The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 13: Holland and GermanyCasanova, Giacomo
History
The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 13: Holland and Germany
Casanova, Giacomo
Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798; Europe -- History -- 18th century -- Biography
Her appearance was ravishing. A pretty cambric night-cap, tied with a
light-blue ribbon and ornamented with lace, set off the beauties of her
face; and a light shawl of Indian muslin, which she had hastily thrown
on, veiled rather than concealed her snowy breast, which would have
shamed the works of Praxiteles. She allowed me to take a hundred kisses
on her rosy lips--ardent kisses which the sight of such charms made yet
more ardent; but her hands forbade my approach to those two spheres I so
longed to touch.
I sat down by her and told her that her charms of body and mind would
make a man forget all the Manons that ever were.
"Is your Marion fair to see all over?" said she.
"I really can't say, for, not being her husband, I never had an
opportunity of investigating the matter."
"Your discretion is worthy of all praise," she said, with a smile, "such
conduct becomes a man of delicate feeling."
"I was told by her nurse that she was perfect in all respects, and that
no mote or blemish relieved the pure whiteness of her skin."
"You must have a different notion of me?"
"Yes, Esther, as the oracle revealed to me the great secret you desired
to know. Nevertheless, I should find you perfect in all your parts."
Hereupon I was guilty of a stupidity which turned to my confusion. I
said,
"If I became your husband, I could easily refrain from touching you
there."
"I suppose you think," said she, blushing, and evidently a little vexed,
"that if you touched it your desires might be lessened?"
This question probed me to the core and covered me with shame. I burst
into tears, and begged her pardon in so truly repentant a voice that
sympathy made her mingle her tears with mine. The incident only increased
our intimacy, for, as I kissed her tears away, the same desires consumed
us, and if the voice of prudence had not intervened, doubtless all would
have been over. As it was, we had but a foretaste and an earnest of that
bliss which it was in our power to procure. Three hours seemed to us as
many minutes. She begged me to go into her sitting-room while she
dressed, and we then went down and dined with the wretched secretary, who
adored her, whom she did not love, and who must have borne small love to
me, seeing how high I stood in her graces.
We passed the rest of the day together in that confidential talk which is
usual when the foundations of the most intimate friendship have been laid
between two persons of opposite sex, who believe themselves created for
each other. Our flames burnt as brightly, but with more restraint, in the
dining-room as in the bedroom. In the very air of the bedroom of a woman
one loves there is something so balmy and voluptuous that the lover,
asked to choose between this garden of delights and Paradise, would not
for one moment hesitate in his choice.
We parted with hearts full of happiness, saying to each other, "Till
to-morrow."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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