Casanova’s Journal

Giacomo Casanova, just the name says it all does it not? He’s one of the most famous womanisers who made history just by conquering as many women as possible.

This Valentine however, we won’t talk about his many plain adventures. For you see, there was one special woman in his life that left him rather intrigued.

This Lover’s Day Alchemy will share with you the missing page from Casanova’s adventurous journal.

‘I have met and loved many women, exquisite women, all unique and perfect in their own way. In spite of what people might say, I was never dishonest in my love for them nor have I ever treated them badly. My eyes never lied when I was truly in love with a woman. And all the women I met believed me for they were all, one by one, smart, beautiful, talented and intelligent.

And then there was Camelia. Not only her behaviour but her actions managed to baffle me to the fullest.

We met in the strangest circumstances…

I was in Venice for the summer. It was pouring rain that night when I left the Ridotto Casino. Luck had abandoned me for I had spent and lost quite some time in finding the right companion for the evening but it had all been in vain. Money or love, it is always a matter of gambling, is it not? The rain that night seemed yet another sign of my defeat.

I quickly sought shelter under the arms of an old building. My coat was already drenched and my hair soaked in the cold tears of the sky.

‘Lovely night isn’t it?’ I heard a voice.

It was dark, all the streets deserted yet somehow she stood before me in a splendid dress. She had wonderful black curled hair, dark eyes and her skin paler than the powder on my skin. The rain did not seem to bother her one bit.

‘It’s about to become quite lovely indeed,’ I smiled.

‘Come,’ she said softly, ‘I live nearby. You must get out of those clothes before you catch a cold.’

‘God Forbid!’ I chuckled.

We made love of course; passionate, intense love that left me breathless and content.

In the morning my lover was no longer next to me. A true shame for I wanted to admire her in daylight. The room I woke up in was warm, decorated with golden and red tapestries and Persian carpets. All the furniture was made from rosewood and it looked quite antique and filled with hidden history. I knew at once that she had taste and a true eye for beauty. I could have slept in that soft bed for hours her scent still teasing my senses but I was engaged in some real estate affairs that day that could not wait.

As soon as I stood up a horrible headache took over me. I could hardly stand, I could hardly think, I felt tired all of a sudden, drained and feeble.

That day I could not function normally. It felt as if I had drunk severely the night before though all we had was a glass of wine. I could do nothing but cancel my meetings and retreated in my own chambers. I only woke up the next day around noon. I felt somewhat better. Thank God for I thought I had encountered an illness of some kind.

That night I was invited to dinner by one of my dearest friends, Giorgio Baffo. I never expected to see her there, in a black dress, stunning, breathtaking. I ended up at her house again, her passion seeming even stronger than the first time we met. The next morning I woke up alone and deserted once more. And worse, the feeling of tiredness and weariness came back.

I consulted a good friend of mine who was a physician. He had helped me before with minor complaints. He found nothing. I was healthy as a horse. He only advised me to get plenty of rest. When I was just about to leave his house, my eyes met hers…not in person, not in a vision, but in a portrait.

‘Do you know her?’ I asked the physician as I was staring at the breathtaking portrait hanging in the hallway.

‘No. I bought the painting at an auction.’

’I have seen her around. This portrait managed to capture her beauty perfectly.’

‘Then you must have seen a ghost,’ he chuckled. ‘That portrait has been with my family for 40 years. But it is much older than that. They say it belonged to a Transylvanian count. This was his daughter, Camelia.’

‘Camelia?’ The hair, the dress, the look, the eyes. Though she had never told me her name, it was her. There was no doubt about it. I felt sick once more. Could it be true? Had I finally clashed into the supernatural side of this world?

I went to her house that night. When she opened the door a cold chill ran over my spine. She looked just as stunning as the night before but somehow I felt different knowing that she was the woman in the portrait. Strangely I noticed new things about her that I had not seen before, like the colour of her irises. I never noticed they were…pure black.

‘Your name is Camelia, correct?’

‘Yes, my love,’ and she touched my hand, pulled me towards her.

‘Where are you from, Camelia?’

She said nothing, only smiled and pulled me closer to her. She suddenly touched my lips with her thumb as if admiring them then kissed me.

‘How…’ I was about to ask how old she was but as soon as her lips left mine and she stared in my eyes, I had suddenly forgotten my question. I had forgotten myself.

The next day I woke up alone, as expected. Yet the surroundings I could not have predicted. The bed was the only colourful object left in the room for I was surrounded by emptiness and decay as if I had spent the night in a graveyard. The furniture looked black and burned, the floors cracked, the walls covered in mould. I got out as fast as I could though the feeling of dizziness and weariness took over me once more.

I didn’t look for her anymore. I couldn’t. Something told me I shouldn’t for a strange feeling came over me every time I thought of her, her touch, her portrait, her kiss. Never had I met another woman who could make me feel so alive and dead all at once…’

We wish you a Happy Valentine and may you write your own strange encounters in your dark and hidden journals.

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