The Memoires of Casanova, Complete The Rare Unabridged London
Edition Of 1894, plus An Unpublished Chapter of History, By Arthur Symons
: Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
Translator: Arthur Machen
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT
1725-1798
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN
TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
[Transcriber's Note: These memoires were not written for children, they
may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and
The Old Testament. D.W.]
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
CONTENTS
CASANOVA AT DUX
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA
VENETIAN YEARS
EPISODE 1 — CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 2 — CLERIC IN NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 3 — MILITARY CAREER
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 4 — RETURN TO VENICE
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
EPISODE 5 — MILAN AND MANTUA
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE TO PARIS AND PRISON
EPISODE 6 — PARIS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 7 — VENICE
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 8 — CONVENT AFFAIRS
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
EPISODE 9 — THE FALSE NUN
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
EPISODE 10 — UNDER THE LEADS
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE EPISODE 11 — PARIS AND HOLLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 12 — RETURN TO PARIS
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 13 — HOLLAND AND GERMANY
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 14 — SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 15 — WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH
EPISODE 16 — DEPART SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
EPISODE 17 — RETURN TO ITALY
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 18—RETURN TO NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 19 — BACK AGAIN TO PARIS
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 20 — MILAN
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE VOLUME 5 — TO LONDON AND MOSCOW
EPISODE 21 — SOUTH OF FRANCE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 21 — TO LONDON
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 23—THE ENGLISH
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
EPISODE 24 — FLIGHT FROM LONDON TO BERLIN
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 25 — RUSSIA AND POLAND
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE VOLUME 6 — SPANISH PASSIONS
EPISODE 26 — SPAIN
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
EPISODE 27 — EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 28 — RETURN TO ROME
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 29 — FLORENCE TO TRIESTE
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
EPISODE 30 — OLD AGE AND DEATH OF CASANOVA
APPENDIX AND SUPPLEMENT
PART THE FIRST — VENICE 1774-1782
I — CASANOVA'S RETURN TO VENICE
II — RELATIONS WITH THE INQUISITORS
III — FRANCESCA BUSCHINI
IV — PUBLICATIONS
V — MLLE. X . . . C . . . V. . .
VI — LAST DAYS AT VENICE
PART THE SECOND — VIENNA-PARIS
I — 1783-1785
II — PARIS
III — VIENNA
IV — LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
V — LAST DAYS AT VIENNA
PART THE THIRD — DUX — 1786-1798
I — THE CASTLE AT DUX
II — LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
III — CORRESPONDENCE AND ACTIVITIES
IV — CORRESPONDENCE WITH JEAN-FERDINAND OPIZ
V — PUBLICATIONS
VI — SUMMARY of MY LIFE
VII — LAST DAYS AT DUX
Illustrations
Bookcover 1
Titlepage 1
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 14
Chapter 14b
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 16
Chapter 16b
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
CASANOVA AT DUX
An Unpublished Chapter of History, By Arthur Symons
I The Memoirs of Casanova, though they have enjoyed the popularity of a
bad reputation, have never had justice done to them by serious students
of literature, of life, and of history. One English writer, indeed, Mr.
Havelock Ellis, has realised that 'there are few more delightful books
in the world,' and he has analysed them in an essay on Casanova,
published in Affirmations, with extreme care and remarkable subtlety.
But this essay stands alone, at all events in English, as an attempt to
take Casanova seriously, to show him in his relation to his time, and in
his relation to human problems. And yet these Memoirs are perhaps the
most valuable document which we possess on the society of the eighteenth
century; they are the history of a unique life, a unique personality,
one of the greatest of autobiographies; as a record of adventures, they
are more entertaining than Gil Blas, or Monte Cristo, or any of the
imaginary travels, and escapes, and masquerades in life, which have been
written in imitation of them. They tell the story of a man who loved
life passionately for its own sake: one to whom woman was, indeed, the
most important thing in the world, but to whom nothing in the world was
indifferent. The bust which gives us the most lively notion of him shows
us a great, vivid, intellectual face, full of fiery energy and calm
resource, the face of a thinker and a fighter in one. A scholar, an
adventurer, perhaps a Cabalist, a busy stirrer in politics, a gamester,
one 'born for the fairer sex,' as he tells us, and born also to be a
vagabond; this man, who is remembered now for his written account of his
own life, was that rarest kind of autobiographer, one who did not live
to write, but wrote because he had lived, and when he could live no
longer.
And his Memoirs take one all over Europe, giving sidelights, all the
more valuable in being almost accidental, upon many of the affairs and
people most interesting to us during two-thirds of the eighteenth
century. Giacomo Casanova was born in Venice, of Spanish and Italian
parentage, on April 2, 1725; he died at the Chateau of Dux, in Bohemia,
on June 4, 1798. In that lifetime of seventy-three years he travelled,
as his Memoirs show us, in Italy, France, Germany, Austria, England,
Switzerland, Belgium, Russia, Poland, Spain, Holland, Turkey; he met
Voltaire at Ferney, Rousseau at Montmorency, Fontenelle, d'Alembert and
Crebillon at Paris, George III. in London, Louis XV. at Fontainebleau,
Catherine the Great at St. Petersburg, Benedict XII. at Rome, Joseph II.
at Vienna, Frederick the Great at Sans-Souci. Imprisoned by the
Inquisitors of State in the Piombi at Venice, he made, in 1755, the most
famous escape in history. His Memoirs, as we have them, break off
abruptly at the moment when he is expecting a safe conduct, and the
permission to return to Venice after twenty years' wanderings. He did
return, as we know from documents in the Venetian archives; he returned
as secret agent of the Inquisitors, and remained in their service from
1774 until 1782. At the end of 1782 he left Venice; and next year we
find him in Paris, where, in 1784, he met Count Waldstein at the
Venetian Ambassador's, and was invited by him to become his librarian at
Dux. He accepted, and for the fourteen remaining years of his life lived
at Dux, where he wrote his Memoirs.
Casanova died in 1798, but nothing was heard of the Memoirs (which the
Prince de Ligne, in his own Memoirs, tells us that Casanova had read to
him, and in which he found 'du dyamatique, de la rapidite, du comique,
de la philosophie, des choses neuves, sublimes, inimitables meme') until
the year 1820, when a certain Carlo Angiolini brought to the publishing
house of Brockhaus, in Leipzig, a manuscript entitled Histoire de ma vie
jusqu a l'an 1797, in the handwriting of Casanova. This manuscript,
which I have examined at Leipzig, is written on foolscap paper, rather
rough and yellow; it is written on both sides of the page, and in sheets
or quires; here and there the paging shows that some pages have been
omitted, and in their place are smaller sheets of thinner and whiter
paper, all in Casanova's handsome, unmistakable handwriting. The
manuscript is done up in twelve bundles, corresponding with the twelve
volumes of the original edition; and only in one place is there a gap.
The fourth and fifth chapters of the twelfth volume are missing, as the
editor of the original edition points out, adding: 'It is not probable
that these two chapters have been withdrawn from the manuscript of
Casanova by a strange hand; everything leads us to believe that the
author himself suppressed them, in the intention, no doubt, of re-
writing them, but without having found time to do so.' The manuscript
ends abruptly with the year 1774, and not with the year 1797, as the
title would lead us to suppose.
This manuscript, in its original state, has never been printed. Herr
Brockhaus, on obtaining possession of the manuscript, had it translated
into German by Wilhelm Schutz, but with many omissions and alterations,
and published this translation, volume by volume, from 1822 to 1828,
under the title, 'Aus den Memoiren des Venetianers Jacob Casanova de
Seingalt.' While the German edition was in course of publication, Herr
Brockhaus employed a certain Jean Laforgue, a professor of the French
language at Dresden, to revise the original manuscript, correcting
Casanova's vigorous, but at times incorrect, and often somewhat Italian,
French according to his own notions of elegant writing, suppressing
passages which seemed too free-spoken from the point of view of morals
and of politics, and altering the names of some of the persons referred
to, or replacing those names by initials. This revised text was
published in twelve volumes, the first two in 1826, the third and fourth
in 1828, the fifth to the eighth in 1832, and the ninth to the twelfth
in 1837; the first four bearing the imprint of Brockhaus at Leipzig and
Ponthieu et Cie at Paris; the next four the imprint of Heideloff et
Campe at Paris; and the last four nothing but 'A Bruxelles.' The volumes
are all uniform, and were all really printed for the firm of Brockhaus.
This, however far from representing the real text, is the only
authoritative edition, and my references throughout this article will
always be to this edition.
In turning over the manuscript at Leipzig, I read some of the suppressed
passages, and regretted their suppression; but Herr Brockhaus, the
present head of the firm, assured me that they are not really very
considerable in number. The damage, however, to the vivacity of the
whole narrative, by the persistent alterations of M. Laforgue, is
incalculable. I compared many passages, and found scarcely three
consecutive sentences untouched. Herr Brockhaus (whose courtesy I cannot
sufficiently acknowledge) was kind enough to have a passage copied out
for me, which I afterwards read over, and checked word by word. In this
passage Casanova says, for instance: 'Elle venoit presque tous les jours
lui faire une belle visite.' This is altered into: 'Cependant chaque
jour Therese venait lui faire une visite.' Casanova says that some one
'avoit, comme de raison, forme le projet d'allier Dieu avec le diable.'
This is made to read: 'Qui, comme de raison, avait saintement forme le
projet d'allier les interets du ciel aux oeuvres de ce monde.' Casanova
tells us that Therese would not commit a mortal sin 'pour devenir reine
du monde;' pour une couronne,' corrects the indefatigable Laforgue. 'Il
ne savoit que lui dire' becomes 'Dans cet etat de perplexite;' and so
forth. It must, therefore, be realized that the Memoirs, as we have
them, are only a kind of pale tracing of the vivid colours of the
original.
When Casanova's Memoirs were first published, doubts were expressed as
to their authenticity, first by Ugo Foscolo (in the Westminster Review,
1827), then by Querard, supposed to be an authority in regard to
anonymous and pseudonymous writings, finally by Paul Lacroix, 'le
bibliophile Jacob', who suggested, or rather expressed his 'certainty,'
that the real author of the Memoirs was Stendhal, whose 'mind,
character, ideas and style' he seemed to recognise on every page. This
theory, as foolish and as unsupported as the Baconian theory of
Shakespeare, has been carelessly accepted, or at all events accepted as
possible, by many good scholars who have never taken the trouble to look
into the matter for themselves. It was finally disproved by a series of
articles of Armand Baschet, entitled 'Preuves curieuses de
l'authenticite des Memoires de Jacques Casanova de Seingalt,' in 'Le
Livre,' January, February, April and May, 1881; and these proofs were
further corroborated by two articles of Alessandro d'Ancona, entitled
'Un Avventuriere del Secolo XVIII., in the 'Nuovo Antologia,' February 1
and August 1, 1882. Baschet had never himself seen the manuscript of the
Memoirs, but he had learnt all the facts about it from Messrs.
Brockhaus, and he had himself examined the numerous papers relating to
Casanova in the Venetian archives. A similar examination was made at the
Frari at about the same time by the Abbe Fulin; and I myself, in 1894,
not knowing at the time that the discovery had been already made, made
it over again for myself. There the arrest of Casanova, his imprisonment
in the Piombi, the exact date of his escape, the name of the monk who
accompanied him, are all authenticated by documents contained in the
'riferte' of the Inquisition of State; there are the bills for the
repairs of the roof and walls of the cell from which he escaped; there
are the reports of the spies on whose information he was arrested, for
his too dangerous free-spokenness in matters of religion and morality.
The same archives contain forty-eight letters of Casanova to the
Inquisitors of State, dating from 1763 to 1782, among the Riferte dei
Confidenti, or reports of secret agents; the earliest asking permission
to return to Venice, the rest giving information in regard to the
immoralities of the city, after his return there; all in the same
handwriting as the Memoirs. Further proof could scarcely be needed, but
Baschet has done more than prove the authenticity, he has proved the
extraordinary veracity, of the Memoirs. F. W. Barthold, in 'Die
Geschichtlichen Personlichkeiten in J. Casanova's Memoiren,' 2 vols.,
1846, had already examined about a hundred of Casanova's allusions to
well known people, showing the perfect exactitude of all but six or
seven, and out of these six or seven inexactitudes ascribing only a
single one to the author's intention. Baschet and d'Ancona both carry on
what Barthold had begun; other investigators, in France, Italy and
Germany, have followed them; and two things are now certain, first, that
Casanova himself wrote the Memoirs published under his name, though not
textually in the precise form in which we have them; and, second, that
as their veracity becomes more and more evident as they are confronted
with more and more independent witnesses, it is only fair to suppose
that they are equally truthful where the facts are such as could only
have been known to Casanova himself.
II For more than two-thirds of a century it has been known that Casanova
spent the last fourteen years of his life at Dux, that he wrote his
Memoirs there, and that he died there. During all this time people have
been discussing the authenticity and the truthfulness of the Memoirs,
they have been searching for information about Casanova in various
directions, and yet hardly any one has ever taken the trouble, or
obtained the permission, to make a careful examination in precisely the
one place where information was most likely to be found. The very
existence of the manuscripts at Dux was known only to a few, and to most
of these only on hearsay; and thus the singular good fortune was
reserved for me, on my visit to Count Waldstein in September 1899, to be
the first to discover the most interesting things contained in these
manuscripts. M. Octave Uzanne, though he had not himself visited Dux,
had indeed procured copies of some of the manuscripts, a few of which
were published by him in Le Livre, in 1887 and 1889. But with the death
of Le Livre in 1889 the 'Casanova inedit' came to an end, and has never,
so far as I know, been continued elsewhere. Beyond the publication of
these fragments, nothing has been done with the manuscripts at Dux, nor
has an account of them ever been given by any one who has been allowed
to examine them.
For five years, ever since I had discovered the documents in the
Venetian archives, I had wanted to go to Dux; and in 1899, when I was
staying with Count Lutzow at Zampach, in Bohemia, I found the way kindly
opened for me. Count Waldstein, the present head of the family, with
extreme courtesy, put all his manuscripts at my disposal, and invited me
to stay with him. Unluckily, he was called away on the morning of the
day that I reached Dux. He had left everything ready for me, and I was
shown over the castle by a friend of his, Dr. Kittel, whose courtesy I
should like also to acknowledge. After a hurried visit to the castle we
started on the long drive to Oberleutensdorf, a smaller Schloss near
Komotau, where the Waldstein family was then staying. The air was sharp
and bracing; the two Russian horses flew like the wind; I was whirled
along in an unfamiliar darkness, through a strange country, black with
coal mines, through dark pine woods, where a wild peasantry dwelt in
little mining towns. Here and there, a few men and women passed us on
the road, in their Sunday finery; then a long space of silence, and we
were in the open country, galloping between broad fields; and always in
a haze of lovely hills, which I saw more distinctly as we drove back
next morning.
The return to Dux was like a triumphal entry, as we dashed through the
market-place filled with people come for the Monday market, pots and
pans and vegetables strewn in heaps all over the ground, on the rough
paving stones, up to the great gateway of the castle, leaving but just
room for us to drive through their midst. 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, along 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 25,000 volumes, some of them of
considerable value; one of the most famous books in Bohemian literature,
Skala's History of the Church, exists in manuscript at Dux, and it is
from this manuscript that the two published volumes of it were printed.
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.
After I had been all over the castle, so long Casanova's home, I was
taken to Count Waldstein's study, and left there with the manuscripts. I
found six huge cardboard cases, large enough to contain foolscap paper,
lettered on the back: 'Grafl. Waldstein-Wartenberg'sches Real
Fideicommiss. Dux-Oberleutensdorf: Handschriftlicher Nachlass Casanova.'
The cases were arranged so as to stand like books; they opened at the
side; and on opening them, one after another, I found series after
series of manuscripts roughly thrown together, after some pretence at
arrangement, and lettered with a very generalised description of
contents. The greater part of the manuscripts were in Casanova's
handwriting, which I could see gradually beginning to get shaky with
years. Most were written in French, a certain number in Italian. The
beginning of a catalogue in the library, though said to be by him, was
not in his handwriting. Perhaps it was taken down at his dictation.
There were also some copies of Italian and Latin poems not written by
him. Then there were many big bundles of letters addressed to him,
dating over more than thirty years. Almost all the rest was in his own
handwriting.
I came first upon the smaller manuscripts, among which I, found, jumbled
together on the same and on separate scraps of paper, washing-bills,
accounts, hotel bills, lists of letters written, first drafts of letters
with many erasures, notes on books, theological and mathematical notes,
sums, Latin quotations, French and Italian verses, with variants, a long
list of classical names which have and have not been 'francises,' with
reasons for and against; 'what I must wear at Dresden'; headings without
anything to follow, such as: 'Reflexions on respiration, on the true
cause of youth-the crows'; a new method of winning the lottery at Rome;
recipes, among which is a long printed list of perfumes sold at Spa; a
newspaper cutting, dated Prague, 25th October 1790, on the thirty-
seventh balloon ascent of Blanchard; thanks to some 'noble donor' for
the gift of a dog called 'Finette'; a passport for 'Monsieur de
Casanova, Venitien, allant d'ici en Hollande, October 13, 1758 (Ce
Passeport bon pour quinze jours)', together with an order for post-
horses, gratis, from Paris to Bordeaux and Bayonne.'
Occasionally, one gets a glimpse into his daily life at Dux, as in this
note, scribbled on a fragment of paper (here and always I translate the
French literally): 'I beg you to tell my servant what the biscuits are
that I like to eat; dipped in wine, to fortify my stomach. I believe
that they can all be found at Roman's.' Usually, however, these notes,
though often suggested by something closely personal, branch off into
more general considerations; or else begin with general considerations,
and end with a case in point. Thus, for instance, a fragment of three
pages begins: 'A compliment which is only made to gild the pill is a
positive impertinence, and Monsieur Bailli is nothing but a charlatan;
the monarch ought to have spit in his face, but the monarch trembled
with fear.' A manuscript entitled 'Essai d'Egoisme,' dated, 'Dux, this
27th June, 1769,' contains, in the midst of various reflections, an
offer to let his 'appartement' in return for enough money to
'tranquillise for six months two Jew creditors at Prague.' Another
manuscript is headed 'Pride and Folly,' and begins with a long series of
antitheses, such as: 'All fools are not proud, and all proud men are
fools. Many fools are happy, all proud men are unhappy.' On the same
sheet follows this instance or application:
Whether it is possible to compose a Latin distich of the greatest beauty
without knowing either the Latin language or prosody. We must examine
the possibility and the impossibility, and afterwards see who is the man
who says he is the author of the distich, for there are extraordinary
people in the world. My brother, in short, ought to have composed the
distich, because he says so, and because he confided it to me tete-'a-
tete. I had, it is true, difficulty in believing him; but what is one to
do! Either one must believe, or suppose him capable of telling a lie
which could only be told by a fool; and that is impossible, for all
Europe knows that my brother is not a fool.
Here, as so often in these manuscripts, we seem to see Casanova thinking
on paper. He uses scraps of paper (sometimes the blank page of a letter,
on the other side of which we see the address) as a kind of informal
diary; and it is characteristic of him, of the man of infinitely curious
mind, which this adventurer really was, that there are so few merely
personal notes among these casual jottings. Often, they are purely
abstract; at times, metaphysical 'jeux d'esprit,' like the sheet of
fourteen 'Different Wagers,' which begins:
I wager that it is not true that a man who weighs a hundred pounds will
weigh more if you kill him. I wager that if there is any difference, he
will weigh less. I wager that diamond powder has not sufficient force to
kill a man.
Side by side with these fanciful excursions into science, come more
serious ones, as in the note on Algebra, which traces its progress since
the year 1494, before which 'it had only arrived at the solution of
problems of the second degree, inclusive.' A scrap of paper tells us
that Casanova 'did not like regular towns.' 'I like,' he says, 'Venice,
Rome, Florence, Milan, Constantinople, Genoa.' Then he becomes abstract
and inquisitive again, and writes two pages, full of curious, out-of-
the-way learning, on the name of Paradise:
The name of Paradise is a name in Genesis which indicates a place of
pleasure (lieu voluptueux): this term is Persian. This place of pleasure
was made by God before he had created man.
It may be remembered that Casanova quarrelled with Voltaire, because
Voltaire had told him frankly that his translation of L'Ecossaise was a
bad translation. It is piquant to read another note written in this
style of righteous indignation:
Voltaire, the hardy Voltaire, whose pen is without bit or bridle;
Voltaire, who devoured the Bible, and ridiculed our dogmas, doubts, and
after having made proselytes to impiety, is not ashamed, being reduced to the extremity of life, to ask for the sacraments, and to cover his body with more relics than St. Louis had at Amboise. |
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