te from Warsaw;
he had passed through Cracovia. I accommodated him in my apartment with
great pleasure. He had an engagement at London, but to my great delight
he was able to spend a couple of months with me.

Prince Charles of Courland, who had been at Venice and had been well
received by M. de Bragadin and my other friends, had been in Vienna and
had left it a fortnight before my arrival to return to Venice. Prince
Charles wrote to tell me that there was no bounds to the care and
kindness of my Venetian friends, and that he would be grateful to me for
all his days.

I lived very quietly at Vienna; my health was good, and I thought of
nothing but my journey to Portugal, which I intended to take place in the
spring. I saw no company of any kind, whether good or ill. I often called
on Calsabigi, who made a parade of his Atheism, and slandered my friend
Metastasio, who despised him. Calsabigi knew it and laughed at him; he
was a profound politician and the right hand of Prince Kaunitz.

One day after dinner, as I was sitting at table with my friend Campioni,
a pretty little girl, between twelve and thirteen, as I should imagine,
came into my room with mingled boldness and fear, and made me a low bow.
I asked her what she wanted, and she replied in Latin verse to the effect
that her mother was in the next room, and that if I liked she would come
in. I replied in Latin prose that I did not care about seeing her mother,
telling her my reasons with great plainness. She replied with four Latin
lines, but as they were not to the point I could see that she had learnt
them by heart, and repeated them like a parrot. She went on-still in
Latin verse--to tell me that her mother must come in or else the
authorities might think I was abusing her.

This last phrase was uttered with all the directness of the Latin style.
It made me burst out laughing, and I felt inclined to explain to her what
she had said in her own language. The little slut told me she was a
Venetian, and this putting me at my ease I told her that the authorities
would never suspect her of doing such a thing as she was too young. At
this the girl seemed to reflect a moment, and then recited some verses
from the Priapeia to the effect that unripe fruit is often more piquant
than that which is ripe. This was enough to set me on fire, and Campioni,
seeing that he was not wanted, went back to his room.

I drew her gently to me and asked her if her father was at Vienna