The Secrets of Casanova Read Online Free PDF Page A

feel boyish again,” whispered Francesco. “When we sneak about, I’m a warrior.”
    “The Chianti goes to your head,” Jacques whispered back, smiling. “But cover my sins with darkness and my cunning with a cloud.”
    Nervousness soon replaced excitement as Francesco found that, although he’d partaken in mischief during his youth, his skills had dulled with lack of practice. The longer the brothers explored without reaching their goal, the more the aged house seemed an unending maze of redoubtable staircases, groaning floors, and unlit hallways.
    Although Jacques’ nose was beginning to revolt from a harsh odor in one hall, he relished the game. Watching his brother stop at the end of the long hallway, he tiptoed to Francesco and saw a door some distance away with a brilliantly polished lock fastened to a gleaming hasp. Easing toward the door, Jacques pinched his nostrils. “Now I know from where the bitter smell of castoreum issues.”
    “Jesus-Mary, it’s pungent,” said Francesco, aping his brother’s nose pinching.
    “No, this isn’t the room that holds the miniatures,” he said in a hushed tone. “There was only a very faint smell when—”
    “Then why is it fortified with such a lock?”
    “It’s not the room, I tell you. But even if it were, we can’t get past that lock.”
    “Nor would I want to, with that odor.”
    “We’ve failed. We’ll see no miniatures.”
    “We hail from Venice,” Jacques replied. “Failed? Why, as Venetians, we don’t know the meaning of the word. Did not our forefathers, in fleeing Attila the Hun, hide themselves in the godforsaken swamps and lagoons? And by using their daring and resourcefulness, did they not only survive but grow into the prosperous republic of Venice? Aren’t we, as sons of this remarkable city-empire, as ingenious as our ancestors? Failed?” laughed Jacques as he rapped Francesco gently on the head. “There is always the main chance, Brother. And we have all the time in the world.”
    “But not today,” Francesco frowned. “We must get back so we won’t be missed.”
    Reluctantly, Jacques agreed. “Not today.” Again he eyed the door. His curiosity burned. But what might that stinking room hold?
     

- 5 -
    JACQUES AND FRANCESCO MADE THEIR WAY back to the sycamore tree where, in due course, they were summoned by the majordomo. Before the brothers began their walk toward the chateau, a cat mewed. Jacques mewed back.
    When his shoe reached the hard ground of the cellar and the door behind him shut, a momentary shiver came over Jacques. In the solitude of prison, I withered like this.
    The brothers trudged through the darkness to Francesco’s workstation. Startled by a clomping noise, Jacques turned to see Vicomte de Fragonard hobble into view, pushing hard on his shillelagh.
    “Good afternoon, young gentlemen.”
    Without turning, Francesco defiantly thrust a fistful of brushes into the air over his head.
    Embarrassed by his brother’s gesture, Jacques took several steps toward the Vicomte and offered a short bow and a “Good afternoon, sir.”
    “I felt it urgent that I be here,” the Vicomte said, limping toward the armchair.
    Jacques noted the almost-threadbare waistcoat and pants worn by Fragonard. The man’s faded velvet jacket was long ago out of fashion.
    The Vicomte caught Jacques’ gaze. “Is it my garments you disdain? I tell you, sir, there are matters far more considerable than a man’s raiment.”
    Jacques lowered his eyes and bobbed his head politely. In the musty air, he felt a bead of anxious sweat moisten his temple. He twisted toward his brother, who had obviously seen the exchange, but Francesco coolly returned to his work.
    Vicomte de Fragonard soon initiated a conversation as if nothing inharmonious had occurred: “Have you perchance seen the Château Vaux-le-Vicomte on your travel here?”
    “No, I haven’t.”
    “I should have my coachman take you on that route. Magnificent château, built over a