The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 22: to London

In Short

This volume of the legendary memoirist’s life follows his journey from France to London in the mid-18th century. It is a picaresque record of social maneuverings, romantic entanglements, and the sharp cultural friction he experiences in an England that feels distinctly alien to his continental sensibilities. The work has endured because it remains a remarkably intimate, unvarnished portrait of a man who is simultaneously a cynical schemer and a sentimental romantic, offering a voyeuristic window into the fleeting beauty of a life lived without guardrails or long-term caution.

The Story

The narrative begins in Lyons, where the traveler finds himself in the company of a young woman named Marcoline. This early chapter serves as a template for his life: he is wealthy, generous, and deeply enamored, yet he remains entirely detached from any notion of permanence. He facilitates his companion’s return to her family in Venice through the intervention of powerful ambassadors, orchestrating a parting that is as theatrical as it is genuinely sorrowful. He treats his own life as a series of scenes to be directed, often feeling like an actor performing a part he has written for himself, even as he suffers the pangs of the separation he has invited.

Moving through Paris, he disentangles himself from the chaotic affairs of his brother, an erratic and grasping man, and engages in a brief, ritualistic dalliance with a French noblewoman. These episodes highlight his need for intellectual and physical stimulation, as he navigates the social hierarchies of the city with a mixture of aristocratic arrogance and genuine charm. He eventually crosses the channel to London, a city he finds cold, proud, and structurally peculiar—a place where even the Thames has a flavor of its own.

Upon arriving in London, his expectations are challenged by his former flame, Madame Cornelis, who now resides in Soho Square. Their reunion is anything but warm; she is cold, indifferent, and focused entirely on her own social and financial survival. He finds himself relegated to the periphery of her life, treated with a stinging lack of deference. This rejection forces him to re-establish his own footing, leading him into the orbit of Lady Harrington, who introduces him to the city's elite. He dances at balls, navigates the treacherous waters of high-stakes gambling, and observes the prodigality of the English nobility with a mixture of awe and contempt.

The emotional anchor of this London period is his encounter with Pauline, a woman of intellect and mystery whose life story—a tale of political persecution and survival—mirrors his own penchant for disaster and rebirth. Their romance is the book's heart, marked by intellectual debates over literature and a desperate, fleeting intensity. Their time together is framed by the knowledge of its inevitable expiration. When Pauline finally departs for her homeland, he is left alone in London, succumbing to the quintessential English "spleen," a melancholic isolation that highlights the cyclical nature of his existence: he is a man who builds elaborate worlds for himself, only to watch them dismantle, leaving him to search for the next distraction.

How It Unfolds

The parting at Lyons The narrator facilitates the departure of his beloved Marcoline, carefully orchestrating her return to her family under the protection of Venetian ambassadors. He manages the transition with stoic precision, despite his internal grief, treating the separation as a necessary duty to her reputation.

The French interlude Before departing for England, the author navigates a series of familial disputes in Paris and engages in a highly stylized, quasi-religious romantic encounter. These moments demonstrate his obsession with personal ritual and his capacity to find sophisticated, brief pleasures amidst familial dysfunction.

The arrival in London The traveler encounters the "proud" English and the cold indifference of his former lover, Madame Cornelis. He is forced to retreat from her household, feeling the sting of being treated as a man of no consequence, and must pivot to find his own social standing.

The social dance Through the influence of Lady Harrington, he enters the world of the English nobility, observing the excesses of the London season. He balances his roles as a gambler, a social climber, and a keen observer of the city's peculiar habits and strictures.

The romance with Pauline The narrative culminates in a deeply intellectual and physical connection with a fellow exile, Pauline. Their relationship, built on shared secrets and literary discussion, provides a temporary cure for his loneliness before the inevitability of her departure leaves him once again in solitude.

The People

The narrator is the pivot point of the volume: a man driven by "occult forces" he refuses to resist, constantly balancing his own desires against the social consequences of his actions. His honesty about his flaws—his vanity, his occasional cruelty to his brother, and his susceptibility to beautiful, intelligent women—makes him a compelling, if unreliable, guide.

Pauline is the moral and intellectual foil to the narrator. A Portuguese exile of noble birth, she possesses a keen, analytical mind and a command of multiple languages. Unlike the other women in his life, she engages him on his own level, challenging his logic and demanding that he respect the "rules of decency" that govern their secret union.

Madame Cornelis represents the harsh reality of the world the narrator seeks to conquer. She is a woman of business and social ambition who has survived by hardening her heart. Her indifference to him in London serves as a necessary wake-up call, stripping away his illusions of importance and forcing him to act as an individual rather than a favored guest.

The narrator's brother, the Abbé, is a chaotic and pathetic figure who serves as a reminder of the narrator's own potential for ruin. His constant need for financial support and his lack of moral compass contrast with the narrator's own carefully maintained, if equally precarious, sense of honor.

In Its Own Voice

"I will not attempt to describe the night I passed with my charmer. She asked me again and again how I could be my own executioner; but I could not answer, for I did not know."

The narrator reflects on the self-destructive impulse that led him to orchestrate the departure of the woman he loved.

"English is different in every respect from the rest of Europe; even the country has a different aspect, and the water of the Thames has a taste peculiar to itself."

Upon crossing the channel, the narrator observes the profound and unsettling cultural shift of a nation that seems to exist outside the common European experience.

"The older I get the more I feel the destructive effects of old age; and I regret bitterly that I could not discover the secret of remaining young and happy for ever."

Following the loss of his latest companion, the narrator pauses to lament the transient nature of his own vitality and the futility of his lifestyle.

What It's Really About

At its core, this volume is an inquiry into the nature of freedom and the high cost of a life without roots. The narrator consistently asks whether a person can ever truly satisfy their desires without eventually becoming an "executioner" of their own happiness. He explores the tension between his desire for deep, meaningful connection and his inability to commit to anything that might limit his movement or his appetite for new experiences. It is a meditation on the loneliness inherent in a life of constant performance, where the narrator acts as both the protagonist and the audience, searching for meaning in a world that he views as essentially temporary.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the granular, sensory details of historical travelogues will find much to admire here. The text is not a polished, modern biography; it is a raw, immediate confession. You will feel the chill of the London air, the specific boredom of a long carriage ride, and the suffocating weight of the narrator's occasional "spleen." It is a challenging read at times, particularly regarding the period’s casual assumptions about gender and social standing, but it provides an unfiltered, often startling look at a man who was, above all else, deeply human in his failures.

This volume is best read for its psychological intimacy. The narrator does not hide his pettiness, his temper, or his confusion, which makes the moments of genuine beauty—such as his reading of Ariosto with Pauline—feel earned and luminous. It is a portrait of a life that is simultaneously enviable and exhausted. For those interested in the 18th century, this offers a view of London that is vivid and strange, colored by the eyes of a man who never quite managed to fit into the box he was born into. It remains a powerful testament to the restless spirit of the age, reminding us that even the most adventurous lives are often defined as much by what they lose as by what they gain.