iled with M. Faulkircher, maitre d'hotel, over the
unpleasant matter indicated in two of Casanova's letters to this
functionary:

"Your rascally Vidierol . . . tore my portrait out of one of my books,
scrawled my name on it, with the epithet which you taught him and then
stuck it on the door of the privy ....

"Determined to make sure of the punishment of your infamous valet, and
wishing at the same time to give proof of my respect for Count Waldstein,
not forgetting that, as a last resort, I have the right to invade his
jurisdiction, I took an advocate, wrote my complaint and had it
translated into German . . . . Having heard of this at Teplitz, and
having known that I would not save your name, you came to my chamber to
beg me to write whatever I wished but not to name you because it would
place you wrong before the War Council and expose you to the loss of your
pension . . . . I have torn up my first complaint and have written a
second in Latin, which an advocate of Bilin has translated for me and
which I have deposited at the office of the judiciary at Dux...."

Following this matter, Casanova attended the Carnival at Oberleutensdorf,
and left at Dux a manuscript headed 'Passe temps de Jacques Casanova de
Seingalt pour le carnaval de l'an 1792 dans le bourg d'Oberleutensdorf'.
While in that city, meditating on the Faulkircher incident, he wrote also
'Les quinze pardons, monologue nocturne du bibliothecaire', also
preserved in manuscript at Dux, in which we read:

"Gerron, having served twenty years as a simple soldier, acquired a great
knowledge of military discipline. This man was not yet seventy years old.
He had come to believe, partly from practice, partly from theory, that
twenty blows with a baton on the rump are not dishonoring. When the
honest soldier was unfortunate enough to deserve them, he accepted them
with resignation. The pain was sharp, but not lasting; it did not deprive
him of either appetite nor honor . . . . Gerron, becoming a corporal, had
obtained no idea of any kind of sorrow other than that coming from the
blows of a baton on the rump . . . . On this idea, he thought that the
soul of an honest man was no different than a soldier's breech. If Gerron
caused trouble to the spirit of a man of honor, he thought that this
spirit, like his own, had only a rump, and that any trouble he caused
would pass likewise. He deceived himself. The breech of the spirit of an
honest man is different than the b