passed it
round my neck. As I did not want to lose even the smallest particle of so
precious a treasure, I cut with a pair of scissors all the small bits
which were left, and devoutly gathered them together. Then I reduced them
into a fine powder, and ordered the Jewish confectioner to mix the powder
in my presence with a paste made of amber, sugar, vanilla, angelica,
alkermes and storax, and I waited until the comfits prepared with that
mixture were ready. I had some more made with the same composition, but
without any hair; I put the first in a beautiful sweetmeat box of fine
crystal, and the second in a tortoise-shell box.

From the day when, by giving me her hair, Madame F—- had betrayed the
secret feelings of her heart, I no longer lost my time in relating
stories or adventures; I only spoke to her of my cove, of my ardent
desires; I told her that she must either banish me from her presence, or
crown my happiness, but the cruel, charming woman would not accept that
alternative. She answered that happiness could not be obtained by
offending every moral law, and by swerving from our duties. If I threw
myself at her feet to obtain by anticipation her forgiveness for the
loving violence I intended to use against her, she would repulse me more
powerfully than if she had had the strength of a female Hercules, for she
would say, in a voice full of sweetness and affection,

“My friend, I do not entreat you to respect my weakness, but be generous
enough to spare me for the sake of all the love I feel for you.”

“What! you love me, and you refuse to make me happy! It is impossible! it
is unnatural. You compel me to believe that you do not love me. Only
allow me to press my lips one moment upon your lips, and I ask no more.”

“No, dearest, no; it would only excite the ardour of your desires, shake
my resolution, and we should then find ourselves more miserable than we
are now.”

Thus did she every day plunge me in despair, and yet she complained that
my wit was no longer brilliant in society, that I had lost that
elasticity of spirits which had pleased her so much after my arrival from
Constantinople. M. D—- R—–, who often jestingly waged war against me,
used to say that I was getting thinner and thinner every day. Madame
F—- told me one day that my sickly looks were very disagreeable to her,
because wicked tongues would not fail to say that she treated me with
cruelty. Strange, almost unnatural thought! On it I composed an idyll
which I cannot read, even now, without feeling tears in my eyes.

“What!” I answered, “you acknowledge your cruelty towards me? You are
afraid of the world guessing all your heartless rigour, and yet you
continue to enjoy it! You condemn me unmercifully to the torments of
Tantalus! You would be delighted to see me gay, cheerful, happy, even at
the expense of a judgment by which the world would find you guilty of a
supposed but false kindness towards me, and yet you refuse me even the
slightest favours!”

“I do not mind people believing anything, provided it is not true.”

“What a contrast! Would it be possible for me not to love you, for you to
feel nothing for me? Such contradictions strike me as unnatural. But you
are growing thinner yourself, and I am dying. It must be so; we shall
both die before long, you of consumption, I of exhausting decline; for I
am now reduced to enjoying your shadow during the day, during the night,
always, everywhere, except when I am in your presence.”

At that passionate declaration, delivered with all the ardour of an
excited lover, she was surprised, deeply moved, and I thought that the
happy hour had struck. I folded her in my arms, and was already tasting
the first fruits of enjoyment. . . . The sentinel knocked twice! . . . Oh!
fatal mischance! I recovered my composure and stood in front of her. . . .
M. D—- R—- made his appearance, and this time he found me in so
cheerful a mood that he remained with us until one o’clock in the
morning.

My comfits were beginning to be the talk of our society. M. D—- R—–,
Madame F—-, and I were the only ones who had a box full of them. I was
stingy with them, and no one durst beg any from me, because I had said
that they were very expensive, and that in all Corfu there was no
confectioner who could make or physician who could analyse them. I never
gave one out of my crystal box, and Madame F. remarked it. I certainly
did not believe them to be amorous philtre, and I was very far from
supposing that the addition of the hair made them taste more delicious;
but a superstition, the offspring of my love, caused me to cherish them,
and it made me happy to think that a small portion of the woman I
worshipped was thus becoming a part of my being.

Influenced perhaps by some secret sympathy, Madame F. was exceedingly
fond of the comfits. She asserted before all her friends that they were
the universal panacea, and knowing herself perfect mistress of the
inventor, she did not enquire after the secret of the composition. But
having observed that I gave away only the comfits which I kept in my
tortoise-shell box, and that I never eat any but those from the crystal
box, she one day asked me what reason I had for that. Without taking time
to think, I told her that in those I kept for myself there was a certain
ingredient which made the partaker love her.

“I do not believe it,” she answered; “but are they different from those I
eat myself?”

“They are exactly the same, with the exception of the ingredient I have
just mentioned, which has been put only in mine.”

“Tell me what the ingredient is.”

“It is a secret which I cannot reveal to you.”

“Then I will never eat any of your comfits.”

Saying which, she rose, emptied her box, and filled it again with
chocolate drops; and for the next few days she was angry with me, and
avoided my company. I felt grieved, I became low-spirited, but I could
not make up my mind to tell her that I was eating her hair!

She enquired why I looked so sad.

“Because you refuse to take my comfits.”

“You are master of your secret, and I am mistress of my diet.”

“That is my reward for having taken you into my confidence.”

And I opened my box, emptied its contents in my hand, and swallowed the
whole of them, saying, “Two more doses like this, and I shall die mad
with love for you. Then you will be revenged for my reserve. Farewell,
madam.”

She called me back, made me take a seat near her, and told me not to
commit follies which would make her unhappy; that I knew how much she
loved me, and that it was not owing to the effect of any drug. “To prove
to you,” she added, “that you do not require anything of the sort to be
loved, here is a token of my affection.” And she offered me her lovely
lips, and upon them mine remained pressed until I was compelled to draw a
breath. I threw myself at her feet, with tears of love and gratitude
blinding my eyes, and told her that I would confess my crime, if she
would promise to forgive me.

“Your crime! You frighten me. Yes, I forgive you, but speak quickly, and
tell me all.”

“Yes, everything. My comfits contain your hair reduced to a powder. Here
on my arm, see this bracelet on which our names are written with your
hair, and round my neck this chain of the same material, which will help
me to destroy my own life when your love fails me. Such is my crime, but
I would not have been guilty of it, if I had not loved you.”

She smiled, and, bidding me rise from my kneeling position, she told me
that I was indeed the most criminal of men, and she wiped away my tears,
assuring me that I should never have any reason to strangle myself with
the chain.

After that conversation, in which I had enjoyed the sweet nectar of my
divinity’s first kiss, I had the courage to behave in a very different
manner. She could see the ardour which consumed me; perhaps the same fire
burned in her veins, but I abstained from any attack.

“What gives you,” she said one day, “the strength to control yourself?”

“After the kiss which you granted to me of your own accord, I felt that I
ought not to wish any favour unless your heart gave it as freely. You
cannot imagine the happiness that kiss has given me.”

“I not imagine it, you ungrateful man! Which of us has given that
happiness?”

“Neither you nor I, angel of my soul! That kiss so tender, so sweet, was
the child of love!”

“Yes, dearest, of love, the treasures of which are inexhaustible.”

The words were scarcely spoken, when our lips were engaged in happy
concert. She held me so tight against her bosom that I could not use my
hands to secure other pleasures, but I felt myself perfectly happy. After
that delightful skirmish, I asked her whether we were never to go any
further.

“Never, dearest friend, never. Love is a child which must be amused with
trifles; too substantial food would kill it.”

“I know love better than you; it requires that substantial food, and
unless it can obtain it, love dies of exhaustion. Do not refuse me the
consolation of hope.”

“Hope as much as you please, if it makes you happy.”

“What should I do, if I had no hope? I hope, because I know you have a
heart.”

“Ah! yes. Do you recollect the day, when, in your anger, you told me that
I had only a head, but no heart, thinking you were insulting me grossly!”

“Oh! yes, I recollect it.”

“How heartily I laughed, when I had time to think! Yes, dearest, I have a
heart, or I should not feel as happy as I feel now. Let us keep our
happiness, and be satisfied with it, as it is, without wishing for
anything more.”

Obedient to her wishes, but every day more deeply enamoured, I was in
hope that nature at last would prove stronger than prejudice, and would
cause a fortunate crisis. But, besides nature, fortune was my friend, and
I owed my happiness to an accident.

Madame F. was walking one day in the garden, leaning on M. D—- R—–’s
arm, and was caught by a large rose-bush, and the prickly thorns left a
deep cut on her leg. M. D—- R—- bandaged the wound with his
handkerchief, so as to stop the blood which was flowing abundantly, and
she had to be carried home in a palanquin.

In Corfu, wounds on the legs are dangerous when they are not well
attended to, and very often the wounded are compelled to leave the city
to be cured.

Madame F—- was confined to her bed, and my lucky position in the house
condemned me to remain constantly at her orders. I saw her every minute;
but, during the first three days, visitors succeeded each other without
intermission, and I never was alone with her. In the evening, after
everybody had gone, and her husband had retired to his own apartment, M.
D—- R—- remained another hour, and for the sake of propriety I had to
take my leave at the same time that he did. I had much more liberty
before the accident, and I told her so half seriously, half jestingly.
The next day, to make up for my disappointment, she contrived a moment of
happiness for me.

An elderly surgeon came every morning to dress her wound, during which
operation her maid only was present, but I used to go, in my morning
dishabille, to the girl’s room, and to wait there, so as to be the first
to hear how my dear one was.

That morning, the girl came to tell me to go in as the surgeon was
dressing the wound.

“See, whether my leg is less inflamed.”

“To give an opinion, madam, I ought to have seen it yesterday.”

“True. I feel great pain, and I am afraid of erysipelas.”

“Do not be afraid, madam,” said the surgeon, “keep your bed, and I answer
for your complete recovery.”

The surgeon being busy preparing a poultice at the other end of the room,
and the maid out, I enquired whether she felt any hardness in the calf of
the leg, and whether the inflammation went up the limb; and naturally, my
eyes and my hands kept pace with my questions…. I saw no inflammation,
I felt no hardness, but… and the lovely patient hurriedly let the
curtain fall, smiling, and allowing me to take a sweet kiss, the perfume
of which I had not enjoyed for many days. It was a sweet moment; a
delicious ecstacy. From her mouth my lips descended to her wound, and
satisfied in that moment that my kisses were the best of medicines, I
would have kept my lips there, if the noise made by the maid coming back
had not compelled me to give up my delightful occupation.

When we were left alone, burning with intense desires, I entreated her to
grant happiness at least to my eyes.

“I feel humiliated,” I said to her, “by the thought that the felicity I
have just enjoyed was only a theft.”

“But supposing you were mistaken?”

The next day I was again present at the dressing of the wound, and as
soon as the surgeon had left, she asked me to arrange her pillows, which
I did at once. As if to make that pleasant office easier, she raised the
bedclothes to support herself, and she thus gave me a sight of beauties
which intoxicated my eyes, and I protracted the easy operation without
her complaining of my being too slow.

When I had done I was in a fearful state, and I threw myself in an
arm-chair opposite her bed, half dead, in a sort of trance. I was looking
at that lovely being who, almost artless, was continually granting me
greater and still greater favours, and yet never allowed me to reach the
goal for which I was so ardently longing.

“What are you thinking of?” she said.

“Of the supreme felicity I have just been enjoying.”

“You are a cruel man.”

“No, I am not cruel, for, if you love me, you must not blush for your
indulgence. You must know, too, that, loving you passionately, I must not
suppose that it is to be a surprise that I am indebted for my happiness
in the enjoyment of the most ravishing sights, for if I owed it only to
mere chance I should be compelled to believe that any other man in my
position might have had the same happiness, and such an idea would be
misery to me. Let me be indebted to you for having proved to me this
morning how much enjoyment I can derive from one of my senses. Can you be
angry with my eyes?”

“Yes.”

“They belong to you; tear them out.”

The next day, the moment the doctor had gone, she sent her maid out to
make some purchases.

“Ah!” she said a few minutes after, “my maid has forgotten to change my
chemise.”

“Allow me to take her place.”

“Very well, but recollect that I give permission only to your eyes to
take a share in the proceedings.”

“Agreed!”

She unlaced herself, took off her stays and her chemise, and told me to
be quick and put on the clean one, but I was not speedy enough, being too
much engaged by all I could see.

“Give me my chemise,” she exclaimed; “it is there on that small table.”

“Where?”

“There, near the bed. Well, I will take it myself.”

She leaned over towards the table, and exposed almost everything I was
longing for, and, turning slowly round, she handed me the chemise which I
could hardly hold, trembling all over with fearful excitement. She took
pity on me, my hands shared the happiness of my eyes; I fell in her arms,
our lips fastened together, and, in a voluptuous, ardent pressure, we
enjoyed an amorous exhaustion not sufficient to allay our desires, but
delightful enough to deceive them for the moment.

With greater control over herself than women have generally under similar
circumstances, she took care to let me reach only the porch of the
temple, without granting me yet a free entrance to the sanctuary.