On the 29th November, Casanova wrote from Frankfort that a drunken postilion had upset him and in the fall he had dislocated his left shoulder, but that a good bone-setter had restored it to place. On the 1st December he wrote that he was healed, having taken medicine and having been blooded. He promised to send Francesca eight sequins to pay her rent. He reached Vienna about the 7th of December and on the 15th sent Francesco a bill of exchange for eight sequins and two lires.
On the last day of 1783, Francesca wrote to him at Vienna:
“I see by your good letter that you will go to Dresden and then to Berlin and that you will return to Vienna the 10th January . . . . I am astonished, my dear friend, at the great journeys you make in this cold weather, but, still, you are a great man, big-hearted, full of spirit and courage; you travel in this terrible cold as though it were nothing . . . . â€
On the 9th January, Casanova wrote from Dessau to his brother Giovanni, proposing to make peace with him, but without results. On the 27th, he was at Prague. By the 16th February, he was again in Vienna, after a trip lasting sixty-two days. His health was perfect, and he had gained flesh due, as he wrote Francesca, to his contented mind which was no longer tormented.
In February, he entered the service of M. Foscarini, Venetian Ambassador, “to write dispatches.â€
On the 10th March, Francesca wrote:
“Dearest of Friends, I reply at once to your good letter of the 28th February which I received Sunday . . . . I thank you for your kindness which makes you say that you love me and that when you have money you will send me some . . . but that at the moment you are dry as a salamander. I do not know what sort of animal that is. But as for me I am certainly dry of money and I am consumed with the hope of having some . . . . I see that you were amused at the Carnival and that you were four times at the masked ball, where there were two hundred women, and that you danced minuets and quadrilles to the great astonishment of the ambassador Foscarini who told everyone that you were sixty years old, although in reality you have not yet reached your sixtieth year. You might well laugh at that and say that he must be blind to have such an idea.
“I see that you assisted, with your brother, at a grand dinner at the Ambassador’s . . . .
“You say that you have read my letters to your brother and that he salutes me. Make him my best compliments and thank him. You ask me to advise you whether, if he should happen to return to Venice with you, he could lodge with you in your house. Tell him yes, because the chickens are always in the loft and make no dirt; and, as for the dogs, one watches to see that they do not make dirt. The furniture of the apartment is already in place; it lacks only a wardrobe and the little bed which you bought for your nephew and the mirror; as for the rest, everything is as you left it. . . .â€
It is possible that, at the “grand dinner,†Casanova was presented to Count Waldstein, without whose kindness to Casanova the Memoirs probably would never have been written. The Lord of Dux, Joseph Charles Emmanuel Waldstein-Wartenberg, Chamberlain to Her Imperial Majesty, descendant of the great Wallenstein, was the elder of the eleven children of Emmanuel Philibert, Count Waldstein, and Maria Theresa, Princess Liechtenstein. Very egotistic and willful in his youth, careless of his affairs, and an imprudent gambler, at thirty years of age he had not yet settled down. His mother was disconsolated that her son could not separate himself from occupations “so little suited to his spirit and his birth.â€
On the 13th March 1784, Count Lamberg wrote Casanova: “I know M. le C. de Waldstein through having heard him praised by judges worthy of appreciating the transcendent qualities of more than one kind peculiar to the Count. I congratulate you on having such a Maecenas, and I congratulate him in his turn on having chosen such a man as yourself.†Which last remark certainly foreshadows the library at Dux.
Later, on the lath March, 1785, Zaguri wrote: “In two months at the latest, all will be settled. I am very happy.†Referring further, it is conjectured, to Casanova’s hopes of placing himself with the Count.
20th March 1784. “I see that you will print one of your books; you say that you will send me two hundred copies which I can sell at thirty sous each; that you will tell Zaguri and that he will advise those who wish copies to apply to me . . .â€
This book was the Lettre historico-critique sur un fait connu dependant d’une cause peu connue, adressee au duc de * * *, 1784.
3rd April 1784. “I see with pleasure that you have gone to amuse yourself in company with two ladies and that you have traveled five posts to see the Emperor [Joseph II] . . . . You say that your fortune consists of one sequin . . . . I hope that you obtained permission to print your book, that you will send me the two hundred copies, and that I may be able to sell them. . . .â€
14th April 1784. “You say that a man without money is the image of death, that he is a very wretched animal. I learn with regret that I am unlikely to see you at the approaching Festival of the Ascension . . . that you hope to see me once more before dying . . . . You make me laugh, telling me that at Vienna a balloon was made which arose in the air with six persons and that it might be that you would go up also.â€
28th April 1784. “I see, to my lively regret, that you have been in bed with your usual ailment [hemorrhoids]. But I am pleased to know that you are better. You certainly should go to the baths . . . . I have been discouraged in seeing that you have not come to Venice because you have no money .... P. S. Just at this moment I have received a good letter, enclosing a bill of exchange, which I will go and have paid . . . .â€
5th May 1784. “I went to the house of M. Francesco Manenti, at S. Polo di Campo, with my bill of exchange, and he gave me at once eighteen pieces of ten lires each . . . . I figure that you made fun of me saying seriously that you will go up in a balloon and that, if the wind is favorable, you will go in the air to Trieste and then from Trieste to Venice.â€
19th May 1784. “I see, to my great regret, that you are in poor health and still short of money .... You say that you need twenty sequins and that you have only twenty trari . . . . I hope that your book is printed. . . .â€
29th May 1784. “I note with pleasure that you are going to take the baths; but I regret that this treatment enfeebles and depresses you. It reassures me that you do not fail in your appetite nor your sleep.... I hope I will not hear you say again that you are disgusted with everything, and no longer in love with life . . . . I see that for you, at this moment, fortune sleeps . . . . I am not surprised that everything is so dear in the city where you are, for at Venice also one pays dearly and everything is priced beyond reach.â€
Zaguri wrote Casanova the 12th May, that he had met Francesca in the Mongolfieri casino. And on the 2nd June Casanova, doubtless feeling his helplessness in the matter of money, and the insufficiency of his occasional remittances, and suspicious of Francesca’s loyalty, wrote her a letter of renunciation. Then came her news of the sale of his books; and eighteen months passed before he wrote to her again.
On the 12th June 1784, Francesca replied: “I could not expect to convey to you, nor could you figure, the sorrow that tries me in seeing that you will not occupy yourself any more with me . . . . I hid from you that I had been with that woman who lived with us, with her companion, the cashier of the Academie des Mongolfceristes. Although I went to this Academy with prudence and dignity, I did not want to write you for fear you would scold me. That is the only reason, and hereafter you may be certain of my sincerity and frankness. . . . I beg you to forgive me this time, if I write you something I have never written for fear that you would be angry with me because I had not told you. Know then that four months ago, your books which were on the mezzanine were sold to a library for the sum of fifty lires, when we were in urgent need. It was my mother who did it. . . .â€
26th June 1784. “. . . Mme. Zenobia [de Monti] has asked me if I would enjoy her company. Certain that you would consent I have allowed her to come and live with me. She has sympathy for me and has always loved me.â€
7th July 1784. “Your silence greatly disturbs me! To receive no more of your letters! By good post I have sent you three letters, with this one, and you have not replied to any of them. Certainly, you have reason for being offended at me, because I hid from you something which you learned from another . . . . But you might have seen, from my last letter, that I have written you all the truth about my fault and that I have asked your pardon for not writing it before.... Without you and your help, God knows what will become of us.... For the rent of your chamber Mme. Zenobia will give us eight lires a month and five lires for preparing her meals. But what can one do with thirteen lires! . . . I am afflicted and mortified. . . . Do not abandon me.â€
In 1785, at Vienna, Casanova ran across Costa, his former secretary who, in 1761, had fled from him taking “diamonds, watches, snuffbox, linen, rich suits and a hundred louis.†“In 1785, I found this runagate at Vienna. He was then Count Erdich’s man, and when we come to that period, the reader shall hear what I did.â€
Casanova did not reach this period, in writing his Memoirs, but an account of this meeting is given by Da Ponte, who was present at it, in his Memoirs. Costa had met with many misfortunes, as he told Casanova, and had himself been defrauded. Casanova threatened to have him hanged, but according to Da Ponte, was dissuaded from this by counter accusations made by Costa.
Da Ponte’s narration of the incident is brilliant and amusing, in spite of our feeling that it is maliciously exaggerated: “Strolling one morning in the Graben with Casanova, I suddenly saw him knit his brows, squawk, grind his teeth, twist himself, raise his hands skyward, and, snatching himself away from me, throw himself on a man whom I seemed to know, shouting with a very loud voice: ‘Murderer, I have caught thee.’ A crowd having gathered as a result of this strange act and yell, I approached them with some disgust; nevertheless, I caught Casanova’s hand and almost by force I separated him from the fray. He then told me the story, with desperate motions and gestures, and said that his antagonist was Gioachino Costa, by whom he had been betrayed. This Gioachino Costa, although he had been forced to become a servant by his vices and bad practices, and was at that very time servant to a Viennese gentleman, was more or less of a poet. He was, in fact, one of those who had honored me with their satire, when the Emperor Joseph selected me as poet of his theater. Costa entered a cafe, and while I continued to walk with Casanova, wrote and send him by a messenger, the following verses:
“‘Casanova, make no outcry;You stole, indeed, as well as I;You were the one who first taught me;Your art I mastered thoroughly.Silence your wisest course will be.’
“These verses had the desired effect. After a brief silence, Casanova laughed and then said softly in my ear: ‘The rogue is right.’ He went into the cafe and motioned to Costa to come out; they began to walk together calmly, as if nothing had happened, and they parted shaking hands repeatedly and seemingly calm and friendly. Casanova returned to me with a cameo on his little finger, which by a strange coincidence, represented Mercury, the god-protector of thieves. This was his greatest valuable, and it was all that was left of the immense booty, but represented the character of the two restored friends, perfectly.â€
Da Ponte precedes this account with a libellous narrative of Casanova’s relations with the Marquise d’Urfe, even stating that Casanova stole from her the jewels stolen in turn by Costa, but, as M. Maynial remarks, we may attribute this perverted account “solely to the rancour and antipathy of the narrator.†It is more likely that Casanova frightened Costa almost out of his wits, was grimly amused at his misfortunes, and let him go, since there was no remedy to Casanova’s benefit, for his former rascality. Casanova’s own brief, anticipatory account is given in his Memoirs.
In 1797, correcting and revising his Memoirs, Casanova wrote: “Twelve years ago, if it had not been for my guardian angel, I would have foolishly married, at Vienna, a young, thoughtless girl, with whom I had fallen in love.†In which connection, his remark is interesting: “I have loved women even to madness, but I have always loved liberty better; and whenever I have been in danger of losing it, fate has come to my rescue.â€
While an identification of the “young, thoughtless girl†has been impossible, M. Rava believes her to be “C. M.,†the subject of a poem found at Dux, written in duplicate, in Italian and French, and headed “Giacomo Casanova, in love, to C. M.â€
“When, Catton, to your sight is shown the love Which all my tenderest caresses prove, Feeling all pleasure’s sharpest joys and fears, Burning one moment, shivering the next, Caressing you while showering you with tears, Giving each charm a thousand eager kisses, Wishing to touch at once a thousand blisses And, at the ones beyond my power, vexed, Abandoned in a furious desire, Leaving these charms for other charms that fire, Possessing all and yet desiring Until, destroyed by excesses of pleasure, Finding no words of love nor anything To express my fires overflowing measure Than deepening sighs and obscure murmuring: Ah! Then you think to read my inmost heart To find the love that can these signs impart ....Be not deceived. These transports, amorous cries, These kisses, tears, desires and heavy sighs, Of all the fire which devours me Could less than even the lightest tokens be.â€
Evidently this same girl is the authoress of the two following letters written by “Caton M . . . .†to Casanova in 1786.
12th April 1786. “You will infinitely oblige me if you will tell me to whom you wrote such pretty things about me; apparently it is the Abbe Da Ponte; but I would go to his house and, either he would prove that you had written it or I would have the honor of telling him that he is the most infamous traducer in the world. I think that the lovely picture which you make of my future has not as much excuse as you may think, and, in spite of your science, you deceive yourself.... But just now I will inform you of all my wooers and you can judge for yourself by this whether I deserve all the reproaches you made me in your last letter. It is two years since I came to know the Count de K . . . ; I could have loved him but I was too honest to be willing to satisfy his desires . . . . Some months afterward, I came to know the Count de M . . . ; he was not so handsome as K . . . , but he possessed every possible art for seducing a girl; I did everything for him, but I never loved him as much as his friend. In fine, to tell you all my giddinesses in a few words, I set everything right again with K . . . . and got myself into a quarrel with M . . . ., then I left K. . . . and returned to M . . . ., but at the house of the latter there was always an officer who pleased me more than both the two others and who sometimes conducted me to the house; then we found ourselves at the house of a friend, and it is of this same officer that I am ill. So, my dear friend, that is all. I do not seek to justify my past conduct; on the contrary, I know well that I have acted badly.... I am much afflicted at being the cause of your remaining away from Venice during the Carnival . . . . I hope to see you soon again and am, with much love,
“Monsieur, your sincere
“Caton M. . . .â€
16th July 1786. “I have spoken with the Abbe Da Ponte. He invited me to come to his house because, he said, he had something to tell me for you. I went there, but was received so coldly that I am resolved not to go there again. Also, Mlle. Nanette affected an air of reserve and took at on herself to read me lessons on what she was pleased to call my libertinism . . . . I beg that you will write nothing more about me to these two very dangerous personages.... Just now I will tell you of a little trick which I played on you, which without doubt deserves some punishment. The young, little Kasper, whom you formerly loved, came to ask me for the address of her dear Monsieur de Casanova, so that she could write a very tender letter full of recollections. I had too much politeness to wish to refuse a pretty girl, who was once the favorite of my lover, so just a request, so I gave her the address she wished; but I addressed the letter to a city far from you. Is it not, my dear friend, that you would like well to know the name of the city, so that you could secure the letter by posts. But you can depend on my word that you will not know it until you have written me a very long letter begging me very humbly to indicate the place where the divine letter of the adorable object of your vows has gone. You might well make this sacrifice for a girl in whom the Emperor [Joseph II] interests himself, for it is known that, since your departure from Vienna, it is he who is teaching her French and music; and apparently he takes the trouble of instructing her himself, for she often goes to his house to thank him for his kindnesses to her, but I know not in what way she expresses herself.
“Farewell, my dear friend. Think sometimes of me and believe that I am your sincere friend.â€
On the 23rd April 1785, the ambassador Foscarini died, depriving Casanova of a protector, probably leaving him without much money, and not in the best of health. He applied for the position of secretary to Count Fabris, his former friend, whose name had been changed from Tognolo, but without success. Casanova then determined to go to Berlin in the hope of a place in the Academy. On the 30th July he arrived at Bruen in Moravia, where his friend Maximilian-Joseph, Count Lamberg gave him, among other letters of recommendation, a letter addressed to Jean-Ferdinand Opiz, Inspector of Finances and Banks at Czaslau, in which he wrote:
“A celebrated man, M. Casanova, will deliver to you, my dear friend, the visiting card with which he is charged for Mme. Opiz and yourself. Knowing this amiable and remarkable man, will mark an epoch in your life, be polite and friendly to him, ‘quod ipsi facies in mei memoriam faciatis’. Keep yourself well, write to me, and if you can direct him to some honest man at Carlsbad, fail not to do so. . . .â€
On the 15th August 1785, M. Opiz wrote Count Lamberg about Casanova’s visit:
“Your letter of the 30th, including your cards for my wife and myself, was delivered the first of this month by M. Casanova. He was very anxious to meet the Princess Lubomirski again at Carlsbad. But as something about his carriage was broken, he was obliged to stop in Czaslau for two hours which he passed in my company. He has left Czaslau with the promise of giving me a day on his return. I am already delighted. Even in the short space of time in which I enjoyed his company, I found in him a man worthy of our highest consideration and of our love, a benevolent philosopher whose homeland is the great expanse of our planet (and not Venice alone) and who values only the men in the kings . . . . I know absolutely no one at Carlsbad, so I sincerely regret being unable to recommend him to anyone there, according to your desire. He did not wish, on account of his haste, to pause even at Prague and, consequently, to deliver, at this time, your letter to Prince Furstemberg.â€
It is uncertain how long Casanova remained at Carlsbad. While there, however, he met again the Polish nobleman Zawoiski, with whom he had gambled in Venice in 1746. “As to Zawoiski, I did not tell him the story until I met him in Carlsbad old and deaf, forty years later.†He did not return to Czaslau, but in September 1785 he was at Teplitz where he found Count Waldstein whom he accompanied to his castle at Dux.
From this time onward he remained almost constantly at the castle where he was placed in charge of the Count’s library and given a pension of one thousand florins annually.
Describing his visit to the castle in 1899, Arthur Symons writes: “I had the sensation of an enormous building: all Bohemian castles are big, but this one was like a royal palace. Set there in the midst of the town, after the Bohemian fashion, it opens at the back upon great gardens, as if it were in the midst of the country. I walked through room after room, corridor after corridor; everywhere there were pictures, everywhere portraits of Wallenstein, and battle scenes in which he led on his troops. The library, which was formed, or at least arranged, by Casanova, and which remains as he left it, contains some twenty-five thousand volumes, some of them of considerable value . . . . The library forms part of the Museum, which occupies a ground-floor wing of the castle. The first room is an armoury, in which all kinds of arms are arranged, in a decorative way, covering the ceiling and the walls with strange patterns. The second room contains pottery, collected by Casanova’s Waldstein on his Eastern travels. The third room is full of curious mechanical toys, and cabinets, and carvings in ivory. Finally, we come to the library, contained in the two innermost rooms. The book shelves are painted white and reach to the low vaulted ceilings, which are whitewashed. At the end of a bookcase, in the corner of one of the windows, hangs a fine engraved portrait of Casanova.â€
In this elaborate setting, Casanova found the refuge he so sadly needed for his last years. The evil days of Venice and Vienna, and the problems and makeshifts of mere existence, were left behind. And for this refuge he paid the world with his Memoirs.
1st July 1786. “After a silence of a year and a half, I received from you yesterday a good letter which has consoled me in informing me that you are in perfect health. But, on the other hand, I was much pained to see that in your letter you did not call me Friend, but Madame . . . . You have reason to chide me and to reproach me for having rented a house without surety or means of paying the rent. As to the advice you give me that if some honest person would pay me my rent, or at least a part of it, I should have no scruples about taking it because a little more, or a little less, would be of little importance . . . . I declare to you that I have been disconsolated at receiving from you such a reproach which is absolutely unjustified . . . . You tell me that you have near you a young girl who merits all your solicitations and your love, she and her family of six persons who adore you and give you every attention; that she costs you all you have, so that you cannot send me even a sou . . . . I am pained to hear you say that you will never return to Venice, and yet I hope to see you again. . . .â€
The “young girl†referred to in Francesca’s letter was Anna-Dorothea Kleer, daughter of the porter of the castle. This young girl became pregnant in 1786 and Casanova was accused of seducing her. The guilty one, however, was a painter named Schottner who married the unfortunate girl in January 1787.
9th August 1786.
“My only true friend,
“It is two days since I received your dear letter; I was very happy to see your writing .... You have reason to mortify me and reproach me in recalling all the troubles I caused you, and especially that which you call treachery, the sale of your books, of which in part I was not guilty . . . . Forgive me, my dear friend, me and my foolish mother who, despite all my objections, absolutely insisted on selling them. Regarding that which you write me that you know that my mother, last year, told about that you had been my ruin, this may unhappily be true, since you already know the evil thoughts of my mother, who even says that you are still at Venice . . . . When have I not been always sincere with you, and when have I not at least listened to your good advices and offers? I am in a desperate situation, abandoned by all, almost in the streets, almost about to be homeless . . . . Where are all the pleasures which formerly you procured me? Where are the theatres, the comedies which we once saw together? . . .â€
5th January 1787.
“The first of the year I received your dear letter with the bill of exchange for one hundred and twenty-five lires which you sent me so generously . . . . You say you have forgiven me for all the troubles I have caused you. Forget all, then, and do not accuse me any more of things which are but too true and of which the remembrance alone cuts me to the heart . . . . You write me that you have been forgotten by a person of whom you were very fond, that she is married and that you have not seen her for more than a month.â€
The “person†referred to was Anna Kleer.
5th October 1787.
. . . . “Until the other day, I had been waiting for your arrival, hoping that you would come to assist at the entry of the Procurator Memmo . . . . I see by your good letter that you were not able to get away, since your presence is nearly always necessary in the great castle . . . . I learn of the visit you have received from the Emperor who wished to see your library of forty-thousand volumes! . . . You say that you detest the chase and that you are unhappy when politeness obliges you to go . . . . I am pleased to know that you are in good health, that you are stout and that you have a good appetite and sleep well . . . . I hope that the printing of your book [Histoire de ma fuite] is going according to your wishes. If you go to Dresden for the marriage of your niece, enjoy yourself for me . . . . Forget not to write to me; this gives me such pleasure! Remember me. Full of confidence in your friendship, I am, and always will be, your true and sincere friend,
“Francesca Buschina.â€
In 1787, a book was published under the title of ‘Dreissig Brief uber Galizien by Traunpaur’, which included this passage: “The most famous adventurers of two sorts (there are two, in fact: honest adventurers and adventurers of doubtful reputation) have appeared on the scene of the kingdom of Poland. The best known on the shores of the Vistula are: the miraculous Cagliostro: Boisson de Quency, grand charlatan, soldier of fortune, decorated with many orders, member of numerous Academies: the Venetian Casanova of Saint-Gall, a true savant, who fought a duel with Count Branicki: the Baron de Poellnitz . . . the lucky Count Tomatis, who knew so well how to correct fortune, and many others.â€
In June 1789, Casanova received a letter from Teresa Boisson de Quency, the wife of the adventurer above referred to:
“Much honored Monsieur Giacomo:
“For a long time I have felt a very particular desire to evidence to you the estimation due your spirit and your eminent qualities: the superb sonnet augmented my wish. But the inconveniences of childbirth and the cares required by a little girl whom I adore, made me defer this pleasure. During my husband’s absence, your last and much honored letter came to my hands. Your amiable compliments to me, engage me to take the pen to give you renewed assurance that you have in me a sincere admirer of your great talent . . . . When I wish to point out a person who writes and thinks with excellence, I name Monsieur Casanova . . . .â€
In 1793, Teresa de Quency wished to return to Venice at which time Zaguri wrote Casanova: “The Bassani has received letters from her husband which tell her nothing more than that he is alive.â€
Casanova passed the months of May, June and July 1788 at Prague, supervising the printing of the Histoire de ma fuite.
“I remember laughing very heartily at Prague, six years ago, on learning that some thin-skinned ladies, on reading my flight from The Leads, which was published at that date, took great offense at the above account, which they thought I should have done well to leave out.â€
In May he was troubled with an attack of the grippe. In October, he was in Dresden, apparently with his brother. Around this time “The Magdalene,†a painting by Correggio, was stolen from the Museum of the Elector.
On the 30th October 1788, Casanova wrote to the Prince Belozelski, Russian Minister to the Court of Dresden: “Tuesday morning, after having embraced my dear brother, I got into a carriage to return here. At the barrier on the outskirts of Dresden, I was obliged to descend, and six men carried the two chests of my carriage, my two night-bags and my capelire into a little chamber on the ground level, demanded my keys, and examined everything . . . . The youngest of these infamous executors of such an order told me they were searching for ‘The Magdalene! . . . The oldest had the impudence to put his hands on my waistcoat . . . . At last they let me go.
“This, my prince, delayed me so that I could not reach Petervalden by daylight. I stopped at an evil tavern where, dying of famine and rage, I ate everything I saw; and, wishing to drink and not liking beer, I gulped down some beverage which my host told me was good and which did not seem unpleasant. He told me that it was Pilnitz Moste. This beverage aroused a rebellion in my guts. I passed the night tormented by a continual diarrhoea. I arrived here the day before yesterday (the 28th), where I found an unpleasant duty awaiting me. Two months ago, I brought a woman here to cook, needing her while the Count is away; as soon as she arrived, I gave her a room and I went to Leipzig. On returning here, I found three servants in the hands of surgeons and all three blame my cook for putting them in such a state. The Count’s courier had already told me, at Leipzig, that she had crippled him. Yesterday the Count arrived and would do nothing but laugh, but I have sent her back and exhorted her to imitate the Magdalene. The amusing part is that she is old, ugly and ill-smelling.â€
In 1789, 1791 and 1792, Casanova received three letters from Maddalena Allegranti, the niece of J. B. Allegranti the innkeeper with whom Casanova lodged at Florence in 1771. “This young person, still a child, was so pretty, so gracious, with such spirit and such charms, that she incessantly distracted me. Sometimes she would come into my chamber to wish me good-morning . . . . Her appearance, her grace, the sound of her voice . . . were more than I could resist; and, fearing the seduction would excuse mine, I could find no other expedient than to take flight. . . . Some years later, Maddalena became a celebrated musician.â€
At this period of Casanova’s life, we hear again of the hussy who so upset Casanova during his visit to London that he was actually on the point of committing suicide through sheer desperation. On the 20th September 1789, he wrote to the Princess Clari, sister of the Prince de Ligne: “I am struck by a woman at first sight, she completely ravishes me, and I am perhaps lost, for she may be a Charpillon.â€
There were, among the papers at Dux, two letters from Marianne Charpillon, and a manuscript outlining the story of Casanova’s relations with her and her family, as detailed in the Memoirs: With the story in mind, the letters from this girl, “the mistress, now of one, now of another,†are of interest:
“I know not, Monsieur, whether you forgot the engagement Saturday last; as for me, I remember that you consented to give us the pleasure of having you at dinner to-day, Monday, the 12th of the month. I would greatly like to know whether your ill-humor has left you; this would please me. Farewell, in awaiting the honor of seeing you.
“Marianne de Charpillon.â€
“Monsieur,
“As I have a part in all which concerns you, I am greatly put out to know of the new illness which incommodes you; I hope that this will be so trifling that we will have the pleasure of seeing you well and at our house, to-day or to-morrow.
“And, in truth, the gift which you sent me is so pretty that I know not how to express to you the pleasure it has given me and how much I value it; and I cannot see why you must always provoke me by telling me that it is my fault that you are filled with bile, while I am as innocent as a new-born babe and would wish you so gentle and patient that your blood would become a true clarified syrup; this will come to you if you follow my advice. I am, Monsieur,
“Your very humble servant,
“[Marianne Charpillon]
“Wednesday at six o’clockâ€
On the 8th April, 1790, Zaguri wrote in reference to vertigo of which Casanova complained: “Have you tried riding horseback? Do you not think that is an excellent preservative? I tried it this last summer and I find myself very well.â€
In 1790, Casanova had a conversation with the Emperor Joseph II at Luxemburg, on the subject of purchased nobility, which he reports in the Memoirs.
This same year, attending the coronation of Leopold at Prague, Casanova met his grandson (and, probably, as he himself believed, his own son), the son of Leonilda, who was the daughter of Casanova and Donna Lucrezia, and who was married to the Marquis C . . . . In 1792, Leonilda wrote, inviting Casanova to “spend the remainder of my days with her.â€
In February 1791, Casanova wrote to Countess Lamberg: “I have in my capitularies more than four hundred sentences which pass for aphorisms and which include all the tricks which place one word for another. One can read in Livy that Hannibal overcame the Alps by means of vinegar. No elephant ever uttered such a stupidity. Livy? Not at all. Livy was not a beast; it is you who are, foolish instructor of credulous youth! Livy did not say aceto which means vinegar, but aceta which means axe.â€
In April 1791, Casanova wrote to Carlo Grimani at Venice, stating that he felt he had committed a great fault in publishing his libel, ‘Ne amori ne donne’, and very humbly begging his pardon. Also that his Memoirs would be composed of six volumes in octavo with a seventh supplementary volume containing codicils.
In June, Casanova composed for the theater of Princess Clari, at Teplitz, a piece entitled: ‘Le Polemoscope ou la Calomnie demasquee par la presence d’esprit, tragicomedie en trois actes’. The manuscript was preserved at Dux, together with another form of the same, having the sub-title of ‘La Lorgnette Menteuse ou la Calomnie demasquee’. It may be assumed that the staging of this piece was an occasion of pleasant activity for Casanova.
In January 1792, during Count Waldstein’s absence in London or Paris, Casanova was embroiled with M. Faulkircher, maitre d’hotel, over the unpleasant matter indicated in two of Casanova’s letters to this functionary:
“Your rascally Vidierol . . . tore my portrait out of one of my books, scrawled my name on it, with the epithet which you taught him and then stuck it on the door of the privy ....
“Determined to make sure of the punishment of your infamous valet, and wishing at the same time to give proof of my respect for Count Waldstein, not forgetting that, as a last resort, I have the right to invade his jurisdiction, I took an advocate, wrote my complaint and had it translated into German . . . . Having heard of this at Teplitz, and having known that I would not save your name, you came to my chamber to beg me to write whatever I wished but not to name you because it would place you wrong before the War Council and expose you to the loss of your pension . . . . I have torn up my first complaint and have written a second in Latin, which an advocate of Bilin has translated for me and which I have deposited at the office of the judiciary at Dux....â€
Following this matter, Casanova attended the Carnival at Oberleutensdorf, and left at Dux a manuscript headed ‘Passe temps de Jacques Casanova de Seingalt pour le carnaval de l’an 1792 dans le bourg d’Oberleutensdorf’. While in that city, meditating on the Faulkircher incident, he wrote also ‘Les quinze pardons, monologue nocturne du bibliothecaire’, also preserved in manuscript at Dux, in which we read:
“Gerron, having served twenty years as a simple soldier, acquired a great knowledge of military discipline. This man was not yet seventy years old. He had come to believe, partly from practice, partly from theory, that twenty blows with a baton on the rump are not dishonoring. When the honest soldier was unfortunate enough to deserve them, he accepted them with resignation. The pain was sharp, but not lasting; it did not deprive him of either appetite nor honor . . . . Gerron, becoming a corporal, had obtained no idea of any kind of sorrow other than that coming from the blows of a baton on the rump . . . . On this idea, he thought that the soul of an honest man was no different than a soldier’s breech. If Gerron caused trouble to the spirit of a man of honor, he thought that this spirit, like his own, had only a rump, and that any trouble he caused would pass likewise. He deceived himself. The breech of the spirit of an honest man is different than the breech of the spirit of a Gerron who rendered compatible the rank of a military officer with the vile employments of a domestic and the stable-master of some particular lord. Since Gerron deceived himself, we must pardon him all his faults . . .†etc.
Casanova complained of the Faulkircher incident to the mother of Count Waldstein, who wrote: “I pity you, Monsieur, for being obliged to live among such people and in such evil company, but my son will not forget that which he owes to himself and I am sure he will give you all the satisfaction you wish.†Also to his friend Zaguri, who wrote, the 16th March: “I hope that the gout in your hand will not torment you any more. . . . You have told me the story I asked about and which begins: ‘Two months have passed since an officer, who is at Vienna, insulted me!’ I cannot understand whether he who wrote you an insulting letter is at Vienna or whether he is at Dux. When will the Count return? . . . You should await his return because you would have, among other reasons to present to him, that of not wishing to have recourse to other jurisdiction than his. . . You say your letters have been intercepted? Someone has put your portrait in the privy? The devil! It is a miracle that you have not killed someone. Positively, I am curious to know the results and I hope that you make no mistakes in this affair which appears to me very delicate.â€
In August 1792, or thereabouts, Da Ponte on his way to Dresden, visited Casanova at Dux, in the hope of collecting an old debt, but gave up this hope on realizing Casanova’s limited resources. In the winter of 1792-3 Da Ponte found himself in great distress in Holland. “Casanova was the only man to whom I could apply,†he writes in his Memoirs. “To better dispose him, I thought to write him in verse, depicting my troubles and begging him to send me some money on account of that which he still owed me. Far from considering my request, he contented himself with replying, in vulgar prose, by a laconic billet which I transcribe: ‘When Cicero wrote to his friends, he avoided telling them of his affairs.’â€
In May 1793, Da Ponte wrote from London: “Count Waldstein has lived a very obscure life in London, badly lodged, badly dressed, badly served, always in cabarets, cafes, with porters, with rascals, with . . . we will leave out the rest. He has the heart of an angel and an excellent character, but not so good a head as ours.â€
Toward the end of 1792, Cssanova wrote a letter to Robespierre, which, as he advises M. Opiz, the 13th January 1793, occupied one hundred and twenty folio pages. This letter was not to be found at Dux and it may possibly have been sent, or may have been destroyed by Casanova on the advice of Abbe O’Kelly. Casanova’s feelings were very bitter over the trial of Louis XVI., and in his letters to M. Opiz he complained bitterly of the Jacobins and predicted the ruin of France. Certainly, to Casanova, the French Revolution represented the complete overthrow of many of his cherished illusions.
On the 1st August 1793, Wilhelmina Rietz, Countess Lichtenau (called the Pompadour of Frederic-William II., King of Prussia) wrote to the librarian at Dux:
“Monsieur
“It seems impossible to know where Count Valstaine [Waldstein] is staying, whether he is in Europe, Africa, America, or possibly the Megamiques. If he is there, you are the only one who could insure his receiving the enclosed letter.
“For my part, I have not yet had time to read their history, but the first reading I do will assuredly be that.
“Mademoiselle Chappuis has the honor of recalling herself to your memory, and I have that of being your very humble servant,
“Wilhelmina Rietz.â€
The allusions to a “history†and to the ‘Megamiques’ in this letter refer to Casanova’s romance, ‘Icosameron’.
About this time, Count Waldstein returned to Dux after having been, at Paris, according to Da Ponte, concerned in planning the flight of Louis XVI., and in attempting to save the Princess Lamballe. On the 17th August, Casanova replied to the above letter:
“Madame,
“I handed the Count your letter two minutes after having received it, finding him easily. I told him that he should respond at once, for the post was ready to go; but, as he begged to wait for the following ordinary, I did not insist. The day before yesterday, he begged me to wait again, but he did not find me so complaisant. I respond to you, Madame, for his carelessness in replying to letters is extreme; he is so shameful that he is in despair when he is obliged to it. Although he may not respond, be sure of seeing him at your house at Berlin after the Leipzig Fair, with a hundred bad excuses which you will laugh at and pretend to believe good ones . . . . This last month, my wish to see Berlin again has become immeasurable, and I will do my best to have Count Waldstein take me there in the month of October or at least to permit me to go . . . . You have given me an idea of Berlin far different than that the city left with me when I passed four months there twenty-nine years ago . . . . If my ‘Icosameron’ interests you, I offer you its Spirit. I wrote it here two years ago and I would not have published it if I had not dared hope that the Theological Censor would permit it. At Berlin no one raised the least difficulty . . . . If circumstances do not permit me to pay you my respects at Berlin, I hope for the happiness of seeing you here next year . . . .â€
Sometime after this and following his quarrel with M. Opiz, Casanova evidently passed through a period of depression, as indicated by a manuscript at Dux, headed “Short reflection of a philosopher who finds himself thinking of procuring his own death,†and dated “the 13th December 1793, the day dedicated to S. Lucie, remarkable in my too long life.â€
“Life is a burden to me. What is the metaphysical being who prevents me from slaying myself? It is Nature. What is the other being who enjoins me to lighten the burdens of that life which brings me only feeble pleasures and heavy pains? It is Reason. Nature is a coward which, demanding only conservation, orders me to sacrifice all to its existence. Reason is a being which gives me resemblance to God, which treads instinct under foot and which teaches me to choose the best way after having well considered the reasons. It demonstrates to me that I am a man in imposing silence on the Nature which opposes that action which alone could remedy all my ills.
“Reason convinces me that the power I have of slaying myself is a privilege given me by God, by which I perceive that I am superior to all animals created in the world; for there is no animal who can slay itself nor think of slaying itself, except the scorpion, which poisons itself, but only when the fire which surrounds it convinces it that it cannot save itself from being burned. This animal slays itself because it fears fire more than death. Reason tells me imperiously that I have the right to slay myself, with the divine oracle of Cen: ‘Qui non potest vivere bene non vivat male.’ These eight words have such power that it is impossible that a man to whom life is a burden could do other than slay himself on first hearing them.â€
Certainly, however, Casanova did not deceive himself with these sophisms, and Nature, who for many years had unquestionably lavished her gifts on him, had her way.
Over the end of the year, the two mathematicians, Casanova and Opiz, at the request of Count Waldstein, made a scientific examination of the reform of the calendar as decreed the 5th October 1793 by the National Convention.
In January 1795, Casanova wrote to the Princess Lobkowitz to thank her for her gift of a little dog. On the 16th the Princess wrote from Vienna:
“Monsieur,
“I am enchanted at the charming reception you accorded the dog which I sent you when I learned of the death of your well-loved greyhound, knowing that she would nowhere be better cared for than with you, Monsieur. I hope with all my heart that she has all the qualities which may, in some fashion, help you to forget the deceased . . . .â€
In the autumn of 1795, Casanova left Dux. The Prince de Ligne writes in his Memoirs: “God directed him to leave Dux. Scarcely believing in more than his death, which he no longer doubted, he pretended that each thing he had done was by the direction of God and this was his guide. God directed him to ask me for letters of recommendation to the Duke of Weimar, who was my good friend, to the Duchess of Gotha, who did not know me, and to the Jews of Berlin. And he departed secretly, leaving for Count Waldstein a letter at once tender, proud, honest and irritating. Waldstein laughed and said he would return. Casanova waited in ante-chambers; no one would place him either as governor, librarian or chamberlain. He said everywhere that the Germans were thorough beasts. The excellent and very amiable Duke of Weimer welcomed him wonderfully; but in an instant he became jealous of Goethe and Wieland, who were under the Duke’s protection. He declaimed against them and against the literature of the country which he did not, and could not, know. At Berlin, he declaimed against the ignorance, the superstition and the knavery of the Hebrews to whom I had addressed him, drawing meanwhile, for the money they claimed of him, bills of exchange on the Count who laughed, paid, and embraced him when he returned. Casanova laughed, wept, and told him that God had ordered him to make this trip of six weeks, to leave without speaking of it, and to return to his chamber at Dux. Enchanted at seeing us again, he agreeably related to us all the misfortunes which had tried him and to which his susceptibility gave the name of humiliations. ‘I am proud,’ he said, ‘because I am nothing’. . . . Eight days after his return, what new troubles! Everyone had been served strawberries before him, and none remained for him.â€
The Prince de Ligne, although he was Casanova’s sincere friend and admirer, gives a rather somber picture of Casanova’s life at Dux: “It must not be imagined that he was satisfied to live quietly in the refuge provided him through the kindness of Waldstein. That was not within his nature. Not a day passed without trouble; something was certain to be wrong with the coffee, the milk, the dish of macaroni, which he required each day. There were always quarrels in the house. The cook had ruined his polenta; the coachman had given him a bad driver to bring him to see me; the dogs had barked all night; there had been more guests than usual and he had found it necessary to eat at a side table. Some hunting-horn had tormented his ear with its blasts; the priest had been trying to convert him; Count Waldstein had not anticipated his morning greeting; the servant had delayed with his wine; he had not been introduced to some distinguished personage who had come to see the lance which had pierced the side of the great Wallenstein; the Count had lent a book without telling him; a groom had not touched his hat to him; his German speech had been misunderstood; he had become angry and people had laughed at him.â€
Like Count Waldstein, however, the Prince de Ligne made the widest allowances, understanding the chafing of Casanova’s restless spirit. “Casanova has a mind without an equal, from which each word is extraordinary and each thought a book.â€
On the 16th December, he wrote Casanova: “One is never old with your heart, your genius and your stomach.â€
Casanova’s own comment on his trip away from Dux will be found in the Memoirs. “Two years ago, I set out for Hamburg, but my good genius made me return to Dux. What had I to do at Hamburg?â€
On the 10th December, Casanova’s brother Giovanni [Jean] died. He was the Director of the Academy of Painting at Dresden. Apparently the two brothers could not remain friends.
Giovanni left two daughters, Teresa and Augusta, and two sons, Carlo and Lorenzo. While he was unable to remain friendly with his brother, Casanova apparently wished to be of assistance to his nieces, who were not in the best of circumstances, and he exchanged a number of letters with Teresa after her father’s death.
On the occasion of Teresa Casanova’s visit to Vienna in 1792, Princess Clari, oldest sister of the Prince de Ligne, wrote of her: “She is charming in every way, pretty as love, always amiable; she has had great success. Prince Kaunitz loves her to the point of madness.â€
In a letter of the 25th April 1796, Teresa assured her “very amiable and very dear uncle†that the cautions, which occupied three-fourths of his letter, were unnecessary; and compared him with his brother Francois, to the injury of the latter. On the 5th May, Teresa wrote:
“Before thanking you for your charming letter, my very kind uncle, I should announce the issue of our pension of one hundred and sixty crowns a year, which is to say, eighty crowns apiece; I am well satisfied for I did not hope to receive so much.†In the same letter, Teresa spoke of seeing much of a “charming man,†Don Antonio, who was no other than the rascally adventurer Don Antonio della Croce with whom Casanova had been acquainted since 1753, who assisted Casanova in losing a thousand sequins at Milan in 1763; who in 1767, at Spa, following financial reverses, abandoned his pregnant mistress to the charge of Casanova; and who in August 1795, wrote to Casanova: “Your letter gave me great pleasure as the sweet souvenir of our old friendship, unique and faithful over a period of fifty years.â€
It is probable that, at this time, Casanova visited Dresden and Berlin also. In his letter “To Leonard Snetlage,†he writes: “‘That which proves that revolution should arrive,’ a profound thinker said to me in Berlin, last year, ‘is that it has arrived.’â€
On the 1st March, 1798, Carlo Angiolini, the son of Maria Maddalena, Casanova’s sister, wrote to Casanova: “This evening, Teresa will marry M. le Chambellan de Veisnicht [Von Wessenig] whom you know well.†This desirable marriage received the approval of Francesco also. Teresa, as the Baroness Wessenig, occupied a prominent social position at Dresden. She died in 1842.
Between the 13th February and the 6th December 1796, Casanova engaged in a correspondence with Mlle. Henriette de Schuckmann who was visiting at Bayreuth. This Henriette (unfortunately not the Henriette of the Memoirs whose “forty letters†to Casanova apparently have not been located), had visited the library at Dux in the summer of 1786. “I was with the Chamberlain Freiberg, and I was greatly moved, as much by your conversation as by your kindness which provided me with a beautiful edition of Metastasio, elegantly bound in red morocco.†Finding herself at Bayreuth in an enforced idleness and wishing a stimulant, wishing also to borrow some books, she wrote Casanova, under the auspices of Count Koenig, a mutual friend, the 13th February 1796, recalling herself to his memory. Casanova responded to her overtures and five of her letters were preserved at Dux. On the 28th May Henriette wrote:
“But certainly, my good friend, your letters have given me the greatest pleasure, and it is with a rising satisfaction that I pore over all you say to me. I love, I esteem, I cherish, your frankness . . . . I understand you perfectly and I love to distraction the lively and energetic manner with which you express yourself.â€
On the 30th September, she wrote: “You will read to-day, if you please, a weary letter; for your silence, Monsieur, has given me humors. A promise is a debt, and in your last letter you promised to write me at least a dozen pages. I have every right to call you a bad debtor; I could summon you before a court of justice; but all these acts of vengeance would not repair the loss which I have endured through my hope and my fruitless waiting . . . . It is your punishment to read this trivial page; but although my head is empty, my heart is not so, and it holds for you a very living friendship.â€
In March 1797, this Henriette went to Lausanne and in May from there to her father’s home at Mecklenburg.