Casanova in Bohemia by Andrei Codrescu

Author:Andrei Codrescu [Codrescu, Andrei]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504015271
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Several letters awaited his response. One of them was of interest, concerning as it did his memoirs. Cécile de Roggendorf wanted to know how he was going to organize in one book the great wealth of material that was his life. Casanova wrote her an outline of his projected autobiography, entitled “Précis de ma vie,” (“An Abstract of My Life”), that began thus: “My mother brought me into this world in Venice, April 2nd, Easter Day, in the year 1725. During her labor she had a great craving for crayfish (écrevisses). I love them very much.” He misspelled the French word for crayfish: instead of “écrevisses” he wrote “écrivisses,” that is to say, “écrit” (writing) and “vice” (vice). This purposeful misspelling illuminated the path before him. Those were indeed the basics of his life: writing and vice. They had been transmitted to him by his mother, who brought him into the world for those specific purposes.

He finished his brief to Cécile: “This is the only résumé I have ever written and I give permission to make of it whatever use one will. Non erubesco evangelium. Jacques Casanova.” The Latin phrase means: “I will not blush before this gospel.” And he signed it with the French of his name, initials J.C. He was a cabbalist and he was making a blasphemous joke. His life was his gospel and the hero of that gospel was its divine subject, J.C.

He then became fully immersed in the cabbala of his life, coming up for air only a few times for the rest of the day. An hour before his models were due to arrive, he began sketching again. This time, the Muse of Tailors and Seamstresses smiled more kindly on him. He drew a pair of blue trousers that fell simply but with ample room for movement. The chemise, the color of which he could not yet ascertain, was likewise simple, resembling an Athenian tunic. He then changed his mind and made the trousers black and colored the tunic blue. He would have these made that very evening by his girls. He looked at his drawings for a long time, imagining all the people of the future clad in them. He had already predicted some of that future in the Icosaméron. There would be horseless carriages on the road, ships that traveled underwater, foods grown in one’s pocket, telepathic devices for communicating long distance, animals trained to deliver goods on their own, and many talking species created in the laboratory. His uniforms would be hanging from hooks at the corners of every street, so that anyone needing a fresh one could just take it, leaving the old one behind. Next day, freshly washed uniforms would be hanging from hooks in their usual place.

When Laura arrived, ahead of the others, he showed her his sketches and asked her what she thought.

She studied them and frowned. “They look Chinese,” she said.

“What do you know about that?” he said, annoyed.

“You showed me plans for your Chinese spectacle.”

He looked at them again.

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