The Impromptu Physician

My good friend Righelini, the physician, secured pleasant lodgings for me in the house of a widow whose daughter he was treating. Accompanying him there one morning, I saw a girl so beautiful, and so marble-pale, that at first I thought she was a statue.

I said as much. The "statue" smiled, and perhaps would have blushed at my compliment but she seemed not able to summon enough blood to her white cheeks.

After seeing that my lodgings were in good order, Righelini took me aside and said, "That is the young lady I am treating, Casanova. Her pallor, which you thought so beautiful, is the result of no less than one hundred and four bleedings I have been obliged to give her."

"Alas!" I said. "What can be her complaint, that such stringent measures must me taken?"

"A rare and serious complaint: her monthly courses do not function properly, and it is only by opening her veins and thus allowing her blood to flow from other avenues that I am able to temporarily restore the equilibrium of nature and save her from an early death."

I was shocked and saddened to hear this, for the girl was indeed lovely, and so very young. "This, you say, is only a temporary cure, Righelini?" I asked. "Is there, then, no permanent cure for this infirmity; nothing that will assure her a long and normal life?"

"I cannot be sure," he mused, "but I am of the opinion that one thing can cure her ..."

"Well, then?"

He shrugged. "I dare not suggest it, for her mother -- the widow -- is a lady of strict and rather old-fashioned principles."

"What is the cure? Out with it, man!"

Righelini spoke in a low tone: "The girl, I am convinced, requires the services of a vigorous lover."

I laughed out loud at this, but Righelini frowned and continued:

"Her mother would never hear of such a thing."

I said, "Then, old chap, why may you not be her dispenser as well as her physician? You're vigorous enough, surely? And the old crone need never be the wiser."

"Oh, no," said Righelini. "Not I. It would be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath." He quoted a passage for my edification: " 'Whatsoever house I enter, there will I go for the benefit of the sick, refraining from all wrong-doing or corruption, and especially from any act of seduction.' " He emphasized the last words.

"Ah, yes. I see the difficulty."

"Now, you -- " began Righelini, but I interrupted him:

"I? A guest? Seduce the daughter of my hostess? Friend, what do you take me for?" And we said no more about it.

The next day I slept late and was awakened by the sound of a violin playing a stately air. I dressed, breakfasted, and went down to the music room where I saw my charming statue in the midst of a dancing lesson. She smiled; I returned the salutation. Soon I grew impatient with her precise but dispassionate mode of dancing and I requested the dancing-master to play a livelier tune.

"But, sir," he protested, "that will tire the lady."

"Nonsense," she said, in a sweet but peremptory tone. "Do what the gentleman asks."

A spritely air was played. I took her arm and we danced. It was bold of me, I admit, but I held her close, rather than at arm's length, under the pretense of supporting her. I was delighted to feel two firm, mature mounds of flesh pressed against my chest. She was no child. I am a bit ashamed to confess I made use of an obvious ruse (that of placing my hand under her armpit) in order to investigate further her delightful charms. By the time the tune was over, my blood was up, but I stifled my natural urges, for I was determined not to break the rules of hospitality by making sport with my hostess' daughter.

That night, I was awakened from a troubled sleep by sounds of unrest in the household. Throwing a dressing gown around my nakedness, I stepped out of my bedroom to ascertain the cause. A servant woman walked, weeping, by me. "What is amiss?" I asked.

"Oh, sir," she sobbed, "the young lady, I fear, is dying."

I rushed to her room. The night was hot, and my poor statue was lying on her bed, covered only by a thin sheet. She was paler than ever I had seen her before. Her mother and several servants were crowded around her bed, blocking off the air. "Where is Doctor Righelini?" I inquired.

"He has been sent for," her mother told me through her tears, "but he lives so far away that I fear he will not arrive in time ..."

I said, "Then we must take emergency measures. All of you, clear away from the bed. The girl must have air." I succeeded in getting them all out of the room, after lying a bit and saying that-Righelini had taught me a few things about medicine. As a matter of fact, it was not really a lie -- he had, indeed, told me exactly what had to be done to cure the girl, had he not?

I approached the bed; took her cold, white hand; then sat beside her. Gently, I lowered the sheet and saw for the first time the unadorned loveliness of her bosom. My hand was hot; I laid it upon her cool flesh. I heard her breathe more quickly. She said something, although it took all her strength to utter the single word -- a word familiar to me, but one which I never take for an answer. "No," she murmured.

"It is a stifling night," I said. "You do not need this sheet." I dropped it to the floor. Soon it was followed by my dressing gown.

She spoke again: "But I am not strong enough, signor. This what you are doing will kill me."

"My darling," I said. "My darling statue. It will cure you."

By the time Righelini arrived, it was already dawn. She was sleeping soundly. He looked at his patient. "Amazing," he whispered. "Her color. She's as pink as a rose."

From that day on, I could never call her a statue again.

"What you are doing will kill me," she said.