Levi was an honest and an agreeable man, and the next day he called on me
and offered me his services in the most cordial manner. He shewed me the
letter I had delivered, and I was delighted to find that it referred to
myself. The worthy Mardocheus begged him to give me a hundred sequins in
case I needed any money, adding that any politeness shewn to me would be
as if shewn to himself.

This behaviour on the part of Mardocheus filled me with gratitude, and
reconciled me, so to speak, with the whole Jewish nation. I wrote him a
letter of thanks, offering to serve him at Venice in any way I could.

I could not help comparing the cordiality of Levi's welcome with the
formal and ceremonious reception of Baron Pittoni. The baron was ten or
twelve years younger than I. He was a man of parts, and quite devoid of
prejudice. A sworn foe of 'meum and tuum', and wholly incapable of
economy, he left the whole care of his house to his valet, who robbed
him, but the baron knew it and made no objection. He was a determined
bachelor, a gallant, and the friend and patron of libertines. His chief
defect was his forgetfulness and absence of mind, which made him
mismanage important business.

He was reputed, though wrongly, to be a liar. A liar is a person who
tells falsehoods intentionally, while if Pittoni told lies it was because
he had forgotten the truth. We became good friends in the course of a
month, and we have remained friends to this day.

I wrote to my friends at Venice, announcing my arrival at Trieste, and
for the next ten days I kept my room, busied in putting together the
notes I had made on Polish events since the death of Elizabeth Petrovna.
I meant to write a history of the troubles of unhappy Poland up to its