is
metaphysical. An object really beautiful ought to seem beautiful to
all whose eyes fall upon it. That is all; there is nothing more to
be said.

At times we have an anecdote and its commentary, perhaps jotted down for
use in that latter part of the _Memoirs_ which was never written, or
which has been lost. Here is a single sheet, dated 'this 2nd September,
1791,' and headed _Souvenir_:

The Prince de Rosenberg said to me, as we went down stairs, that
Madame de Rosenberg was dead, and asked me if the Comte de
Waldstein had in the library the illustration of the Villa
d'Altichiero, which the Emperor had asked for in vain at the city
library of Prague, and when I answered 'yes,' he gave an equivocal
laugh. A moment afterwards, he asked me if he might tell the
Emperor. 'Why not, monseigneur? It is not a secret.' 'Is His
Majesty coming to Dux?' 'If he goes to Oberlaitensdorf (_sic_) he
will go to Dux, too; and he may ask you for it, for there is a
monument there which relates to him when he was Grand Duke.' 'In
that case, His Majesty can also see my critical remarks on the
Egyptian prints.'

The Emperor asked me this morning, 6th October, how I employed my
time at Dux, and I told him that I was making an Italian anthology.
'You have all the Italians, then?' 'All, sire.' See what a lie
leads to. If I had not lied in saying that I was making an
anthology, I should not have found myself obliged to lie again in
saying that we have all the Italian poets. If the Emperor comes to
Dux, I shall kill myself.

'They say that this Dux is a delightful spot,' says Casanova in one of
the most personal of his notes, 'and I see that it might be for many;
but not for me, for what delights me in my old age is independent of the
place which I inhabit. When I do not sleep I dream, and when I am tired
of dreaming I blacken paper, then I read, and most often reject all that
my pen has vomited.' Here we see him blackening paper, on every
occasion, and for every purpose. In one bundle I found an unfinished
story about Roland, and some adventure with women in a cave; then a
'Meditation on arising from sleep, 19th May 1789'; then a 'Short
Reflection of a Philosopher who finds himself thinking of procuring his
own death. At Dux, on getting out of bed on 13th October 1793, day
dedicated to St. Lucy, memorable in my too long life.'