Casanova's Women (22 page)

‘Have I not reason to be?'

‘Not at all, for I have not yet chosen.'

‘I'm beginning to breathe. I wager you will tell me to come to Parma.'

‘Yes – come to Parma.'
¹⁴

With these four words, Henriette made the choice for both of them, in control of their relationship from the very beginning. From then on, fearful of revealing her full story – perhaps because it painted her in a bad light – she was careful to tell Casanova only as much as she wanted him to know about herself. All she would say was that she came from an aristocratic family in Provence, that she was convent-educated, and married, and that she had committed three follies in her life, the last of which – running off with the Hungarian officer – ‘would have ruined me, but for you. Delightful folly, the cause of my knowing you,'
¹⁵
she added charmingly. If she had taken a wrong turning in her life it was not she herself but her husband and father-in-law who were to blame, for they were monsters. At times Henriette may well have lied to Casanova in order to protect herself, for instance when she told him that the man she had arrived in Civitavecchia with had been her father-in-law, who had brought her to Italy with the intention of locking her away in a convent; it was unlikely that he would search for her, she added, as he would be all too pleased to see the back of her. This was a highly implausible story on every level. No strict Frenchman would have travelled with his daughter-in-law dressed as a man when both the Church and civil authorities considered such behaviour scandalous. And, if he had wanted to imprison her in a convent, he would have been unlikely to have taken her to Italy when there were plenty of suitable convents in France.

With admirable discretion – or perhaps blind faith or naive credulity – Casanova accepted Henriette at her word. From the very beginning, discretion played an important part in this, the greatest of all his love affairs. Having passed Henriette on to Casanova, the Hungarian tactfully rode ahead to Parma, leaving the new lovers to spend their first night together in the town of
Reggio, where they supped in an awkward silence before going to bed. ‘We knew that we were going to sleep together,' Casanova wrote of the moment, ‘but we would have thought it indiscreet to say so to each other. What a night! What a woman was this Henriette, whom I loved so much! Who made me so happy!'
¹⁶
When they reached Parma they both checked into an inn under false names, Casanova as Giacomo de Farussi, Henriette as
Anne d'Arci, Frenchwoman
– a pseudonym which has given rise to speculation that she was born under the astrological sign of Sagittarius, termed
I'Arcifere
at the time.
¹⁷
From then on, Henriette kept a low profile, rarely leaving her room where, on the rare occasions Casanova went out, she passed her time with the chambermaid and the Italian teacher her lover had generously engaged for her (she mastered the language within a month). She received only two visitors: the Hungarian officer, whom she now addressed as ‘papa'; and Baron Michel Dubois Chatellerault, a hunchbacked French artist and medallion-engraver in the service of the Duke of Parma. When Henriette did venture outside it was only to ride through the city in a closed carriage with Casanova. And when he finally persuaded her to accompany him to the opera she insisted on taking an unlit box in the less fashionable second tier, where she appeared without rouge, a cosmetic very popular in France at that time. During the performance Henriette never once looked at the other spectators, but kept her gaze resolutely on the stage – behaviour which, perversely, was bound to get her noticed in an age when the main purpose of attending an opera was to gossip about other members of the audience and to be gossiped about in return.

Enclosed in his private world with Henriette, Casanova was completely happy. Sex was by no means the most important element of their relationship, and he gave no details of their intimate relations in his memoirs – a mark in itself of how much Henriette meant to him. He could not praise Henriette enough: she was adorable, generous, noble and divine; she was intelligent and shrewd, widely read and had innate good taste and acute judgement.
Despite his relatively modern attitude to women's sexuality, Casanova did not necessarily approve of female education, for in his opinion too much knowledge compromised the essence of the female sex. Henriette, however, was the exception for she ‘never said anything important without a laugh which, giving it a veneer of frivolity, put it within reach of the entire company. In this way she bestowed intelligence on those who did not know they had it, and who, in return, adored her for it. In the end, a beautiful woman who does not radiate intelligence has nothing to offer her lover once he has enjoyed her physical charms. An ugly woman with a brilliant mind makes a man fall so much in love with her that she leaves him wanting nothing. So what must I have been with beautiful, witty, cultivated Henriette? It is impossible to conceive of the extent of my happiness.'
¹⁸

‘I was very happy with Henriette, as she was with me,' Casanova wrote elsewhere of their time together in Parma, time he would later describe to another lover as
four months of perfect and continuous joy
.
¹⁹
‘Never a moment's griping, never a yawn, never did a rose leaf bent in two come to disturb our contentment.'
²⁰
One must suppose that Henriette felt the same way. In the past she had lived in such fear of her husband and father-in-law that she had risked her reputation, perhaps even her life, to get away from them. On the run, and not without shame for the situation she was in, she had stumbled upon a man who not only did not judge her but who treated her with the utmost tenderness and tact. Casanova was brilliant company. He was never violent towards her. He was a thoughtful lover who aimed to please his partner in bed. He respected Henriette's privacy, and asked nothing of her except to be allowed to adore her, spoil her, and enjoy being with her. He loved her for the person she was, and moreover respected her despite her ‘missteps', as she described the misdemeanours by which she had nearly ruined her life.

Henriette brought out the very best qualities in Casanova – selflessness, kindness, empathy and generosity. Though his finances were by no means unlimited – his income from Bragadin was just ten sequins a month – he looked after her with the lavishness of a
wealthy prince, renting rooms for them at the best inn in Parma, hiring servants for her, and secretly taking it upon himself one day to go out shopping on her behalf. He returned carrying yards of fine linen to make chemises, dimity to make corsets and petticoats, silk and cotton stockings, dress fabric, handkerchiefs, hats, mantles, and with a seamstress and a shoemaker in tow. Henriette received all these unasked-for gifts without the kind of ingratiating thanks which would have made Casanova think less of her. Days later, when her first new clothes were ready, she banished him from the inn while she changed into them. When he returned, Henriette was transformed. The boisterous bravado she had adopted along with her male clothing had been dropped along with her breeches. Dressed as a woman, curtseying before him, Henriette was all femininity, composure and aristocratic grace – a Frenchwoman of the very highest rank. The actors' son was in awe of her, and quite intimidated by her metamorphosis. That day he fell in love with her all over again.

Though this grand lady now looked as if she would never put a foot wrong, Henriette was still capable of surprising Casanova by her impulsive behaviour. Persuaded by him to attend a private concert at Dubois Chatellerault's country house, she received the attentions of the all-male guests with ‘an ease unknown outside France'. At first she kept a relatively low profile, but after listening to a cello concerto she suddenly rose to her feet, congratulated the young soloist and confidently took the instrument from him. Without daring to meet Casanova's eyes, Henriette asked the orchestra to begin the concerto again. Like the rest of her shocked audience, Casanova looked on in silence. The cello, like its close cousin the viola da gamba, was simply not perceived as a woman's instrument because it had to be held between one's open legs, a distinctly unladylike position. Never dreaming that Henriette could actually play the instrument, Casanova presumed that she was either joking or had gone mad, and his heart palpitated with a ‘deathly fear' for her. To his amazement she could play, and very well indeed. Unusually for the time, Henriette's mother had been a
fine cellist; and at her father's insistence she too had learned to play the instrument at her convent school (although the Mother Abbess had objected strongly on the grounds that the young girl ‘could only grasp the instrument by assuming an indecent posture'
²¹
). Keeping her eyes firmly on the music stand in front of her, Henriette sight-read the concerto she had just heard without making a single mistake, and when her performance was greeted with rapturous applause she played alone another five times. Casanova was overcome with love for her, and overawed by the huge difference in status between them. He rushed out into the garden and burst into tears, unable to believe that this talented jewel was his. The following day, he bought Henriette a cello of her own from one of Parma's skilled luthiers.

In 1749 Parma was on its way to becoming one of the most active musical centres in Italy. It was also becoming an outpost of French culture. Fought over during the War of the Austrian Succession, the city had been granted to the Bourbon monarchy in 1748 by the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, and it now fell under the rule of the Infante Don Filippo, second son of the late King Filippo V of Spain and his powerful wife, Elizabetta Farnese, the niece of the old Duke of Parma. Don Filippo and his ministers had arrived in the city on 7 March 1749, and when Henriette and Casanova took up temporary residence that autumn preparations were underway for the imminent arrival (on 23 November) of Don Filippo's wife, ‘Madame de France' Louise-Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of King Louis XV. Consequently there were Frenchmen on every street, in every cafe, and in every government building.

Henriette's presence and behaviour in Parma speak volumes about her wishes at the time. Although she claimed to be in hiding from her French father-in-law, she had deliberately chosen to go to the most French of all Italian cities. Once there, she expressed a strong desire to stay at Andremont's, a popular French-style inn overrun by her fellow countrymen; and her attentive lover made sure that she got her way. Henriette was well aware that her appearance at the opera, and her music recital at Dubois Chatellerault's
house, were guaranteed to get her talked about, for it was impossible that such a remarkable Frenchwoman could remain unnoticed by Parma's small, mainly male French community. Contrary to what she said – that she did not wish to be found – Henriette clearly wished to recognised. Her objective was to return to France and to be reunited with her family; if not with her monster of a husband then perhaps with her parents and siblings. Without doubt this had been her intention when she set out for Parma; and meeting Casanova along the way had not altered her resolve. For a short while she was content to live in the present and to teach Casanova to do the same. Although her emotional lover begged her never to leave him, Henriette knew that she soon would, and she never promised him otherwise.

Henriette was marking time, waiting for the right opportunity to make contact with her family. Like Casanova she trusted in the maxim that
Fata viam invenient
. It happened on a December night at the royal palace of Colorno, twelve kilometres outside the city, where Don Filippo was holding a fiesta for his newly arrived wife. Anxious not to miss the grand occasion, even though they were aware that the entire French community would be there, Henriette and Casanova drove out to Colorno with Dubois Chatellerault and took rooms at a local inn. As the three of them strolled around the illuminated palace grounds, Henriette was noticed by Don Filippo's friend and courtier, François-Antoine d'Antoine-Blacas, a knight of the Order of St Louis and a native of Provence. When this man approached Henriette she politely denied knowing him, but their encounter left Casanova so uneasy that he suggested that they leave immediately for Genoa. She reassured him that there was no need for them to depart in a hurry; if Fate had at last found its way she clearly had no desire to confound it.

Was Henriette already aware that d'Antoine-Blacas was not only acquainted with her situation but actually related to her husband's family through marriage? Had she herself made moves to contact him? This was the opportunity to be reunited with her family that she had clearly been hoping for. A few days after the court returned
to Parma the knight sent a note to Andremont's asking Casanova for a private meeting with him. In Don Filippo's garden he handed him a sealed four-page letter addressed to
Madame d'Arci
, and asked Casanova to deliver it to her unopened. Though they had been lovers for months, Henriette kept the contents of this letter to herself, claiming that the ‘honour of two families' prevented her from showing it to Casanova. She needed to consult d'Antoine-Blacas, she said, for he knew ‘my whole story and my mistakes, but also my reasons, which oblige him as a man of honour to protect me from all affronts, and he will do nothing except in agreement with me, and if he tries to deviate from the conditions I will dictate to him, I will not go to France.'
²²

Casanova was devastated at the thought that he might have to part from Henriette – ‘So the last act begins,' he commented theatrically – but she was strangely resigned. As in control of her emotions as she was of the relationship, she had known from the start what she wanted: to return to her family on her own terms. Just as she had used the Hungarian officer and later Casanova, to help her get to Parma and make contact with an appropriate go-between, she now used d'Antoine-Blacas to open up negotiations with her Provençal family. During a six-hour meeting she and the knight struggled over the wording of a letter, or letters, which would seal her fate, while her distressed lover was forced to sit alone in an adjoining room.