“The son and daughter of the inn-keeper, at whose house I am staying. But that’s not enough to keep me, and you must give me something while I am starting.”
“You have no right to count on me. Leave the room.”
I would not listen to another word, and told Margarita to see that he did not come in again.
The wretched fellow did his best to ruin me with all my friends, including the Duchess of Fiano and the Abbé Gama. Everybody told me that I should either give him some help, or get him out of Rome; I got heartily sick of the sound of his name. At last the Abbé Ceruti came and told me that if I did not want to see my brother begging his bread in the streets I must give him some assistance.
“You can keep him out of Rome,” he said, “and he is ready to go if you will allow him three paoli a day.” I consented, and Ceruti hit on a plan which pleased me very much. He spoke to a priest who served a convent of Franciscan nuns. This priest took my brother into his service, and gave him three paoli for saying one mass every day. If he could preach well he might earn more.
Thus the Abbé Casanova passed away, and I did not care whether he knew or not where the three paoli had come from. As long as I stayed at Rome the nine piastres a month came in regularly, but after my departure he returned to Rome, went to another convent, and died there suddenly thirteen or fourteen years ago.
Medini had also arrived in Rome, but we had not seen each other. He lived in the street of the Ursulines at the house of one of the Pope’s light-cavalry men, and subsisted on the money he cheated strangers of.
The rascal had done well and had sent to Mantua for his mistress, who came with her mother and a very pretty girl of twelve or thirteen. Thinking it would be to his advantage to take handsome furnished apartments he moved to the Place d’Espagne, and occupied a house four or five doors from me, but I knew nothing of all this at the time.
Happening to dine one day with the Venetian ambassador, his excellency told me that I should meet a certain Count Manucci who had just arrived from Paris, and had evinced much delight on learning that I was at Rome.
“I suppose you know him well,” said the ambassador, “and as I am going to present him to the Holy Father to-morrow, I should be much obliged if you could tell me who he really is.”