The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 09: the False Nun — Themes and Context

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Authors: Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798, Machen, Arthur, 1863-1947 [Translator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798; Europe -- History -- 18th century -- Biography Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

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Words 36,973

Reading time 161 min

Text sections 3

This digital edition of The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 09: the False Nun — Themes and Context is described by source-level measurements including 36,973 words, 2 hr 41 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.

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Source: Project Gutenberg record #2959

Casanova's ninth volume centers on a wager over a nun's identity, revealing his gambling compulsion and intricate Venetian deceptions through the opening supper, a bet with an Englishman, and a casino scheme at Muran.

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Thus did I wittingly deprive myself of the power of drawing back, but I was able to realize the full force of the situation. I had no difficulty in guessing that the ambassador was in love with C---- C----, and that he had confessed as much to M---- M----, who, not being in a position to object to it, was compelled to shew herself compliant, and to assist him in everything that could render his passion successful. She could certainly not do anything without my consent, and she had evidently considered the affair too delicate to venture upon proposing the party point-blank to me. They had, no doubt, put their heads together, so that by bringing the conversation on that subject I should find myself compelled, for the sake of politeness and perhaps of my inward feelings, to fall into the snare. The ambassador, whose profession it was to carry on intrigues skilfully, had succeeded well, and I had taken the bait as he wished. There was nothing left for me but to put a good face on the matter, not only so as not to shew myself a very silly being, but also in order not to prove myself shamefully ungrateful towards a man who had granted me unheard-of privileges. Nevertheless, the consequence of it all was likely to be some coolness in my feelings towards both my mistresses. M---- M---- had become conscious of this after she had returned to the convent, and wishing to screen herself from all responsibility she had lost no time in writing to me that she would cause the projected supper to be abandoned, in case I should disapprove of it, but she knew very well that I would not accept her offer. Self-love is a stronger passion even than jealousy; it does not allow a man who has some pretension to wit to shew himself jealous, particularly towards a person who is not tainted by that base passion, and has proved it.

The next day, having gone early to the casino, I found the ambassador already there, and he welcomed me in the most friendly manner. He told me that, if he had known me in Paris he would have introduced me at the court, where I should certainly have made my fortune. Now, when I think of that, I say to myself, "That might have been the case, but of what good would it have been to me?" Perhaps I should have fallen a victim of the Revolution, like so many others. M. de Bernis himself would have been one of those victims if Fate had not allowed him to die in Rome in 1794. He died there unhappy, although wealthy, unless his feelings had undergone a complete change before his death, and I do not believe it.

I asked him whether he liked Venice, and he answered that he could not do otherwise than like that city, in which he enjoyed excellent health, and in which, with plenty of money, life could be enjoyed better than anywhere else.

"But I do not expect," he added, "to be allowed to keep this embassy very long. Be kind enough to let that remain between us. I do not wish to make M---- M---- unhappy."

We were conversing in all confidence when M---- M---- arrived with her young friend, who showed her surprise at seeing another man with me, but I encouraged her by the most tender welcome; and she recovered all her composure when she saw the delight of the stranger at being answered by her in good French. It gave us both an opportunity of paying the warmest compliments to the mistress who had taught her so well.

C---- C---- was truly charming; her looks, bright and modest at the same time, seemed to say to me, "You must belong to me:" I wished to see her shine before our friends; and I contrived to conquer a cowardly feeling of jealousy which, in spite of myself, was beginning to get hold of me. I took care to make her talk on such subjects as I knew to be familiar to her. I developed her natural intelligence, and had the satisfaction of seeing her admired.

Applauded, flattered, animated by the satisfaction she could read in my eyes, C---- C---- appeared a prodigy to M. de Bernis, and, oh! what a contradiction of the human heart! I was pleased, yet I trembled lest he should fall in love with her! What an enigma! I was intent myself upon a work which would have caused me to murder any man who dared to undertake it.

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The volume opens with Casanova confessing a paradox: despite arranging a supper that should have satisfied him, he is tormented by anxiety. The cause is his passion for gambling, which he calls a 'fatal habit' that made him miserable even when he had no need of money. He admits to the reader that he played even when certain to lose, driven by avarice and a love of prodigality—he could not bear spending money he had not won at the gaming table. This frank self-analysis sets the tone for a memoir that intertwines pleasure with compulsion.

The supper itself introduces M. de Bernis, the French ambassador, whom Casanova had previously seen but never spoken with. Their conversation reveals Casanova's careful attention to social detail: he recalls a dinner years earlier where de Bernis talked exclusively with Marshal Keith, leaving Casanova unnoticed. The ambassador now remembers him, and from this meeting a complex intrigue begins.

A Confession of Avarice and Play

Casanova's opening admission is unusually direct: he gambled because he 'had in me the evil spirit of avarice.' He loved prodigality but bled at spending money not won at the table. This contradiction—wanting to be lavish yet hating to spend his own funds—drives the plot. In the four days before the supper, he lost all the gold that M. M. had won for him. The reader sees a narrator who is both self-aware and helpless before his vice.

This confession is not a mere aside; it frames the wager that follows. Casanova's willingness to risk money on a bet about a nun's identity stems from the same psychology. He treats the bet as a way to satisfy both avarice and prodigality: if he wins, the Englishman pays for his pleasure; if he loses, he pays nothing for the woman. The logic is twisted but consistent with his character as drawn in these pages.

The Wager and Its Mechanics

The central scheme is a bet between Casanova and an Englishman over whether a masked woman is truly the nun M. M. or an impostor. The Englishman proposes a test: after possessing the woman, he will meet Casanova and go together to the convent to ask for M. M. If she appears, the woman left behind is a fraud; if she does not, the wager is lost. Casanova agrees, adding that if the lay-sister says M. M. is ill or it is too late for visitors, he will lose.

The plan involves a casino at Muran that Casanova keeps for a secret amour, Tonine. He will ensure she is absent on the appointed day and provide a cold supper. The Englishman is delighted, and Casanova begins to think he has lost the bet. The negotiation is precise: the Englishman insists on knowing the location by land and water, and Casanova arranges a supper to show him the way. The wager is set at a hundred sequins, but the Englishman offers to raise it to a thousand.

Setting the Stage at Muran

Casanova travels to Muran to prepare his casino. He warns Tonine that he will sup with her and bring two friends, and sends several bottles of excellent wine. Tonine is pleased, asking only if the friends will leave after supper—she cares only for the dessert. This detail reveals Casanova's domestic arrangements: he keeps a young woman in a separate house, and she expects his company but not his friends' overnight stay.

After leaving her, Casanova visits the convent and passes an hour with M. M. in the parlour. He notes that she is recovering her health and beauty daily. This brief scene contrasts with the scheming: while Casanova plots a deception involving a nun, he also maintains a genuine attachment to M. M. The reader sees the two sides of his life—the gambler and the lover—operating simultaneously.

Voice and Self-Presentation

Casanova's narrative voice is marked by direct address to the reader. He anticipates a question: 'Why did you play, when there was no need of it?' and answers it with a confession of avarice. This rhetorical device creates an intimacy, as if the reader is a confidant. He also uses the phrase 'dear inquisitive reader' and later 'dear reader,' reinforcing the conversational tone.

His self-presentation is complex: he admits to a vice but does not apologize. Instead, he explains it as a law of his nature. The memoir thus becomes a psychological portrait as much as a record of events. The excerpts show a man who is analytical about his own failings yet unable to change them. This tension gives the narrative its energy, as the reader watches Casanova walk into schemes he knows may ruin him.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to Casanova's candid self-assessments, which are woven into the action. The wager over the false nun is not merely a plot device but a manifestation of his character. Notice how he balances confession with narrative momentum, and how the settings—the casino, the convent parlour, the Muran house—reflect different facets of his life. The excerpts offer a concentrated sample of his memoir style: intimate, shrewd, and unsparing about his own flaws.

The rain kept up its patient drumming on the window while I lost myself in Casanova’s wager over the false nun. His appetite for a gamble felt strangely familiar. I set the book aside and noticed my grandfather’s old volume on the shelf, The Gallery of Portraits: with Memoirs. Volume 4 (of 7) — Background and Themes, its pages holding quieter lives, no dice required.