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 pres