The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 02: a Cleric in Naples — John Shaqi
The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 02: a Cleric in NaplesCasanova, Giacomo
History
The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 02: a Cleric in Naples
Casanova, Giacomo
Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798; Europe -- History -- 18th century -- Biography
When a man is in love very little is enough to throw him into despair,
and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost. There was but one bed in
the room where supper had been served, and another in a small closet
leading out of the room, but without a door. The ladies chose the closet,
and the advocate retired to rest before me. I bid the ladies good night
as soon as they had gone to bed; I looked at my dear mistress, and after
undressing myself I went to bed, intending not to sleep through the
night. But the reader may imagine my rage when I found, as I got into the
bed, that it creaked loud enough to wake the dead. I waited, however,
quite motionless, until my companion should be fast asleep, and as soon
as his snoring told me that he was entirely under the influence of
Morpheus, I tried to slip out of the bed; but the infernal creaking which
took place whenever I moved, woke my companion, who felt about with his
hand, and, finding me near him, went to sleep again. Half an hour after,
I tried a second time, but with the same result. I had to give it up in
despair.
Love is the most cunning of gods; in the midst of obstacles he seems to
be in his own element, but as his very existence depends upon the
enjoyment of those who ardently worship him, the shrewd, all-seeing,
little blind god contrives to bring success out of the most desperate
case.
I had given up all hope for the night, and had nearly gone to sleep, when
suddenly we hear a dreadful noise. Guns are fired in the street, people,
screaming and howling, are running up and down the stairs; at last there
is a loud knocking at our door. The advocate, frightened out of his
slumbers, asks me what it can all mean; I pretend to be very indifferent,
and beg to be allowed to sleep. But the ladies are trembling with fear,
and loudly calling for a light. I remain very quiet, the advocate jumps
out of bed, and runs out of the room to obtain a candle; I rise at once,
I follow him to shut the door, but I slam it rather too hard, the double
spring of the lock gives way, and the door cannot be reopened without the
key.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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