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CASANOVA'S ADVENTURES IN WARSAW. From the German.

[John James Casanova de Seingalt, a man well known to the literary world in general, and to that of Germany in particular, and brother to John Casanova, Director of the Royal Academy of Arts at Dresden, was born at Venice in the year 1725. The number of his works, and the versatility of his talents, alike render him celebrated, no less than his singular adventures and exten⚫ sive travels; either fortune or inclination having led him, not only to visit, but almost to naturalize himself, in Italy, Spain, France, England, Russia, Turkey, Germany, and Poland. He died at the close of the last century, at Dux, in Bohemia, after filling, for several years, the situation of Librarian to the Count Von Waldstein. The following is EXTRACTED FROM HIS OWN Memoirs of his Life.]

ABOUT the latter end of October, 1765, I arrived from Petersburgh at Warsaw, where a series of circumstances gradually led to that event which has rendered my stay in this town a remarkable epoch of my life. Having provided myself with a carriage and a lacquais de place, which I hired for the month, as these things are indispensable to a strangerin Warsaw, I drove to pay my respects to Prince Adam Czartorinsky, Governor (or, as it was then called in Poland, General) of Podolia, to whom I had brought a letter from the English Ambassador at the Court of Russia. I found him in a room, which served at once for library and bedchamber,

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sitting at a large table covered with writings and printed papers, and surrounded by about forty or fifty persons. My letter was a long one. The Prince read it through, and then said to me, expressing himself very elegantly in French: "The person who introduces you possesses my unlimited esteem; at this moment I am unfortunately occupied with affairs of importance, but I shall be happy to have the honour of seeing you this evening, provided you are not better engaged.' I returned to my carriage, and drove to the palace of Prince Sulkowsky, who had lately been appointed Ambassador to the Court of Louis the Fifteenth, and was shortly going to take possession of his post. I found him just setting off to visit the School of Cadets. He, however, read through my letter, and said: "We have much to discuss together. Will you have the goodness to dine with me at four o'clock, provided you are not better engaged?" I accepted the invitation, and had now only to consider about the best mode of passing away the intervening time. My servant had told me that an opera was rehearsing, to which any one might be admitted. Thither I repaired, and, alike unknowing and unknown, amused myself for three hours. The dancers and singers all delighted me, but more particularly one of the former, named Catani, a Milanese, of whom I had already heard much, as well as of her countryman Tomatis, who directed the Opera Buffa, and

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had found means to secure to himself the possession of the above-mentioned figurante. Without being remarkably excellent in the execution of any particular steps, this Catani performed all the principal parts. Applause was showered upon her from all quarters, and by none was it more liberally bestowed than by the Russian Ambassador, Prince Repnin, who was here looked up to as a sort of sovereign. At four o'clock I found myself seated at the table of Prince Sulkowsky. He talked on every possible subject, excepting on those with which I was conversant. His favourite topics were politics and commerce. The less competent he found me to vie with him, the more was he inclined to shine; and, I believe, I established myself in his good opinion by the silent admiration in which I sat and listened. Since I was not better engaged, (this, I found, was the favourite phrase of all great people,) I went in the evening to Prince Adam Czartorinsky's. He presented me, by name, to the whole company, introducing them in like manner to me. They consisted of the Prince, Bishop Krasinsky, the Grand Notary Razewusky, the Woiwode of Wilna, (Oginsky,) General Romihen, and two others, whose names have escaped my memory. In about a quarter of an hour, a remarkably fine-looking man entered the room. All the company rose up; Prince Adam named me to the new-comer, and said to me, in a tone of the most perfect indifference, "It is the King." This mode of presenting a stranger to a Sovereign is, certainly, not one likely to awe the senses by an overpowering impression of the dignity of Majesty; yet, when taken by surprise in this manner, it requires some presence of mind to recover one's self. Though, at first, almost inclined to imagine only a joke might be intended, I did not permit myself to give way to the suspicion, but was on the point of bending my knee, when his Majesty, with the utmost affability, offered me his hand, and allowed me to kiss it. Before he had time to proceed in engaging me in conversation, Prince Adam presented him with the letter of the English Ambassador, with whom, it appeared, he was acquainted. The condescending mon

arch, after having read the letter, (during all which time he remained standing,) asked me a variety of questions chiefly relating to the Empress of Russia, and the most remarkable personages around her throne. On this subject I was able to impart a good deal of information, to which the King listened with great apparent interest. Supper was soon after announced, and the King, who had not ceased to discourse with me, led me to table, and placed me at his right hand. Every one ate heartily, excepting the King, who appeared to have no appetite, and myself, who, even had I not dined with Prince Sulkowsky, should not have had any either, so fully was I satisfied with the honour of being the person on whose conversation the attention of the whole company seemed to rest. After supper, the King still continued his remarks upon what I had been saying, conversing in the most affable and pleasing manner, and told me, on retiring, he hoped to see me every day at Court. On taking my leave of Prince Adam, he told me, if I wished to be introduced to his father, I must wait upon him the following morning at eleven o'clock.

The King of Poland was of the middle size, and well proportioned. Handsome, in the general acceptation of the word, he could scarcely be called; but his physiognomy was expressive and engaging. When silent, his countenance might almost appear melancholy; but as soon as he began to speak, nothing could be more animated than his eloquence; and, when the occasion called it forth, he had a fund of humour, which never failed to communicate hilarity to all his hearers. I returned to my hotel, as may easily be imagined, highly flattered with the favourable auspices under which I had made my débût. At the appointed hour, the following morning, I made the acquaintance of a very remarkable personage—the old Prince Czartorinsky, the stately Woiwode of Russia. I found him in his dressing-gown, surrounded by a number of nobility, all in the national costume, wearing boots and mustachios, and having their heads bare, and shaven. He himself stood, speaking sometimes to one, and sometimes to another, in a grave, yet af

fable manner. As soon as his son, who had previously mentioned my intended visit, announced me by name, the Woiwode turned towards me, and addressed me in a tone equally removed from haughtiness and from familiarity. Though not strictly handsome, he had a good countenance, a fine tone of voice, and an easy, unaffected mode of expressing himself. His manners were by no means repulsive, nor yet too encouraging; so that, by preserving this medium, he was the better enabled to form an estimate of the true cha racters of those with whom he associated. Having heard that my object in visiting Russia had been merely my own amusement, and a desire to acquire some knowledge of a court life, he told me he supposed the same reasons had led me to Warsaw, and proffered his services with regard to any acquaintances I might wish to form; adding, that as his family was small, he hoped I would consider his table as my own, whenever I was disengaged. After this, he retired behind a screen to finish his toilette, and then re-appeared, dressed in the uniform of his regiment, with a long light wig, in the French fashion, according to the costume of the late Augustus the Third. He then made his bow to the company, and retreated to an inner apartment, which was occupied by his wife, who was just recovering from a fit of illness. In order to marry this lady, he had renounced the cross of Malta, and fought a duel with pistols, on horseback; she having promised him her hand, on condition of his being successful enough to kill his rival. Prince Adam and his sister were the issue of this union. This Prince, Woiwode of Russia, and his brother, High Chancellor of Lithuania, had, by means of court intrigues, sown the first seeds of those dissensions which a short time before had agitated Poland, and, assisted by the countenance and protection of Russia, had elevated to the throne their young nephew, Stanislaus Poniatowsky, who, during a previous mission to Petersburgh, had established himself in the good graces of the Empress. This measure was, however, accomplished without its being necessary to dethrone the reign

ing King, who was judicious enough to die a short time previous to its execution.

Warsaw was now particularly brilliant; full of bustle and gaiety, in preparation for the approaching Diet. On repairing, at dinner-time, to the Woiwode's palace, I found three tables spread out, each containing from thirty to forty covers; and this, I was told, was the case every day. The luxury of Court was nothing in comparison with that which reigned in the palace of the princely Woiwode of Russia. Prince Adam told me I must always establish myself at his father's own table:-he presented me to his sister, the beautiful Princess Lubomirsky, and to several Woiwodes and Starostes. In less than a fortnight I was on a footing of intimacy in all the principal houses, and invited to every one of the dinners and balls, which were daily given by one or other of the nobility. The narrowness of my finances forbade my indulging in play, and obliged me to practise the strictest economy. I therefore made arrangements accordingly, for the disposal of my time; passing my mornings in the library of the Bishop of Kiew, and my afternoons in playing trisette with the Grand Woiwode, who seemed to prefer me to any one else for a partner. Yet, notwithstanding all my management and self-denial, at the expiration of three months my means began to fail me, and I had even contracted debts. The expenses of lodgings, equipage, two servants, and the style of dress I found necessary, had completely exhausted my resources, and I looked around me, and found no remedy. I was fully determined not to disclose my situation to any one, from the conviction, that whoever applies to a rich man for assistance of this nature, loses his esteem if it is granted, and incurs his contempt if it is refused. My good fortune, however, put me in possession of four hundred ducats, in a very unexpected manner. A Mrs Smith, who was allowed by the King to reside in the palace, invited me one evening to supper, to meet his Majesty. The rest of the company consisted of the good Bishop Krasinsky, the Abbé Gigiotti, and a few others, not un

versed in Italian literature. The King, always fond of talking, well read, and a better classical scholar than most princes, related various anecdotes of the ancient Roman authors, at the same time quoting writers and manuscripts, at the mention of which I could only remain silent, as they probably existed no where but in his own imagination. Every one talked excepting myself, who, having had no dinner, really ate heartily, from actual hunger, and only spoke when absolutely necessary, and that in as few words as possible. The Abbé, in order to try my powers, turned the conversation upon Horace, whom I began to eulogize, particularly admiring his talent for delicate irony. The King desired an instance of this; to which I replied, that many might be quoted, but that the following was a case in point, which appeared to me particularly elegant and well turned: "Coram rege," says the poet, "de paupertate tacentes plus quam poscentes ferent." "That is very true," said the King, laughing; on which Mrs Smith begged of the Bishop to translate the passage. He complied, in the following words: "He who mentions not his poverty in the presence of the King, will profit more than he who speaks of it." The lady declared she could discover nothing satirical in this. I, having already said so much, now remained silent. The King changed the subject, and began talking of Ariosto, saying he should like to study him with me. I bowed, and answered in the words of Horace, "Tempora quaeram!" The next morning, on returning from mass, the generous and too-illfated Stanislaus presented me his hand, at the same time giving me a little packet, and saying, "Remember Horace, and do not mention this to any one.' Its contents, I found, were four hundred ducats, and I was thus enabled to discharge my debts. From this time I became an almost daily attendant in the King's dressing-room, where, while completing his toilette, he was fond of conversing with those who had no affairs to transact with him, but merely sought his amusement. Nothing more, however, was said of Ariosto. The King understood Italian, yet

not sufficiently well to sustain a conversation, and still less to be able to enter into the beauties of this great poet.

The brilliance of Warsaw had now risen to its height. People flocked from all quarters to behold the favoured mortal, who, at his birth, had so little prospect of ever ascending a throne. The King made a point of showing himself to every one; and was even displeased if he knew of any stranger being in Warsaw without having seen him. No introduction was necessary; any one might appear at Court; and the King_was frequently the first to address those persons who were unknown to him.

January was now drawing to a close; and, about this time, I had a dream, which has proved a very remarkable one. I dreamed that I was sitting at table with a party of distinguished persons, when one of the guests threw a bottle in my face, with so much violence that I was instantly covered with blood; that I ran the aggressor through the body, threw myself into my carriage, and left the place. This was the whole of the dream; and an accident, which happened to me on the following day, recalled it very forcibly to my recollection. Prince Charles of Courland had been for some days in Warsaw, and had insisted on my accompanying him to dinner at Count Poninsky's, who was then Grand Mar. shal, and soon afterwards became Prince, but in a few years was banished, and came to an untimely end. His house was magnificent, and his family agreeable; but I had always avoided making his acquaintance, as he was no favourite with the King and his party. Dinner was about half over, when a bottle of champaigne burst, without being touched by any one. A piece of the glass struck me in the forehead, cut open a vein, and my face, my clothes, and the table, were instantly deluged with blood. This caused a general commotion. My wound was, however, quickly bound up, and we sat down again to finish our dinner. This circumstance made a very strong impression upon me, not from its own importance, but from its singular connection with my dream, which, but for this curious coincidence, I

never should have thought of again. In a similar situation, many persons would, I dare say, have related their dream to the company; but this I avoided doing, both at the time, and ever since, thinking it might only subject me to the imputation of superstitious weakness. I even began to think it scarcely worth regarding, since the most remarkable part of the whole dream was yet unfulfilled; but this, however, came to pass also, about two months afterwards.

An opera dancer, whose name was Binetti, and whom I had known some time before in London, came to Warsaw with her husband, (a dancer also,) on her way from Vienna to Petersburgh, and was very well received by the public. This I heard at the Woiwode's, from the King's own mouth; and, moreover, that he meant to engage her, for the sum of a thousand ducats, to remain a week at Warsaw. Impatient to see her, and to impart such agreeable tidings, I lost no time in paying a visit to her hotel. Equally astonished at seeing me in Warsaw, and at hearing the news of the thousand ducats, she hastened to inform her husband, who, as well as herself, seemed to doubt the truth of what I told them, till their incredulity was put an end to by the entrance of Prince Poniatowsky, who came to announce the King's wishes, and soon settled the whole affair. Tomatis, on whom the arrangement of the ballet devolved, spared neither pains nor expense to merit the approbation of his generous master; and both the new-comers met with so much applause, that they were eventually engaged for a whole year. This gave high offence to Catani, since Binetti's success eclipsed her own, and deprived her of many adorers; while Tomatis complained of the endless vexations occasioned him by the enmity of the fair rivals. Binetti, meanwhile, in less than a fortnight, was in possession of a house fitted up in the most sumptuous style, a quantity of plate, a luxurious kitchen, a choicely-stored cellar, and shoals of admirers, amongst whom were conspicuous the Stoleik Mosczinsky, and the High Chamberlain Branicki, the last of whom occupied apartments in the palace, close to those of the King.

From this time forward, the critics of the pit were divided into two parties. In spite of the extraordinary talents of the new favourite, Catani could not be induced to give up to her.

She therefore danced in the first ballet, and Binetti in the second. Whoever applauded the one, instantly stopped, and even turned away, on the appearance of the other. For old-acquaintance' sake, I should have become a champion of Binetti's, but the whole family of the Czartorinskys, and all their connections and adherents, were on the side of Catani, and Prince Lubomirsky, in particular, was her most zealous admirer. I therefore could not have given up Catani, and joined the party of her rival, without incurring the displeasure of all those to whom I owed the most. This drew upon me the bitterest reproaches from Binetti. She even required that I should cease to frequent the theatre, and threatened Tomatis with a vengeance which should make him repent the affronts he showed her. This threat was expressed only in general terms; but she soon began to make poor Tomatis feel the consequences of her hatred. The most devoted of her lovers was Xavier Branicki, Grand Chamberlain, Knight of the White Eagle, colonel of a regiment of Uhlans, a friend of the King's, and a man both young and engaging; who, after having served six years in France, was now just returned from Berlin, where he had been negociating affairs between the new King of Poland and Frederick the Second. To him Binetti confided her chagrins, conjuring him to revenge the injuries she endured from Tomatis, who, by her own account, neglected no opportunity of treating her with indignity. The Count, it appears, must have promised, not only to avenge her wrongs, when occasion should occur, but even to create a pretence for doing so; and singular enough was the expedient which the Pole resorted to for this purpose. On the 20th of February, Branicki went to the theatre, and, at the close of the second ballet, contrary to his custom, he paid a visit to Catani in her box. She was changing her dress, and had no one with her but Tomatis. Both of them concluded that