reech 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."

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.'"

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."

Toward the end of 17