What Casanova Told Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

I realized he was short of breath. With some effort, he took off his greatcoat and put it on the bench beside him, next to a leather satchel.
    I could smell urine and other bodily wastes left by Venetians who visit the watchtower, and I was glad Father was not there to disturb the moment with his righteous fastidiousness.
    “I am not who you think I am,” he said in a low voice. “Please forgive me, but it is dangerous in Venice for me to have my identity known and at this moment, even, I am being watched.”
    “Who are you?” I said.
    “I am known as the Chevalier de Seingalt.”
    “Monsieur, do you have a Christian name? I am the child of a revolutionary people, and we do not put stock in titles.”
    He smiled slightly. “I am delighted to offer you the truth, mademoiselle. You were kind to Finette on the public barge. My true name is Giacomo—or Jacob, as you would say in English.”
    “And your surname, monsieur?”
    “Casanova.”
    “You are the man who escaped from the prison in the Ducal Palace? The lover of women described by Count Waldstein?”
    He nodded.
    “I do not believe you,” I said.
    He bowed his head. Then he reached into a pocket in his greatcoat and pulled out Countess Waldstein’s greatwig. He settled it on his head, causing a cloud of powder to rise slowly skyward like dust on a country road.
    From the square far below rose the noise of orchestras and people laughing. I inspected the mountainous wig whose curls had been sprinkled with
poudre à maréchale.
There was no sign of the shiny beetles and I found myself disappointed.
    “Mademoiselle, my disguises have been sadly necessary. I left Venice in disgrace over twenty years ago after publishing a satire of the playwright Abbé Chiaria. It was the year the Abbé’s friend headed our inquisition … There were often false charges, too.” He lowered his voice. “And since the revolution in France, Napoleon Bonaparte’s spies have been hard at work, gathering evidence against anyone suspected of sympathizing with their king. I admire neither the revolution nor Napoleon. But it makes no difference to the fools who run Venice.”
    “Surely, those fools will have no time to persecute you now that Napoleon is in Italy?” I said, seating myself on the bench across from him.
    He shrugged. “One should not expect reason from the Republic, Puritan girl. In Paris, some years ago, I met Benjamin Franklin and he told me the story of your brave young country.” He removed the wig and placed it next to his satchel, which I realized was moving with little bursts of energy.
    “Thank you for your good words about my country, but it was not I but my forebears who were Puritans,” I said, my eyes on the convulsing sack. “I was brought up in the Congregational Church and taught to value the republican virtue of simplicity.”
    “Ah, simplicity! And yet you seem to manage so well in a city like Venice!” He leaned over and opened his satchel.“Please forgive me for following you. I came to ask you a favour …”
    “Monsieur?”
    “It is said the spies know I am fond of fox terriers. Will you keep Finette while I am in Venice?”
    His fox terrier wriggled out of the satchel’s mouth and ran towards me, yapping happily as if to demonstrate how willingly she would accept her master’s suggestion. She stopped at my feet, wagging the stump of her abbreviated tail. She was cat size, with a sad grey face. I picked her up and she panted up at me with the same adoring look she had given me on the public barge.
    “Who could resist such a loving creature?”
    He consulted a gold watch and I saw him kiss a small miniature hanging from its chain.
    “It is a portrait of my great love—Aimée Dubucq de Rivery,” he said when he noticed my curious look. “Would you like to see?” Without waiting for my reply, he unhooked the miniature from the watch chain and gave it to me. Inside the dainty gold frame was a portrait of a woman sitting by a window.