The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 09: the False NunCasanova, Giacomo
History
The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 09: the False Nun
Casanova, Giacomo
Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798; Europe -- History -- 18th century -- Biography
"I only want you, my dear," said I, "to dry my hair." She quickly set to
work with powder and powder-puff in hand, but her smock was short and
loose at the top, and I repented, rather too late, that I had not given
her time to dress. I felt that all was lost, all the more as having to
use both her hands she could not hold her smock and conceal two swelling
spheres more seductive than the apples of the Hesperides. How could I
help seeing them? I shut my eyes and, said "For shame!" but I gave in at
last, and fixed such a hungry gaze upon poor Tonine that she blushed.
"Come," said I, "take your smock between your teeth and then I shall see
no more." But it was worse than before, and I had only added fuel to the
fire; for, as the veil was short, I could see the bases and almost the
frieze of two marble columns; and at this sight I gave a voluptuous cry.
Not knowing how to conceal everything from my gaze, Tonine let herself
fall on the sofa, and I, my passions at fever-heat, stood beside her, not
knowing what to do.
"Well," she said, "shall I go and dress myself and then do your hair?"
"No, come and sit on my knee, and cover my eyes with your hands." She
came obediently, but the die was cast, and my resistance overcome. I
clasped her between my arms, and without any more thoughts of playing at
blind man's buff I threw her on the bed and covered her with kisses. And
as I swore that I would always love her, she opened her arms to receive
me in a way that shewed how long she had been waiting for this moment.
I plucked the rose, and then, as ever, I thought it the rarest I had ever
gathered since I had laboured in the harvest of the fruitful fields of
love.
When I awoke in the morning I found myself more deeply in love with
Tonine than I had been with any other woman. She had got up without
waking me, but as soon as she heard me stirring she came, and I tenderly
chid her for not waiting for me to give her good morrow. Without
answering she gave me M---- M----'s letter. I thanked her, but putting the
letter on one side I took her in my arms, and set her by my side. "What a
wonder!" cried Tonine. "You are not in a hurry to read that letter!
Faithless man, why did you not let me cure you six weeks ago. How lucky I
am; thanks to the rain! I do not blame you, dear, but love me as you love
her who writes to you every day, and I shall be satisfied."
"Do you know who she is?"
"She lives in a boarding-house, and is as beautiful as an angel; but she
is there, and I am here. You are my master, and I will be your servant as
long as you like."
I was glad to leave her in error, and swore an ever-lasting love; but
during our conversation she had let herself drop down in the bottom of
the bed, and I entreated her to lie down again; but she said that on the
contrary it was time for me to get up for dinner, for she wanted to give
me a dainty meal cooked in the Venetian manner.
"Who is the cook?" said I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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