Casanovas Homecoming | Page 4

back, not perhaps to-morrow or the day after, but in any case in good
order and condition. Casanova, however, had suddenly grown distrait
and irritable. So cold was his farewell to the fond hostess that, at the
carriage door, she whispered a parting word in his ear which was
anything but amiable.
During the drive along the dusty road beneath the glare of the noonday
sun, Olivo gave a garrulous and somewhat incoherent account of his
life since the friends' last meeting. Shortly after his marriage he had
bought a plot of land near the town, and had started in a small way as
market gardener. Doing well at this trade, he had gradually been able to
undertake more ambitious farming ventures. At length, under God's
favor, and thanks to his own and his wife's efficiency, he had been able
three years earlier to buy from the pecuniarily embarrassed Count
Marazzani the latter's old and somewhat dilapidated country seat with a
vineyard attached. He, his wife, and his children were comfortably
settled upon this patrician estate, though with no pretence to patrician
splendor. All these successes were ultimately due to the hundred and
fifty gold pieces that Casanova had presented to Amalia, or rather to
her mother. But for this magical aid, Olivo's lot would still have been
the same. He would still have been giving instruction in reading and
writing to ill-behaved youngsters. Most likely, he would have been an
old bachelor and Amalia an old maid.

Casanova let him ramble on without paying much heed. The incident
was one among many of the date to which it belonged. As he turned it
over in his mind, it seemed to him the most trivial of them all, it had
hardly even troubled the waters of memory.
He had been travelling from Rome to Turin or Paris--he had forgotten
which. During a brief stay in Mantua, he caught sight of Amalia in
church one morning. Pleased with her appearance, with her handsome
but pale and somewhat woebegone face, he gallantly addressed her a
friendly question. In those days everyone had been complaisant to
Casanova. Gladly opening her heart to him, the girl told him that she
was not well off; that she was in love with an usher who was likewise
poor; that his father and her own mother were both unwilling to give
their consent to so inauspicious a union. Casanova promptly declared
himself ready to help matters on. He sought an introduction to Amalia's
mother, a good-looking widow of thirty-six who was still quite worthy
of being courted. Ere long Casanova was on such intimate terms with
her that his word was law. When her consent to the match had been
won, Olivo's father, a merchant in reduced circumstances, was no
longer adverse, being specially influenced by the fact that Casanova
(presented to him as a distant relative of the bride's mother) undertook
to defray the expenses of the wedding and to provide part of the dowry.
To Amalia, her generous patron seemed like a messenger from a higher
world. She showed her gratitude in the manner prompted by her own
heart. When, the evening before her wedding, she withdrew with
glowing cheeks from Casanova's last embrace, she was far from
thinking that she had done any wrong to her future husband, who after
all owed his happiness solely to the amiability and open-handedness of
this marvellous friend. Casanova had never troubled himself as to
whether Amalia had confessed to Olivo the length to which she had
gone in gratitude to her benefactor; whether, perchance, Olivo had
taken her sacrifice as a matter of course, and had not considered it any
reason for retrospective jealousy; or whether Olivo had always
remained in ignorance of the matter. Nor did Casanova allow these
questions to harass his mind to-day.
The heat continued to increase. The carriage, with bad springs and hard

cushions, jolted the occupants abominably. Olivo went on chattering in
his high, thin voice; talking incessantly of the fertility of his land, the
excellencies of his wife, the good behavior of his children, and the
innocent pleasures of intercourse with his neighbors--farmers and
landed gentry. Casanova was bored. He began to ask himself irritably
why on earth he had accepted an invitation which could bring nothing
but petty vexations, if not positive disagreeables. He thought longingly
of the cool parlor in Mantua, where at this very hour he might have
been working unhindered at his polemic against Voltaire. He had
already made up his mind to get out at an inn now in sight, hire
whatever conveyance might be available, and drive back to the town,
when Olivo uttered a loud "Hullo!" A pony trap suddenly pulled up,
and their own carriage came to a halt, as if by mutual understanding.