"Farewell till to-morrow," said I to Therese, but she only answered by turning on her side to go to sleep.
I went to bed after ordering dinner for one o'clock, and I slept till noon, dreaming of Therese. When I woke up, Costa told me that he had found out where my brother lived, and had left a note at the house. This was my brother Jean, then about thirty, and a pupil of the famous Raphael Mengs. This painter was then deprived of his pension on account of a war which obliged the King of Poland to live at Warsaw, as the Prussians occupied the whole electorate of Saxe. I had not seen my brother for ten years, and I kept our meeting as a holiday. I was sitting down to table when he came, and we embraced each other with transport. We spent an hour in telling, he his small adventures, and I my grand ones, and he told me that I should not stay at the hotel, which was too dear, but come and live at the Chevalier Mengs's house, which contained an empty room, where I could stay at a much cheaper rate.
"As to your table, there is a restaurant in the house where one can get a capital meal."
"Your advice is excellent," said I, "but I have not the courage to follow it, as I am in love with my landlord's daughter;" and I
told him what had happened the night before.
"That's a mere nothing," said he, laughing; "you can cultivate her acquaintance without staying in the house."
I let myself be persuaded, and I promised to come to him the following day; and then we proceeded to take a walk about Rome.
I had many interesting memories of my last visit, and I wanted to renew my acquaintance with those who had interested me at that happy age when such impressions are so durable because they touch the heart rather than the mind; but I had to make up my mind to a good many disappointments, considering the space of time that had elapsed since I had been in Rome.
I went to the Minerva to find Donna Cecilia; she was no more in this world. I found out where her daughter Angelica lived, and I
went to see her, but she gave me a poor reception, and said that she really scarcely remembered me.
"I can say the same," I replied, "for you are not the Angelica I
used to know. Good-bye, madam!"
The lapse of time had not improved her personal appearance. I
found out also where the printer's son, who had married Barbaruccia, lived, but--I put off the pleasure of seeing him till another time, and also my visit to the Reverend Father Georgi, who was a man of great repute in Rome. Gaspar Vivaldi had gone into the country.
My brother took me to Madame Cherubini. I found her mansion to be a splendid one, and the lady welcomed me in the Roman manner. I
thought her pleasant and her daughters still more so, but I
thought the crowd of lovers too large and too miscellaneous.
There was too much luxury and ceremony, and the girls, one of whom was as fair as Love himself, were too polite to everybody. An interesting question was put to me, to which I answered in such a manner as to elicit another question, but to no purpose. I saw that the rank of my brother, who had introduced me, prevented my being thought a person of any consequence, and on hearing an abbe say, "He's Casanova's brother," I turned to him and said,--
"That's not correct; you should say Casanova's my brother."
"That comes to the same thing."
"Not at all, my dear abbe."
I said these words in a tone which commanded attention, and another abbe said,--
"The gentleman is quite right; it does not come to the same thing."
The first abbe made no reply to this. The one who had taken my part, and was my friend from that moment, was the famous Winckelmann, who was unhappily assassinated at Trieste twelve years afterwards.
While I was talking to him, Cardinal Alexander Albani arrived.
Winckelmann presented me to his eminence, who was nearly blind.
