“Reason convinces me that the power I have of slaying myself is a privilege given me by God, by which I perceive that I am superior to all animals created in the world; for there is no animal who can slay itself nor think of slaying itself, except the scorpion, which poisons itself, but only when the fire which surrounds it convinces it that it cannot save itself from being burned.  This animal slays itself because it fears fire more than death.  Reason tells me imperiously that I have the right to slay myself, with the divine oracle of Cen:  ’Qui non potest vivere bene non vivat male.’  These eight words have such power that it is impossible that a man to whom life is a burden could do other than slay himself on first hearing them.”

Certainly, however, Casanova did not deceive himself with these sophisms, and Nature, who for many years had unquestionably lavished her gifts on him, had her way.

Over the end of the year, the two mathematicians, Casanova and Opiz, at the request of Count Waldstein, made a scientific examination of the reform of the calendar as decreed the 5th October 1793 by the National Convention.

In January 1795, Casanova wrote to the Princess Lobkowitz to thank her for her gift of a little dog.  On the 16th the Princess wrote from Vienna: 

“Monsieur,

“I am enchanted at the charming reception you accorded the dog which I sent you when I learned of the death of your well-loved greyhound, knowing that she would nowhere be better cared for than with you, Monsieur.  I hope with all my heart that she has all the qualities which may, in some fashion, help you to forget the deceased . . . .”

In the autumn of 1795, Casanova left Dux.  The Prince de Ligne writes in his Memoirs:  “God directed him to leave Dux.  Scarcely believing in more than his death, which he no longer doubted, he pretended that each thing he had done was by the direction of God and this was his guide.  God directed him to ask me for letters of recommendation to the Duke of Weimar, who was my good friend, to the Duchess of Gotha, who did not know me, and to the Jews of Berlin.  And he departed secretly, leaving for Count Waldstein a letter at once tender, proud, honest and irritating.  Waldstein laughed and said he would return.  Casanova waited in ante-chambers; no one would place him either as governor, librarian or chamberlain.  He said everywhere that the Germans were thorough beasts.  The excellent and very amiable Duke of Weimer welcomed him wonderfully; but in an instant he became jealous of Goethe and Wieland, who were under the Duke’s protection.  He declaimed against them and against the literature of the country which he did not, and could not, know.  At Berlin, he declaimed against the ignorance, the superstition and the knavery of the Hebrews to whom I had addressed him, drawing meanwhile, for the money they claimed of him, bills of exchange on the Count who laughed, paid, and embraced him when he returned.