The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 10: under the LeadsCasanova, Giacomo
History
The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Volume 10: under the Leads
Casanova, Giacomo
Casanova, Giacomo, 1725-1798; Europe -- History -- 18th century -- Biography
It has always been my opinion that when a man sets himself determinedly
to do something, and thinks of nought but his design, he must succeed
despite all difficulties in his path: such an one may make himself Pope
or Grand Vizier, he may overturn an ancient line of kings--provided that
he knows how to seize on his opportunity, and be a man of wit and
pertinacity. To succeed one must count on being fortunate and despise all
ill success, but it is a most difficult operation.
Towards the middle of November, Lawrence told me that Messer-Grande had a
prisoner in his hands whom the new secretary, Businello, had ordered to
be placed in the worst cell, and who consequently was going to share
mine. He told me that on the secretary's reminding him that I looked upon
it as a favour to be left alone, he answered that I had grown wiser in
the four months of my imprisonment. I was not sorry to hear the news or
that there was a new secretary. This M. Pierre Businello was a worthy man
whom I knew at Paris. He afterwards went to London as ambassador of the
Republic.
In the afternoon I heard the noise of the bolts, and presently Lawrence
and two guards entered leading in a young man who was weeping bitterly;
and after taking off his handcuffs they shut him up with me, and went out
without saying a word. I was lying on my bed, and he could not see me. I
was amused at his astonishment. Being, fortunately for himself, seven or
eight inches shorter than I, he was able to stand upright, and he began
to inspect my arm-chair, which he doubtless thought was meant for his own
use. Glancing at the ledge above the grating he saw Boethius, took it up,
opened it, and put it down with a kind of passion, probably because being
in Latin it was of no use to him. Continuing his inspection of the cell
he went to the left, and groping about was much surprised to find
clothes. He approached the recess, and stretching out his hand he touched
me, and immediately begged my pardon in a respectful manner. I asked him
to sit down and we were friends.
"Who are you?" said I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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