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cannot recollect in reference to what, that I excited her pity. I saw
clearly that she no longer loved me; pity is a debasing feeling which
cannot find a home in a heart full of love, for that dreary sentiment is
too near a relative of contempt. Since that time I never found myself
alone with Madame F----. I loved her still; I could easily have made her
blush, but I did not do it.
As soon as we reached Venice she became attached to M. F---- R-----,
whom she loved until death took him from her. She was unhappy
enough to lose her sight twenty years after. I believe she is still alive.
During the last two months of my stay in Corfu, I learned the most
bitter and important lessons. In after years I often derived useful hints
from the experience I acquired at that time.
Before my adventure with the worthless Melulla, I enjoyed good health,
I was rich, lucky at play, liked by everybody, beloved by the most
lovely woman of Corfu. When I spoke, everybody would listen and
admire my wit; my words were taken for oracles, and everyone
coincided with me in everything. After my fatal meeting with the
courtezan I rapidly lost my health, my money, my credit; cheerfulness,
consideration, wit, everything, even the faculty of eloquence vanished
with fortune. I would talk, but people knew that I was unfortunate, and
I no longer interested or convinced my hearers. The influence I had
over Madame F---- faded away little by little, and, almost without her
knowing it, the lovely woman became completely indifferent to me.

I left Corfu without money, although I had sold or pledged everything I
had of any value. Twice I had reached Corfu rich and happy, twice I
left it poor and miserable. But this time I had contracted debts which I
have never paid, not through want of will but through carelessness.
Rich and in good health, everyone received me with open arms; poor
and looking sick, no one shewed me any consideration. With a full
purse and the tone of a conqueror, I was thought witty, amusing; with
an empty purse and a modest air, all I said appeared dull and insipid. If
I had become rich again, how soon I would have been again accounted
the eighth wonder of the world! Oh, men! oh, fortune! Everyone
avoided me as if the ill luck which crushed me down was infectious.
We left Corfu towards the end of September, with five galleys, two
galeasses, and several smaller vessels, under the command of M.
Renier. We sailed along the shores of the Adriatic, towards the north of
the gulf, where there are a great many harbours, and we put in one of
them every night. I saw Madame F---- every evening; she always came
with her husband to take supper on board our galeass. We had a
fortunate voyage, and cast anchor in the harbour of Venice on the 14th
of October, 1745, and after having performed quarantine on board our
ships, we landed on the 25th of November. Two months afterwards, the
galeasses were set aside altogether. The use of these vessels could be
traced very far back in ancient times; their maintenance was very
expensive, and they were useless. A galeass had the frame of a frigate
with the rowing apparatus of the galley, and when there was no wind,
five hundred slaves had to row.
Before simple good sense managed to prevail and to enforce the
suppression of these useless carcasses, there were long discussions in
the senate, and those who opposed the measure took their principal
ground of opposition in the necessity of respecting and conserving all
the institutions of olden times. That is the disease of persons who can
never identify themselves with the successive improvements born of
reason and experience; worthy persons who ought to be sent to China,
or to the dominions of the Grand Lama, where they would certainly be
more at home than in Europe.

That ground of opposition to all improvements, however absurd it may
be, is a very powerful one in a republic, which must tremble at the mere
idea of novelty either in important or in trifling things. Superstition has
likewise a great part to play in these conservative views.
There is one thing that the Republic of Venice will never alter: I mean
the galleys, because the Venetians truly require such vessels to ply, in
all weathers and in spite of the frequent calms, in a narrow sea, and
because they would not know what to do with the men sentenced to
hard labour.
I have observed a singular thing in Corfu, where there are often as
many as three thousand galley slaves; it is that the men