Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
TO PARIS AND PRISON, Volume 2e—UNDER THE LEADS
Under The Leads—The Earthquake
What a strange and unexplained power certain words exercise upon thesoul! I, who the evening before so bravely fortified myself with myinnocence and courage, by the word tribunal was turned to a stone, withmerely the faculty of passive obedience left to me.
My desk was open, and all my papers were on a table where I wasaccustomed to write.
"Take them," said I, to the agent of the dreadful Tribunal, pointing tothe papers which covered the table. He filled a bag with them, and gaveit to one of the sbirri, and then told me that I must also give up thebound manuscripts which I had in my possession. I shewed him where theywere, and this incident opened my eyes. I saw now, clearly enough, that Ihad been betrayed by the wretch Manuzzi. The books were, "The Key ofSolomon the King," "The Zecorben," a "Picatrix," a book of "Instructionson the Planetary Hours," and the necessary incantations for conversingwith demons of all sorts. Those who were aware that I possessed thesebooks took me for an expert magician, and I was not sorry to have such areputation.
Messer-Grande took also the books on the table by my bed, such asPetrarch, Ariosto, Horace. "The Military' Philosopher" (a manuscriptwhich Mathilde had given me), "The Porter of Chartreux," and "TheAretin," which Manuzzi had also denounced, for Messer-Grande asked me forit by name. This spy, Manuzzi, had all the appearance of an honest man—avery necessary qualification for his profession. His son made his fortunein Poland by marrying a lady named Opeska, whom, as they say, he killed,though I have never had any positive proof on the matter, and am willingto stretch Christian charity to the extent of believing he was innocent,although he was quite capable of such a crime.
While Messer-Grande was thus rummaging among my manuscripts, books andletters, I was dressing myself in an absent-minded manner, neitherhurrying myself nor the reverse. I made my toilette, shaved myself, andcombed my hair; putting on mechanically a laced shirt and my holiday suitwithout saying a word, and without Messer-Grande—who did not let meescape his sight for an instant—complaining that I was dressing myselfas if I were going to a wedding.
As I went out I was surprised to see a band of forty men-at-arms in theante-room. They had done me the honour of thinking all these mennecessary for my arrest, though, according to the axiom 'Ne Herculesquidem contra duos', two would have been enough. It is curious that inLondon, where everyone is brave, only one man is needed to arrestanother, whereas in my dear native land, where cowardice prevails, thirtyare required. The reason is, perhaps, that the coward on the offensive ismore afraid than the coward on the defensive, and thus a man usuallycowardly is transformed for the moment into a man of courage. It iscertain that at Venice one often sees a man defending himself againsttwenty sbirri, and finally escaping after beating them soundly. Iremember once helping a friend of mine at Paris to escape from the handsof forty bum-bailiffs, and we put the whole vile rout of them to flight.
Messer-Grande made me get into a gondola, and sat down near me with anescort of four men. When we came to our desti