examine the ends. All his gaze would be concentrated upon the plate, to
avoid spilling the grease on the book. I told Father Balbi of my plan,
charging him to take care how he took the dish, and above all to take
dish and Bible together, and not one by one. On the day appointed
Lawrence came earlier than usual, carrying a saucepan full of boiling
macaroni, and all the necessary ingredients for seasoning the dish. I
melted a quantity of butter, and after putting the macaroni into the dish
I poured the butter over it till it was full to the brim. The dish was a
huge one, and was much larger than the book on which I placed it. I did
all this at the door of my cell, Lawrence being outside.

When all was ready I carefully took up the Bible and dish, placing the
back of the book next to the bearer, and told Lawrence to stretch out his
arms and take it, to be careful not to spill the grease over the book,
and to carry the whole to its destination immediately. As I gave him this
weighty load I kept my eyes fixed on his, and I saw to my joy that he did
not take his gaze off the butter, which he was afraid of spilling. He
said it would be better to take the dish first, and then to come back for
the book; but I told him that this would spoil the present, and that both
must go together. He then complained that I had put in too much butter,
and said, jokingly, that if it were spilt he would not be responsible for
the loss. As soon as I saw the Bible in the lout's arms I was certain of
success, as he could not see the ends of the pike without twisting his
head, and I saw no reason why he should divert his gaze from the plate,
which he had enough to do to carry evenly. I followed him with my eyes
till he disappeared into the ante-chamber of the monk's cell, and he,
blowing his nose three times, gave me the pre-arranged signal that all
was right, which was confirmed by the appearance of Lawrence in a few
moments afterwards.

Father Balbi lost no time in setting about the work, and in eight days he
succeeded in making a large enough opening in the ceiling, which he
covered with a picture pasted to the ceiling with breadcrumbs. On the 8th
of October he wrote to say that he had passed the whole night in working
at the partition wall, and had only succeeded in loosening one brick. He
told me the difficulty of separating the bricks joined to one another by
a strong cement was enormous, but he promised to persevere, "though," he
said, "we shall only make our position worse than it is now." I told him
that I was certain of success; that he must believe in me and persevere.
Alas! I was certain of nothing, but I had to speak thus or to give up
all. I was fain to escape from this hell on earth, where I was imprisoned
by a most detestable tyranny, and I thought only of forwarding this end,
with the resolve to succeed, or at all events not to stop before I came
to a difficulty which was insurmountable. I had read in the great book of
experience that in important schemes action is the grand requisite, and
that the rest must be left to fortune. If I had entrusted Father Balbi
with these deep mysteries of moral philosophy he would have pronounced me
a madman. His work was only toilsome on the first night, for the more he
worked the easier it became, and when he had finished he found he had
taken out thirty-six bricks.

On the 16th of October, as I was engaged in translating an ode of Horace,
I heard a trampling noise above my head, and then three light blows were
struck. This was the signal agreed upon to assure us that our
calculations were correct. He worked till the evening, and the next day
he wrote that if the roof of my cell was only two boards thick his work
would be finished that day. He assured me that he was carefully making
the hole round as I had charged him, and that he would not pierce the
ceiling. This was a vital point, as the slightest mark would have led to
discovery. "The final touch," he said, "will only take a quarter of an
hour." I had fixed on the day after the next to escape from my cell at
night-time to enter no more, for with a mate I was quite sure that I
could make in two or three hours a hole in the roof of the ducal palace,
and once on the outside of the roof I would trust to chance for the means
of getting to the ground.

I had not yet got so far as this, for my bad luck had more than one
obstacle in store for me. On the same day (it was a Monday) at two
o'clock in the afternoon, whilst Father Balbi was at work, I heard the
door of the hall being opened. My blood ran cold, but I had sufficient
presence of mind to knock twice-the signal of alarm--at which it had been
agreed that Father Balbi was to make haste back to his cell and set all
in order. In less than a minute afterwards Lawrence opened the door, and
begged my pardon for giving me a very unpleasant companion. This was a
man between forty and fifty, short, thin, ugly, and badly dressed,
wearing a black wig; while I was looking at him he was unbound by two
guards. I had no reason to doubt that he was a knave, since Lawrence told
me so before his face without his displaying the slightest emotion. "The
Court," I said, "can do what seems good to it." After Lawrence had
brought him a bed he told him that the Court allowed him ten sous a day,
and then locked us up together.

Overwhelmed by this disaster, I glanced at the fellow, whom his every
feature proclaimed rogue. I was about to speak to him when he began by
thanking me for having got him a bed. Wishing to gain him over, I invited
him to take his meals with me. He kissed my hand, and asked me if he
would still be able to claim the ten sous which the Court had allowed
him. On my answering in the affirmative he fell on his knees, and drawing
an enormous rosary from his pocket he cast his gaze all round the cell.

"What do you want?"

"You will pardon me, sir, but I am looking for some statue of the Holy
Virgin, for I am a Christian; if there were even a small crucifix it
would be something, for I have never been in so much need of the
protection of St. Francis d'Assisi, whose name I bear, though all
unworthy."

I could scarcely help laughing, not at his Christian piety, since faith
and conscience are beyond control, but at the curious turn he gave his
remonstrance. I concluded he took me for a Jew; and to disabuse him of
this notion I made haste to give him the "Hours of the Holy Virgin,"
whose picture he kissed, and then gave me the book back, telling me in a
modest voice that his father--a galley officer--had neglected to have
him taught to read. "I am," said he, "a devotee of the Holy Rosary," and
he told me a host of miracles, to which I listened with the patience of
an angel. When he had come to an end I asked him if he had had his
dinner, and he replied that he was dying of hunger. I gave him everything
I had, which he devoured rather than ate; drinking all my wine, and then
becoming maudlin he began to weep, and finally to talk without rhyme or
reason. I asked him how he got into trouble, and he told me the following
story:

"My aim and my only aim has always been the glory of God, and of the holy
Republic of Venice, and that its laws may be exactly obeyed. Always
lending an attentive ear to the plots of the wicked, whose end is to
deceive, to deprive their prince of his just dues, and to conspire
secretly, I have over and again unveiled their secret plans, and have not
failed to report to Messer-Grande all I know. It is true that I am always
paid, but the money has never given me so much pleasure as the thought
that I have been able to serve the blessed St. Mark. I have always
despised those who think there is something dishonourable in the business
of a spy. The word sounds ill only to the ill-affected; for a spy is a
lover of the state, the scourge of the guilty, and faithful subject of
his prince. When I have been put to the test, the feeling of friendship,
which might count for something with other men, has never had the
slightest influence over me, and still less the sentiment which is called
gratitude. I have often, in order to worm out a secret, sworn to be as
silent as the grave, and have never failed to reveal it. Indeed, I am
able to do so with full confidence, as my director who is a good Jesuit
has told me that I may lawfully reveal such secrets, not only because my
intention was to do so, but because, when the safety of the state is at
stake, there is no such thing as a binding oath. I must confess that in
my zeal I have betrayed my own father, and that in me the promptings of
our weak nature have been quite mortified. Three weeks ago I observed
that there was a kind of cabal between four or five notables of the town
of Isola, where I live. I knew them to be disaffected to the Government
on account of certain contraband articles which had been confiscated. The
first chaplain--a subject of Austria by birth--was in the plot. They
gathered together of evenings in an inn, in a room where there was a bed;
there they drank and talked, and afterwards went their ways. As I was
determined to discover the conspiracy, I was brave enough to hide under
the bed on a day on which I was sure I would not be seen. Towards the
evening my gentlemen came, and began to talk; amongst other things, they
said that the town of Isola was not within the jurisdiction of St. Mark,
but rather in the principality of Trieste, as it could not possibly be
considered to form part of the Venetian territory. The chaplain said to
the chief of the plot, a man named Pietro Paolo, that if he and the
others would sign a document to that effect, he himself would go to the
imperial ambassador, and that the Empress would not only take possession
of the island, but would reward them for what they had done. They all
professed themselves ready to go on, and the chaplain promised to bring
the document the next day, and afterwards to take it to the ambassadors.

"I determined to frustrate this detestable project, although one of the
conspirators was my gossip--a spiritual relationship which gave him a
greater claim on me than if he had been my own brother.

"After they were gone, I came out of my hiding-place and did not think it
necessary to expose myself to danger by hiding again as I had found out
sufficient for my purpose. I set out the same night in a boat, and
reached here the next day before noon. I had the names of the six rebels
written down, and I took the paper to the secretary of the Tribunal,
telling him all I had heard. He ordered me to appear, the day following,
at the palace, and an agent of the Government should go back with me to
Isola that I might point the chaplain out to him, as he had probably not
yet gone to the Austrian ambassador's. 'That done,' said the lord
secretary, 'you will no longer meddle in the matter.' I executed his
orders, and after having shewn the chaplain to the agent, I was at
leisure for my own affairs.

"After dinner my gossip called me in to shave him (for I am a barber by
profession), and after I had done so he gave me a capital glass of
refosco with some slices of sausages, and we ate together in all good
fellowship. My love for him had still possession of my soul, so I took
his hand, and, shedding some heartfelt tears, I advised him to have no
more to do with the canon, and above all, not to sign the document he
knew of. He protested that he was no particular friend of the chaplain's,
and swore he did not know what document I was talking about. I burst into
a laugh, telling him it was only my joke, and went forth very sorry at
having yielded to a sentiment of affection which had made me commit so
grievous a fault. The next day I saw neither the man nor the chaplain. A
week after, having paid a visit to the palace, I was promptly imprisoned,
and here I am with you, my dear sir. I thank St. Francis for having given
me the company of a good Christian, who is here for reasons of which I
desire to know nothing, for I am not curious. My name is Soradaci, and my
wife is a Legrenzi, daughter of a secretary to the Council of Ten, who,
in spite of all prejudice to the contrary, determined to marry me. She
will be in despair at not knowing what has become of me, but I hope to be
here only for a few days, since the only reason of my imprisonment is
that the secretary wishes to be able to examine me more conveniently."

I shuddered to think of the monster who was with me, but feeling that the
situation was a risky one, And that I should have to make use of him, I
compassionated him, praised his patriotism, and predicted that he would
be set at liberty in a few days. A few moments after he fell asleep, and
I took the opportunity of telling the whole story to Father Balbi,
shewing him that we should be obliged to put off our work to a more
convenient season. Next day I told Lawrence to buy me a wooden crucifix,
a statue of Our Lady, a portrait of St. Francis, and two bottles of holy
water. Soradaci asked for his ten sous, and Lawrence, with an air of
contempt, gave him twenty. I asked Lawrence to buy me four times the
usual amount of garlic, wine, and salt--a diet in which my hateful
companion delighted. After the gaoler was gone I deftly drew out the
letter Balbi had written me, and in which he drew a vivid picture of his
alarm. He thought all was lost, and over and over again thanked Heaven
that Lawrence had put Soradaci in my cell, "for," said he, "if he had
come into mine, he would not have found me there, and we should possibly
have shared a cell in The Wells as a reward for our endeavours."

Soradaci's tale had satisfied me that he was only imprisoned to be
examined, as it seemed plain that the secretary had arrested him on
suspicion of bearing false witness. I thereupon resolved to entrust him
with two letters which would do me neither good nor harm if they were
delivered at their addresses, but which would be beneficial to me if the
traitor gave them to the secretary as a proof of his loyalty, as I had
not the slightest doubt he would do.

I spent two hours in writing these two letters in pencil. Next day
Lawrence brought me the crucifix, the two pictures, and the holy water,
and having worked the rascal well up to the point, I said, "I reckon upon
your friendship and your courage. Here are two letters I want you to
deliver when you recover your liberty. My happiness depends on your
loyality, but you must hide the letters, as they were found upon you we
should both of us be undone. You must swear by the crucifix and these
holy pictures not to betray me."

"I am ready, dear master, to swear to anything you like, and I owe you
too much to betray you."

This speech was followed by much weeping and lamentation. He called
himself unhappy wretch at being suspected of treason towards a man for
whom he would have given his life. I knew my man, but I played out the
comedy. Having given him a shirt and a cap, I stood up bare-headed, and
then having sprinkled the cell with holy water, and plentifully bedewed
him with the same liquid, I made him swear a dreadful oath, stuffed with
senseless imprecations, which for that very reason were the better fitted
to strike terror to his soul. After his having sworn the oath to deliver
my letters to their addresses, I gave him them, and he himself proposed
to sew them up at the back of his waistcoat, between the stuff and the
lining, to which proceedings I assented.

I was morally sure that he would deliver my letters to the secretary in
the first opportunity, so I took the utmost care that my style of writing
should not discover the trick. They could only gain me the esteem of the
Court, and possibly its mercy. One of the letters was addressed to M. de
Bragadin and the other to the Abbe Grimani, and I told them not to be
anxious about me as I was in good hopes of soon being set at liberty,
that they would find when I came out that my imprisonment had done me
more good than harm, as there was no one in Venice who stood in need of
reform more than I.

I begged M. de Bragadin to be kind enough to send me a pair of fur boots
for the winter, as my cell was high enough for me to stand upright and to
walk up and down.

I took care that Soradaci should not suspect the innocent nature of these
letters, as he might then have been seized with the temptation to do an
honest thing for me, and have delivered them, which was not what I was
aiming at. You will see, dear reader, in the following chapter, the power
of oaths over the vile soul of my odious companion, and also if I have
not verified the saying 'In vino veritas', for in the story he told me
the wretch had shewn himself in his true colours.

CHAPTER XXIX

Treason of Soradaci--How I Get the Best of Him--Father Balbi Ends His
Work--I Escape from My Cell--Unseasonable Observations of Count Asquin
The Critical Moment

Soradaci had had my letters for two or three days when Lawrence came one
afternoon to take him to the secretary. As he was several hours away, I
hoped to see his face no more; but to my great astonishment he was
brought back in the evening. As soon as Lawrence had gone, he told me
that the secretary suspected him of having warned the chaplain, since
that individual had never been near the ambassador's and no document of
any kind was found upon him. He added that after a long examination he
had been confined in a very small cell, and was then bound and brought
again before the secretary, who wanted him to confess that he told
someone at Isola that the priest would never return, but that he had not
done so as he had said no such thing. At last the secretary got tired,
called the guards, and had him brought back to my cell.

I was distressed to hear his account, as I saw that the wretch would
probably remain a long time in my company. Having to inform Father Balbi
of this fatal misadventure, I wrote to him during the night, and being
obliged to do so more than once, I got accustomed to write correctly
enough in the dark.

On the next day, to assure myself that my suspicions were well founded, I
told the spy to give me the letter I had written to M. de Bragadin as I
wanted to add something to it. "You can sew it up afterwards," said I.

"It would be dangerous," he replied, "as the gaoler might come in in the
mean time, and then we should be both ruined."

"No matter. Give me my letters:"

Thereupon the hound threw himself at my feet, and swore that on his
appearing for a second time before the dreaded secretary, he had been
seized with a severe trembling; and that he had felt in his back,
especially in the place where the letters were, so intolerable an
oppression, that the secretary had asked him the cause, and that he had
not been able to conceal the truth. Then the secretary rang his bell, and
Lawrence came in, unbound him, and took off his waist-coat and unsewed
the lining. The secretary then read the letters and put them in a drawer
of his bureau, telling him that if he had taken the letters he would have
been discovered and have lost his life.

I pretended to be overwhelmed, and covering my face with my hands I knelt
down at the bedside before the picture of the Virgin, and asked, her to
avenge me on the wretch who had broken the most sacred oaths. I
afterwards lay down on the bed, my face to the wall, and remained there
the whole day without moving, without speaking a word, and pretending not
to hear the tears, cries, and protestations of repentance uttered by the
villain. I played my part in the comedy I had sketched out to perfection.
In the night I wrote to Father Balbi to come at two o'clock in the
afternoon, not a minute sooner or later, to work for four hours, and not
a minute more. "On this precision," I wrote, "our liberty depends and if
you observe it all will be well."

It was the 25th of October, and the time for me to carry out my design or
to give it up for ever drew near. The State Inquisitors and their
secretary went every year to a village on the mainland, and passed there
the first three days of November. Lawrence, taking advantage of his
masters' absence, did not fail to get drunk every evening, and did not
appear at The Leads in the morning till a late hour.

Advised of these circumstances, I chose this time to make my escape, as I
was certain that my flight would not be noticed till late in the morning.
Another reason for my determination to hurry my escape, when I could no
longer doubt the villainy of my detestable companion, seems to me to be
worthy of record.

The greatest relief of a man in the midst of misfortune is the hope of
escaping from it. He sighs for the hour when his sorrows are to end; he
thinks he can hasten it by his prayers; he will do anything to know when
his torments shall cease. The sufferer, impatient and enfeebled, is
mostly inclined to superstition. "God," says he, "knows the time, and God
may reveal it to me, it matters not how." Whilst he is in this state he
is ready to trust in divination in any manner his fancy leads him, and is
more or less disposed to believe in the oracle of which he makes choice.

I then was in this state of mind; but not knowing how to make use of the
Bible to inform me of the moment in which I should recover my liberty, I
determined to consult the divine Orlando Furioso, which I had read a
hundred times, which I knew by heart, and which was my delight under the
Leads. I idolized the genius of Ariosto, and considered him a far better
fortune-teller than Virgil.

With this idea I wrote a question addressed to the supposed Intelligence,
in which I ask in what canto of Ariosto I should find the day of my
deliverance. I then made a reversed pyramid composed of the number formed
from the words of the question, and by subtracting the number nine I
obtained, finally, nine. This told me that I should find my fate in the
ninth canto. I followed the same method to find out the exact stanza and
verse, and got seven for the stanza and one for the verse.

I took up the poem, and my heart beating as if I trusted wholly in the
oracle, I opened it, turned down the leaf, and read;

'Fra il fin d'ottobre, a il capo di novembre'.

The precision of the line and its appropriateness to my circumstances
appeared so wonderful to me, that I will not confess that I placed my
faith entirely in it; but the reader will pardon me if I say that I did
all in my power to make the prediction a correct one. The most singular
circumstance is that between the end of October and the beginning of
November, there is only the instant midnight, and it was just as the
clock was striking midnight on the 31st of October that I escaped from my
cell, as the reader will soon see.

The following is the manner in which I passed the morning to strike awe
into the soul of that vicious brute, to confound his feeble intellect,
and to render him harmless to me.

As soon as Lawrence had left us I told Soradaci to come and take some
soup. The scoundrel was in bed, and he had told Lawrence that he was ill.
He would not have dared to approach me if I had not called him. However,
he rose from his bed, and threw himself flat upon the ground at my feet,
and said, weeping violently, that if I would not forgive him he would die
before the day was done, as he already felt the curse and the vengeance
of the Holy Virgin which I had denounced against him. He felt devouring
pains in his bowels, and his mouth was covered with sores. He shewed it
me, and I saw it was full of ulcers, but I cannot say whether it was thus
the night before. I did not much care to examine him to see if he were
telling me the truth. My cue was to pretend to believe him, and to make
him hope for mercy. I began by making him eat and drink. The traitor most
likely intended to deceive me, but as I was myself determined to deceive
him it remained to be seen which was the a cuter. I had planned an attack
against which it was improbable that he could defend himself.

Assuming an inspired air, I said, "Be seated and take this soup, and
afterwards I will tell you of your good fortune, for know that the Virgin
of the Rosary appeared to me at day-break, and bids me pardon you. Thou
shalt not die but live, and shalt come out of this place with me." In
great wonderment, and kneeling on the ground for want of a chair, he ate
the soup with me, and afterwards seated himself on the bed to hear what I
had to say. Thus I spoke to him:

"The grief I experienced at your dreadful treason made me pass a
sleepless night, as the letters might condemn me to spend here the
remnant of my days. My only consolation, I confess, was the certainty
that you would die here also before my eyes within three days. Full of
this thought not worthy of a Christian (for God bids us forgive our
enemies) my weariness made me sleep, and in my sleep I had a vision. I
saw that Holy Virgin, Mother of God, whose likeness you behold--I saw her
before me, and opening her lips she spoke thus:

"'Soradaci is a devotee of my Holy Rosary. I protect him, and I will that
you forgive him, and then the curse he has drawn on himself will cease.
In return for your generosity, I will order one of my angels to take the
form of man, to come down from heaven, to break open the roof of your
prison, and set you free within five or six days. The angel will begin
his task this day at two o'clock precisely, and he will work till half an
hour before sunset, since he must ascend again into heaven while the
daylight lasts. When you come out of this place, take Soradaci with you,
and have a care for him if he will renounce his business of spying. Tell
him all.'

"With these words the Holy Virgin vanished out of my sight, and I awoke."

I spoke all the while with a serious face and the air of one inspired,
and I saw that the traitor was petrified. I then took my Book of Hours,
sprinkled the cell with holy water, and pretended to pray, kissing from
time to time the picture of the Virgin. An hour afterwards the brute, who
so far had not opened his mouth, asked me bluntly at what time the angel
would come down from heaven, and if we should hear him breaking in the
cell.

"I am certain that he will begin at two o'clock, that we shall hear him
at his work, and that he will depart at the hour named by the Holy
Virgin."

"You may have dreamt it all."

"Nay, not so. Will you swear to me to spy no more?"

Instead of answering he went off to sleep, and did not awake for two
hours after, when he asked if he could put off taking the oath. I asked
of him,

"You can put off taking it," I said, "till the angel enters to set me
free; but if you do not then renounce by an oath the infamous trade which
has brought you here, and which will end by bringing you to the gallows,
I shall leave you in the cell, for so the Mother of God commands, and if
you do not obey you will lose her protection."

As I had expected, I saw an expression of satisfaction on his hideous
features, for he was quite certain that the angel would not come. He
looked at me with a pitying air. I longed to hear the hour strike. The
play amused me intensely, for I was persuaded that the approach of the
angel would set his miserable wits a-reeling. I was sure, also, that the
plan would succeed if Lawrence had not forgotten to give the monk the
books, and this was not likely.

An hour before the time appointed I was fain to dine. I only drank water,
and Soradaci drank all the wine and consumed all the garlic I had, and
thus made himself worse.

As soon as I heard the first stroke of two I fell on my knees, ordering
him, in an awful voice, to do the like. He obeyed, looking at me in a
dazed way. When I heard the first slight noise I examined, "Lo! the angel
cometh!" and fell down on my face, and with a hearty fisticuff forced him
into the same position. The noise of breaking was plainly heard, and for
a quarter of an hour I kept in that troublesome position, and if the
circumstances had been different I should have laughed to see how
motionless the creature was; but I restrained myself, remembering my
design of completely turning the fellow's head, or at least of obsessing
him for a time. As soon as I got up I knelt and allowed him to imitate
me, and I spent three hours in saying the rosary to him. From time to
time he dozed off, wearied rather by his position than by the monotony of
the prayer, but during the whole time he never interrupted me. Now and
again he dared to raise a furtive glance towards the ceiling. With a sort
of stupor on his face, he turned his head in the direction of the Virgin,
and the whole of his behaviour was for me the highest comedy. When I
heard the clock strike the hour for the work to cease, I said to him,

"Prostrate thyself, for the angel departeth."

Balbi returned to his cell, and we heard him no more. As I rose to my
feet, fixing my gaze on the wretched fellow, I read fright on every
feature, and was delighted. I addressed a few words to him that I might
see in what state of mind he was. He shed tears in abundance, and what he
said was mostly extravagant, his ideas having no sequence or connection.
He spoke of his sins, of his acts of devotion, of his zeal in the service
of St. Mark, and of the work he had done for the Commonwealth, and to
this attributed the special favours Mary had shewn him. I had to put up
with a long story about the miracles of the Rosary which his wife, whose
confessor was a young Dominican, had told him. He said that he did not
know what use I could make of an ignorant fellow like him.

"I will take you into my service, and you shall have all that you need
without being obliged to pursue the hazardous trade of a spy."

"Shall we not be able to remain at Venice?"

"Certainly not. The angel will take us to a land which does not belong to
St. Mark. Will you swear to me that you will spy no more? And if you
swear, will you become a perjurer a second time?"

"If I take the oath, I will surely keep it, of that there can be no
doubt; but you must confess that if I had not perjured myself you would
never have received such favour at the hands of the Virgin. My broken
faith is the cause of your bliss. You ought, therefore, to love me and to
be content with my treason."

"Dost love Judas who betrayed Jesus Christ?"

"No."

"You perceive, then, that one detests the traitor and at the same time
adores the Divine Providence, which knows how to bring good out of evil.
Up to the present time you have done wickedly. You have offended God and
the Virgin His Mother, and I will not receive your oath till you have
expiated your sins."

"What sin have I done?"

"You have sinned by pride, Soradaci, in thinking that I was under an
obligation to you for betraying me and giving my letters to the
secretary."

"How shall I expiate this sin?"

"Thus. To-morrow, when Lawrence comes, you must lie on your bed, your
face towards the wall, and without the slightest motion or a single
glance at Lawrence. If he address you, you must answer, without looking
at him, that you could not sleep, and need rest. Do you promise me
entirely to do this thing?"

"I will do whatsoever you tell me."

"Quick, then, take your oath before this holy picture."

"I promise, Holy Mother of God, that when Lawrence comes I will not look
at him, nor stir from my bed."

"And I, Most Holy Virgin, swear by the bowels of your Divine Son that if
I see Soradici move in the least or look towards Lawrence, I will throw
myself straightway upon him and strangle him without mercy, to your
honour and glory."

I counted on my threat having at least as much effect upon him as his
oath. Nevertheless, as I was anxious to make sure, I asked him if he had
anything to say against the oath, and after thinking for a moment he
answered that he was quite content with it. Well pleased myself, I gave
him something to eat, and told him to go to bed as I needed sleep.

As soon as he was asleep I began to write, and wrote on for two hours. I
told Balbi all that had happened, and said that if the work was far
enough advanced he need only come above my cell to put the final stroke
to it and break through. I made him note that we should set out on the
night of the 31st of October, and that we should be four in all, counting
his companion and mine. It was now the twenty-eighth of the month.

In the morning the monk wrote me that the passage was made, and that he
should only require to work at the ceiling of my cell to break through
the last board and this would be done in four minutes. Soradaci observed
his oath, pretending to sleep, and Lawrence said nothing to him. I kept
my eyes upon him the whole time, and I verily believe I should have
strangled him if he had made the slightest motion towards Lawrence, for a
wink would have been enough to betray me.

The rest of the day was devoted to high discourses and exalted
expressions, which I uttered as solemnly as I could, and I enjoyed the
sight of seeing him become more and more fanatical. To heighten the
effect of my mystic exhortation I dosed him heavily with wine, and did
not let him go till he had fallen into a drunken sleep.

Though a stranger to all metaphysical speculations, and a man who had
never exercised his reasoning faculties except in devising some piece of
spy-craft, the fellow confused me for a moment by saying that he could
not conceive how an angel should have to take so much trouble to break
open our cell. But after lifting my eyes to heaven, or rather to the roof
of my dungeon-cell, I said,

"The ways of God are inscrutable; and since the messenger of Heaven works
not as an angel (for then a slight single blow would be enough), he works
like a man, whose form he has doubtless taken, as we are not worthy to
look upon his celestial body. And, furthermore," said I, like a true
Jesuit, who knows how to draw advantage from everything, "I foresee that
the angel, to punish us for your evil thought, which has offended the
Holy Virgin, will not come to-day. Wretch, your thoughts are not those of
an honest, pious, and religious man, but those of a sinner who thinks he
has to do with Messer-Grande and his myrmidons."

I wanted to drive him to despair, and I had succeeded. He began to weep
bitterly, and his sobs almost choked him, when two o'clock struck and not
sign of the angel was heard. Instead of calming him I endeavoured to
augment his misery by my complaints. The next morning he was obedient to
my orders, for when Lawrence asked him how he was, he replied without
moving his head. He behaved in the same manner on the day following, and
until I saw Lawrence for the last time on the morning of the 31st
October. I gave him the book for Barbi, and told the monk to come at noon
to break through the ceiling. I feared nothing, as Lawrence had told me
that the Inquisitors and the secretary had already set out for the
country. I had no reason to dread the arrival of a new companion, and all
I had to do was to manage my knave.

After Lawrence was gone I told Soradaci that the angel would come and
make an opening in the ceiling about noon.

"He will bring a pair of scissors with him," I said, "and you will have
to cut the angel's beard and mine."

"Has the angel a beard?"

"Yes, you shall see it for yourself. Afterwards we will get out of the
cell and proceed to break the roof of the palace, whence we shall descend
into St. Mark's Place and set out for Germany."

He answered nothing. He had to eat by himself, for my mind was too much
occupied to think about dinner--indeed, I had been unable to sleep.

The appointed hour struck--and the angel came, Soradaci was going to fall
down on his face, but I told him it was not necessary. In three minutes
the passage was completed, the piece of board fell at my feet, and Father
Balbi into my arms. "Your work is ended and mine begun," said I to him.
We embraced each other, and he gave me the pike and a pair of scissors. I
told Soradaci to cut our beards, but I could not help laughing to see the
creature--his mouth all agape-staring at the angel, who was more like a
devil. However, though quite beside himself, he cut our beards admirably.

Anxious to see how the land lay, I told the monk to stay with Soradaci,
as I did not care to leave him alone, and I went out. I found the hole in
the wall narrow, but I succeeded in getting through it. I was above the
count's cell, and I came in and greeted the worthy old man. The man
before me was not fitted to encounter such difficulties as would be
involved in an escape by a steep roof covered with plates of lead. He
asked me what my plan was, and told me that he thought I had acted rather
inconsiderately. "I only ask to go forward," said I, "till I find death
or freedom." "If you intend," he answered, "to pierce the roof and to
descend from thence, I see no prospect of success, unless you have wings;
and I at all events have not the courage to accompany you. I will remain
here, and pray to God on your behalf."

I went out again to look at the roof, getting as close as I could to the
sides of the loft. Touching the lower part of the roof, I took up a
position between the beams, and feeling the wood with the end of the bar
I luckily found them to be half rotten. At every blow of the bar they
fell to dust, so feeling certain of my ability to make a large enough
hole in less than a hour I returned to my cell, and for four hours
employed myself in cutting up sheets, coverlets, and bedding, to make
ropes. I took care to make the knots myself and to be assured of their
strength, for a single weak knot might cost us our lives. At last I had
ready a hundred fathoms of rope.

In great undertakings there are certain critical points which the leader
who deserves to succeed trusts to no one but himself. When the rope was
ready I made a parcel of my suit, my cloak, a few shirts, stockings, and
handkerchiefs, and the three of us went into the count's cell. The first
thing the count did was to congratulate Soradaci on having been placed in
the same cell as myself, and on being so soon about to regain his
liberty. His air of speechless confusion made me want to laugh. I took no
more trouble about him, for I had thrown off the mask of Tartuffe which I
had found terribly inconvenient all the time I had worn it for the
rascal's sake. He knew, I could see, that he had been deceived, but he
understood nothing else, as he could not make out how I could have
arranged with the supposed angel to come and go at certain fixed times.
He listened attentively to the count, who told us we were going to our
destruction, and like the coward that he was, he began to plan how to
escape from the dangerous journey. I told the monk to put his bundle
together while I was making the hole in the roof by the side of the loft.

At eight o'clock, without needing any help, my opening was made. I had
broken up the beams, and the space was twice the size required. I got the
plate of lead off in one piece. I could not do it by myself, because it
was riveted. The monk came to my aid, and by dint of driving the bar
between the gutter and the lead I succeeded in loosening it, and then,
heaving at it with our shoulders, we beat it up till the opening was wide
enough. On putting my head out through the hole I was distressed to see
the brilliant light of the crescent moon then entering in its first
quarter. This was a piece of bad luck which must be borne patiently, and
we should have to wait till midnight, when the moon would have gone to
light up the Antipodes. On such a fine night as this everybody would be
walking in St. Mark's Place, and I dared not shew myself on the roof as
the moonlight would have thrown a huge shadow of me on the place, and
have drawn towards me all eyes, especially those of Messer-Grande and his
myrmidons, and our fine scheme would have been brought to nothing by
their detestable activity. I immediately decided that we could not escape
till after the moon set; in the mean time I prayed for the help of God,
but did not ask Him to work any miracles for me. I was at the mercy of
Fortune, and I had to take care not to give her any advantages; and if my
scheme ended in failure I should be consoled by the thought that I had
not made a single mistake. The moon would set at eleven and sunrise was
at six, so we had seven hours of perfect darkness at our service; and
though we had a hard task, I considered that in seven hours it would be
accomplished.

I told Father Balbi that we could pass the three hours in talking to
Count Asquin. I requested him to go first and ask the count to lend me
thirty sequins, which would be as necessary to me as my pike had been
hitherto. He carried my message, and a few minutes after came and asked
me to go myself, as the count wished to talk to me alone. The poor old
man began by saying with great politeness that I really stood in no need
of money to escape, that he had none, that he had a large family, that if
I was killed the money would be lost, with a thousand other futilities of
the same kind to disguise his avarice, or the dislike he felt to parting
with his money. My reply lasted for half an hour, and contained some
excellent arguments, which never have had and never will have any force,
as the finest weapons of oratory are blunted when used against one of the
strongest of the passions. It was a matter of a 'nolenti baculus'; not
that I was cruel enough to use force towards an unhappy old man like the
count. I ended my speech by saying that if he would flee with us I would
carry him upon my back like AEneas carried Anchises; but if he was going
to stay in prison to offer up prayers for our success, his prayers would
be observed, as it would be a case of praying God to give success when he
himself had refused to contribute the most ordinary aid.

He replied by a flood of tears, which affected me. He then asked if two
sequins would be enough, and I answered in the affirmative. He then gave
them to me begging me to return them to him if after getting on the roof
I saw my wisest course would be to come back. I promised to do so,
feeling somewhat astonished that he should deem me capable of a retreat.
He little knew me, for I would have preferred death to an imprisonment
which would have been life-long.

I called my companions, and we set all our baggage near the hole. I
divided the hundred fathoms of rope into two packets, and we spent two
hours in talking over the chances of our undertaking. The first proof
which Father Balbi gave me of his fine character was to tell me, ten
times over, that I had broken my word with him, since I had assured him
that my scheme was complete and certain, while it was really nothing of
the kind. He went so far as to tell me that if he had known as much he
would not have taken me from my cell. The count also, with all the weight
of his seventy years, told me that I should do well to give up so
hazardous an undertaking, in which success was impossible and death
probable. As he was a barrister he made me a speech as follows, and I had
not much difficulty in guessing that he was inspired by the thought of
the two sequins which I should have had to give him back, if he had
succeeded in persuading me to stay where I was:

"The incline of the roof covered with lead plates," said he, "will render
it impossible for you to walk, indeed you will scarcely be able to stand
on your feet. It is true that the roof has seven or eight windows, but
they are all barred with iron, and you could not keep your footing near
them since they are far from the sides. Your ropes are useless, as you
will find nothing whereon to fasten them; and even if you did, a man
descending from such a height cannot reach the ground by himself. One of
you will therefore have to lower the two others one at a time as one
lowers a bucket or a bundle of wood, and he who does so will have to stay
behind and go back to his cell. Which of you three has a vocation for
this dangerous work of charity? And supposing that one of you is heroic
enough to do so, can you tell me on which side you are going to descend?
Not by the side towards the palace, for you would be seen; not by the
church, as you would find yourselves still shut up, and as to the court
side you surely would not think of it, for you would fall into the hands
of the 'arsenalotti' who are always going their rounds there. You have
only the canal side left, and where is your gondola to take you off? Not
having any such thing, you will be obliged to throw yourself in and
escape by swimming towards St. Appollonia, which you will reach in a
wretched condition, not knowing where to turn to next. You must remember
that the leads are slippery, and that if you were to fall into the canal,
considering the height of the fall and the shallowness of the water, you
would most certainly be killed if you could swim like sharks. You would
be crushed to death, for three or four feet of water are not sufficient
to counteract the effect of a fall from such a height. In short, the best
fate you can expect is to find yourselves on the ground with broken arms
and legs."

The effect of this discourse--a very unseasonable one, under the
circumstances--was to make my blood boil, but I listened with a patience
wholly foreign to my nature. The rough reproaches of the monk enraged me,
and inclined me to answer him in his own way; but I felt that my position
was a difficult one, and that unless I was careful I might ruin all, for
I had to do with a coward quite capable of saying that he was not going
to risk his life, and by myself I could not hope to succeed. I
constrained myself, therefore, and as politely as I could I told them
that I was sure of success, though I could not as yet communicate the
details of my plan. "I shall profit by your wise counsels," said I to
Count Asquin, "and be very prudent, but my trust in God and in my own
strength will carry me through all difficulties."

From time to time I stretched out my hand to assure myself that Soradaci
was there, for he did not speak a word. I laughed to myself to think what
he might be turning in his head now that he was convinced that I had
deceived him. At half-past ten I told him to go and see what was the
position of the moon. He obeyed and returned, saying that in an hour and
a-half it would have disappeared, and that there was a thick fog which
would make the leads very dangerous.

"All I ask," I said, "is that the fog be not made of oil. Put your cloak
in a packet with some of the rope which must be divided equally between
us."

At this I was astonished to find him at my knees kissing my hands, and
entreating me not to kill him. "I should be sure," said he, "to fall over
into the canal, and I should not be of any use to you. Ah! leave me here,
and all the night I will pray to St. Francis for you. You can kill me or
save me alive; but of this I am determined, never to follow you."

The fool never thought how he had responded to my prayers.

"You are right," I said, "you may stop here on the condition that you
will pray to St. Francis; and that you go forthwith and fetch my books,
which I wish to leave to the count."

He did so without answering me, doubtless with much joy. My books were
worth at least a hundred crowns. The count told me that he would give
them back on my return.

"You may be sure," I said, "that you will never see me here again. The
books will cover your expenditure of two sequins. As to this rascal, I am
delighted, as he cannot muster sufficient courage to come with me. He
would be in the way, and the fellow is not worthy of sharing with Father
Balbi and myself the honours of so brave a flight."

"That's true," said the count, "provided that he does not congratulate
himself to-morrow."

I asked the count to give me pens, ink, and paper, which he possessed in
spite of the regulations to the contrary, for such prohibitions were
nothing to Lawrence, who would have sold St. Mark himself for a crown. I
then wrote the following letter, which I gave to Soradaci, not being able
to read it over, as I had written it in the dark. I began by a fine
heading, which I wrote in Latin, and which in English would run thus:

"'I shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord.'"

"Our lords of state are bound to do all in their power to keep a prisoner
under the Leads, and on the other hand the prisoner, who is fortunately
not on parole, is bound also to make his escape. Their right to act thus
is founded on justice, while the prisoner follows the voice of nature;
and since they have not asked him whether he will be put in prison, so he
ought not to ask them leave to escape.

"Jacques Casanova, writing in the bitterness of his heart, knows that he
may have the ill luck to be recaptured before he succeeds in leaving the
Venetian territory and escaping to a friendly state; but if so, he
appeals to the humanity of the judges not to add to the misery of the
condition from which, yielding to the voice of nature, he is endeavouring
to escape. He begs them, if he be taken, to return him whatever may be in
his cell, but if he succeed he gives the whole to Francis Soradaci, who
is still a captive for want of courage to escape, not like me preferring
liberty to life. Casanova entreats their excellencies not to refuse the
poor wretch this gift. Dated an hour before midnight, in the cell of
Count Asquin, on October 31st, 1756."

I warned Soradaci not to give this letter to Lawrence, but to the
secretary in person, who, no doubt, would interrogate him if he did not
go himself to the cell, which was the more likely course. The count said
my letter was perfect, but that he would give me back all my books if I
returned. The fool said he wished to see me again to prove that he would
return everything gladly.

But our time was come. The moon had set. I hung the half of the ropes by
Father Balbi's neck on one side and his clothes on the other. I did the
same to myself, and with our hats on and our coats off we went to the
opening.

     E quindi uscimmo a rimirar le stelle.--DANTE.

CHAPTER XXX

The Escape I Nearly Lose My Life on the Roof I Get out of the Ducal
Palace, Take a Boat, and Reach the Mainland--Danger to Which I Am Exposed
by Father Balbi--My Scheme for Ridding Myself of Him

I got out the first, and Father Balbi followed me. Soradaci who had come
as far as the opening, had orders to put the plate of lead back in its
place, and then to go and pray to St. Francis for us. Keeping on my hands
and knees, and grasping my pike firmly I pushed it obliquely between the
joining of the plates of lead, and then holding the side of the plate
which I had lifted I succeeded in drawing myself up to the summit of the
roof. The monk had taken hold of my waistband to follow me, and thus I
was like a beast of burden who has to carry and draw along at the same
time; and this on a steep and slippery roof.

When we were half-way up the monk asked me to stop, as one of his packets
had slipped off, and he hoped it had not gone further than the gutter. My
first thought was to give him a kick and to send him after his packet,
but, praised be to God! I had sufficient self-control not to yield to it,
and indeed the punishment would have been too heavy for both of us, as I
should have had no chance of escaping by myself. I asked him if it were
the bundle of rope, and on his replying that it was a small packet of his
own containing manuscript he had found in one of the garrets under the
Leads, I told him he must bear it patiently, as a single step might be
our destruction. The poor monk gave a sigh, and he still clinging to my
waist we continued climbing.

After having surmounted with the greatest difficulty fifteen or sixteen
plates we got to the top, on which I sat astride, Father Balbi imitating
my example. Our backs were towards the little island of St. George the
Greater, and about two hundred paces in front of us were the numerous
cupolas of St. Mark's Church, which forms part of the ducal palace, for
St. Mark's is really the Doge's private chapel, and no monarch in the
world can boast of having a finer. My first step was to take off my
bundle, and I told my companion to do the same. He put the rope as best
he could upon his thighs, but wishing to take off his hat, which was in
his way, he took hold of it awkwardly, and it was soon dancing from plate
to plate to join the packet of linen in the gutter. My poor companion was
in despair.

"A bad omen," he exclaimed; "our task is but begun and here am I deprived
of shirt, hat, and a precious manuscript, containing a curious account of
the festivals of the palace."

I felt calmer now that I was no longer crawling on hands and knees, and I
told him quietly that the two accidents which had happened to him had
nothing extraordinary in them, and that not even a superstitious person
would call them omens, that I did not consider them in that light, and
that they were far from damping my spirits.

"They ought rather," said I, "to warn you to be prudent, and to remind
you that God is certainly watching over us, for if your hat had fallen to
the left instead of to the right, we should have been undone; as in that
case it would have fallen into the palace court, where it would have
caught the attention of the guards, and have let them know that there was
someone on the roof; and in a few minutes we should have been retaken."

After looking about me for some time I told the monk to stay still till I
came back, and I set out, my pike in my hand, sitting astride the roof
and moving along without any difficulty. For nearly an hour I went to
this side and that, keeping a sharp look-out, but in vain; for I could
see nothing to which the rope could be fastened, and I was in the
greatest perplexity as to what was to be done. It was of no use thinking
of getting down on the canal side or by the court of the palace, and the
church offered only precipices which led to nothing. To get to the other
side of the church towards the Canonica, I should have had to climb roofs
so steep that I saw no prospect of success. The situation called for
hardihood, but not the smallest piece of rashness.

It was necessary, however, either to escape, or to reenter the prison,
perhaps never again to leave it, or to throw myself into the canal. In
such a dilemma it was necessary to leave a good deal to chance, and to
make a start of some kind. My eye caught a window on the canal sides, and
two-thirds of the distance from the gutter to the summit of the roof. It
was a good distance from the spot I had set out from, so I concluded that
the garret lighted by it did not form part of the prison I had just
broken. It could only light a loft, inhabited or uninhabited, above some
rooms in the palace, the doors of which would probably be opened by
day-break. I was morally sure that if the palace servants saw us they
would help us to escape, and not deliver us over to the Inquisitors, even
if they recognized us as criminals of the deepest dye; so heartily was
the State Inquisition hated by everyone.

It was thus necessary for me to get in front of the window, and letting
myself slide softly down in a straight line I soon found myself astride
on top of the dormer-roof. Then grasping the sides I stretched my head
over, and succeeded in seeing and touching a small grating, behind which
was a window of square panes of glass joined with thin strips of lead. I
did not trouble myself about the window, but the grating, small as it
was, appeared an insurmountable difficulty, failing a file, and I had
only my pike.

I was thoroughly perplexed, and was beginning to lose courage, when an
incident of the simplest and most natural kind came to my aid and
fortified my resolution.

Philosophic reader, if you will place yourself for a moment in my
position, if you will share the sufferings which for fifteen months had
been my lot, if you think of my danger on the top of a roof, where the
slightest step in a wrong direction would have cost me my life, if you
consider the few hours at my disposal to overcome difficulties which
might spring up at any moment, the candid confession I am about to make
will not lower me in your esteem; at any rate, if you do not forget that
a man in an anxious and dangerous position is in reality only half
himself.

It was the clock of St. Mark's striking midnight, which, by a violent
shock, drew me out of the state of perplexity I had fallen into. The
clock reminded me that the day just beginning was All Saints' Day--the
day of my patron saint (at least if I had one)--and the prophecy of my
confessor came into my mind. But I confess that what chiefly strengthened
me, both bodily and mentally, was the profane oracle of my beloved
Ariosto: 'Fra il fin d'ottobre, a il capo di novembre'.

The chime seemed to me a speaking talisman, commanding me to be up and
doing,--and--promising me the victory. Lying on my belly I stretched my
head down towards the grating, and pushing my pike into the sash which
held it I resolved to take it out in a piece. In a quarter of an hour I
succeeded, and held the whole grate in my hands,--and putting it on one
side I easily broke the glass window, though wounding my left hand.

With the aid of my pike, using it as I had done before, I regained the
ridge of the roof, and went back to the spot where I had left Balbi. I
found him enraged and despairing, and he abused me heartily for having
left him for so long. He assured me that he was only waiting for it to
get light to return to the prison.

"What did you think had become of me?"

"I thought you must have fallen over."

"And you can find no better way than abuse to express the joy you ought
to feel at seeing me again?"

"What have you been doing all this time?"

"Follow me, and you shall see."

I took up my packets again and made my way towards the window. As soon as
were opposite to it I told Balbi what I had done, and asked him if he
could think of any way of getting into the loft. For one it was easy
enough, for the other could lower him by the rope; but I could not
discover how the second of us was to get down afterwards, as there was
nothing to which the rope could be fastened. If I let myself fall I might
break my arms and legs, for I did not know the distance between the
window and the floor of the room. To this chain of reasoning uttered in
the friendliest possible tone, the brute replied thus:

"You let me down, and when I have got to the bottom you will have plenty
of time to think how you are going to follow me."

I confess that my first indignant impulse was to drive my pike into his
throat. My good genius stayed my arm, and I uttered not a word in
reproach of his base selfishness. On the contrary, I straightway untied
my bundle of rope and bound him strongly under the elbows, and making him
lie flat down I lowered him feet foremost on to the roof of the
dormer-window. When he got there I told him to lower himself into the
window as far as his hips, supporting himself by holding his elbows
against the sides of the window. As soon as he had done so, I slid down
the roof as before, and lying down on the dormer-roof with a firm grasp
of the rope I told the monk not to be afraid but to let himself go. When
he reached the floor of the loft he untied himself, and on drawing the
rope back I found the fall was one of fifty feet-too dangerous a jump to
be risked. The monk who for two hours had been a prey to terror; seated
in a position which I confess was not a very reassuring one, was not
quite cool, and called out to me to throw him the ropes for him to take
care of--a piece of advice you may be sure I took care not to follow.

Not knowing what to do next, and waiting for some fortunate idea, I made
my way back to the ridge of the roof, and from there spied out a corner
near a cupola; which I had not visited. I went towards it and found a
flat roof, with a large window closed with two shutters. At hand was a
tubful of plaster, a trowel, and ladder which I thought long enough for
my purpose. This was enough, and tying my rope to the first round I
dragged this troublesome burden after me to the window. My next task was
to get the end of the ladder (which was twelve fathoms long) into the
opening, and the difficulties I encountered made me sorry that I had
deprived myself of the aid of the monk. [The unit of measure:'fathoms'
describing the ladder and earlier the 100 fathoms of rope, is likely a
translation error: Casanova might have manufactured 100 feet of rope and
might have dragged a 12 foot ladder up the steep roof, but not a longer.
D.W.]

I had set the ladder in such a way that one end touched the window, and
the other went below the gutter. I next slid down to the roof of the
window, and drawing the ladder towards me I fastened the end of my rope
to the eighth round, and then let it go again till it was parallel with
the window. I then strove to get it in, but I could not insert it farther
than the fifth round, for the end of the ladder being stopped by the
inside roof of the window no force on earth could have pushed it any
further without breaking either the ladder or the ceiling. There was
nothing to be done but to lift it by the other end; it would then slip
down by its own weight. I might, it is true, have placed the ladder
across the window, and have fastened the rope to it, in which manner I
might have let myself down into the loft without any risk; but the ladder
would have been left outside to shew Lawrence and the guards where to
look for us and possibly to find us in the morning.

I did not care to risk by a piece of imprudence the fruit of so much toil
and danger, and to destroy all traces of our whereabouts the ladder must
be drawn in. Having no one to give me a helping hand, I resolved to go
myself to the parapet to lift the ladder and attain the end I had in
view. I did so, but at such a hazard as had almost cost me my life. I
could let go the ladder while I slackened the rope without any fear of
its falling over, as it had caught to the parapet by the third rung.
Then, my pike in my hand, I slid down beside the ladder to the parapet,
which held up the points of my feet, as I was lying on my belly. In this
position I pushed the ladder forward, and was able to get it into the
window to the length of a foot, and that diminished by a good deal its
weight. I now only had to push it in another two feet, as I was sure that
I could get it in altogether by means of the rope from the roof of the
window. To impel the ladder to the extent required I got on my knees, but
the effort I had to use made me slip, and in an instant I was over the
parapet as far as my chest, sustained by my elbows.

I shudder still when I think of this awful moment, which cannot be
conceived in all its horror. My natural instinct made me almost
unconsciously strain every nerve to regain the parapet, and--I had nearly
said miraculously--I succeeded. Taking care not to let myself slip back
an inch I struggled upwards with my hands and arms, while my belly was
resting on the edge of the parapet. Fortunately the ladder was safe, for
with that unlucky effort which had nearly cost me so dearly I had pushed
it in more than three feet, and there it remained.

Finding myself resting on my groin on the parapet, I saw that I had only
to lift up my right leg and to put up first one knee and then the other
to be absolutely out of danger; but I had not yet got to the end of my
trouble. The effort I made gave me so severe a spasm that I became
cramped and unable to use my limbs. However, I did not lose my head, but
kept quiet till the pain had gone off, knowing by experience that keeping
still is the best cure for the false cramp. It was a dreadful moment! In
two minutes I made another effort, and had the good fortune to get my two
knees on to the parapet, and as soon as I had taken breath I cautiously
hoisted the ladder and pushed it half-way through the window. I then took
my pike, and crawling up as I had done before I reached the window, where
my knowledge of the laws of equilibrium and leverage aided me to insert
the ladder to its full length, my companion receiving the end of it. I
then threw into the loft the bundles and the fragments that I had broken
off the window, and I stepped down to the monk, who welcomed me heartily
and drew in the ladder. Arm in arm, we proceeded to inspect the gloomy
retreat in which we found ourselves, and judged it to be about thirty
paces long by twenty wide.

At one end were folding-doors barred with iron. This looked bad, but
putting my hand to the latch in the middle it yielded to the pressure,
and the door opened. The first thing we did was to make the tour of the
room, and crossing it we stumbled against a large table surrounded by
stools and armchairs. Returning to the part where we had seen windows, we
opened the shutters of one of them, and the light of the stars only
shewed us: the cupolas and the depths beneath them. I did not think for a
moment of lowering myself down, as I wished to know where I was going,
and I did not recognize our surroundings. I shut the window up, and we
returned to the place where we had left our packages. Quite exhausted I
let myself fall on the floor, and placing a bundle of rope under my head
a sweet sleep came to my relief. I abandoned myself to it without
resistance, and indeed, I believe if death were to have been the result,
I should have slept all the same, and I still remember how I enjoyed that
sleep.

It lasted for three and a half hours, and I was awakened by the monk's
calling out and shaking me. He told me that it had just struck five. He
said it was inconceivable to him how I could sleep in the situation we
were in. But that which was inconceivable to him was not so to me. I had
not fallen asleep on purpose, but had only yielded to the demands of
exhausted nature, and, if I may say so, to the extremity of my need. In
my exhaustion there was nothing to wonder at, since I had neither eaten
nor slept for two days, and the efforts I had made--efforts almost beyond
the limits of mortal endurance--might well have exhausted any man. In my
sleep my activity had come back to me, and I was delighted to see the
darkness disappearing, so that we should be able to proceed with more
certainty and quickness.

Casting a rapid glance around, I said to myself, "This is not a prison,
there ought, therefore, be some easy exit from it." We addressed
ourselves to the end opposite to the folding-doors, and in a narrow
recess I thought I made out a doorway. I felt it over and touched a lock,
into which I thrust my pike, and opened it with three or four heaves. We
then found ourselves in a small room, and I discovered a key on a table,
which I tried on a door opposite to us, which, however, proved to be
unlocked. I told the monk to go for our bundles, and replacing the key we
passed out and came into a gallery containing presses full of papers.
They were the state archives. I came across a short flight of stone
stairs, which I descended, then another, which I descended also, and
found a glass door at the end, on opening which I entered a hall well
known to me: we were in the ducal chancery. I opened a window and could
have got down easily, but the result would have been that we should have
been trapped in the maze of little courts around St. Mark's Church. I saw
on a desk an iron instrument, of which I took possession; it had a
rounded point and a wooden handle, being used by the clerks of the
chancery to pierce parchments for the purpose of affixing the leaden
seals. On opening the desk I saw the copy of a letter advising the
Proveditore of Corfu of a grant of three thousand sequins for the
restoration of the old fortress. I searched for the sequins but they were
not there. God knows how gladly I would have taken them, and how I would
have laughed the monk to scorn if he had accused me of theft! I should
have received the money as a gift from Heaven, and should have regarded
myself as its master by conquest.

Going to the door of the chancery, I put my bar in the keyhole, but
finding immediately that I could not break it open, I resolved on making
a hole in the door. I took care to choose the side where the wood had
fewest knots, and working with all speed I struck as hard and as cleaving
strokes as I was able. The monk, who helped me as well as he could with
the punch I had taken from the desk, trembled at the echoing clamour of
my pike which must have been audible at some distance. I felt the danger
myself, but it had to be risked.

In half an hour the hole was large enough--a fortunate circumstance, for
I should have had much trouble in making it any larger without the aid of
a saw. I was afraid when I looked at the edges of the hole, for they
bristled with jagged pieces of wood which seemed made for tearing clothes
and flesh together. The hole was at a height of five feet from the
ground. We placed beneath it two stools, one beside the other, and when
we had stepped upon them the monk with arms crossed and head foremost
began to make his way through the hole, and taking him by the thighs, and
afterwards by the legs, I succeeded in pushing him through, and though it
was dark I felt quite secure, as I knew the surroundings. As soon as my
companion had reached the other side I threw him my belongings, with the
exception of the ropes, which I left behind, and placing a third stool on
the two others, I climbed up, and got through as far as my middle, though
with much difficulty, owing to the extreme narrowness of the hole. Then,
having nothing to grasp with my hands, nor anyone to push me as I had
pushed the monk, I asked him to take me, and draw me gently and by slow
degrees towards him. He did so, and I endured silently the fearful
torture I had to undergo, as my thighs and legs were torn by the
splinters of wood.

As soon as I got through I made haste to pick up my bundle of linen, and
going down two flights of stairs I opened without difficulty the door
leading into the passage whence opens the chief door to the grand
staircase, and in another the door of the closet of the 'Savio alla
scrittura'. The chief door was locked, and I saw at once that, failing a
catapult or a mine of gunpowder, I could not possibly get through. The
bar I still held seemed to say, "Hic fines posuit. My use is ended and
you can lay me down." It was dear to me as the instrument of freedom, and
was worthy of being hung as an 'ex voto' on the altar of liberty.

I sat down with the utmost tranquillity, and told the monk to do the
same.

"My work is done," I said, "the rest must be left to God and fortune.

"Abbia chi regge il ciel cura del resto, O la fortuna se non tocca a lui.

"I do not know whether those who sweep out the palace will come here
to-day, which is All Saints' Day, or tomorrow, All Souls' Day. If anyone
comes, I shall run out as soon as the door opens, and do you follow after
me; but if nobody comes, I do not budge a step, and if I die of hunger so
much the worse for me."

At this speech of mine he became beside himself. He called me a madman,
seducer, deceiver, and a liar. I let him talk, and took no notice. It
struck six; only an hour had passed since I had my awakening in the loft.

My first task was to change my clothes. Father Balbi looked like a
peasant, but he was in better condition than I, his clothes were not torn
to shreds or covered with blood, his red flannel waistcoat and purple
breeches were intact, while my figure could only inspire pity or terror,
so bloodstained and tattered was I. I took off my stockings, and the
blood gushed out of two wounds I had given myself on the parapet, while
the splinters in the hole in the door had torn my waistcoat, shirt,
breeches, legs and thighs. I was dreadfully wounded all over my body. I
made bandages of handkerchiefs, and dressed my wounds as best I could,
and then put on my fine suit, which on a winter's day would look odd
enough. Having tied up my hair, I put on white stockings, a laced shirt,
failing any other, and two others over it, and then stowing away some
stockings and handkerchiefs in my pockets, I threw everything else into a
corner of the room. I flung my fine cloak over the monk, and the fellow
looked as if he had stolen it. I must have looked like a man who has been
to a dance and has spent the rest of the night in a disorderly house,
though the only foil to my reasonable elegance of attire was the bandages
round my knees.

In this guise, with my exquisite hat trimmed with Spanish lace and
adorned with a white feather on my head, I opened a window. I was
immediately remarked by some lounger in the palace court, who, not
understanding what anyone of my appearance was doing there at such an
early hour, went to tell the door-keeper of the circumstance. He,
thinking he must have locked somebody in the night before, went for his
keys and came towards us. I was sorry to have let myself be seen at the
window, not knowing that therein chance was working for our escape, and
was sitting down listening to the idle talk of the monk, when I heard the
jingling of keys. Much perturbed I got up and put my eye to a chink in
the door, and saw a man with a great bunch of keys in his hand mounting
leisurely up the stairs. I told the monk not to open his mouth, to keep
well behind me, and to follow my steps. I took my pike, and concealing it
in my right sleeve I got into a corner by the door, whence I could get
out as soon as it was opened and run down the stairs. I prayed that the
man might make no resistance, as if he did I should be obliged to fell
him to the earth, and I determined to do so.

The door opened; and the poor man as soon as he saw me seemed turned to a
stone. Without an instant's delay and in dead silence, I made haste to
descend the stairs, the monk following me. Avoiding the appearance of a
fugitive, but walking fast, I went by the giants' Stairs, taking no
notice of Father Balbi, who kept cabling: out "To the church! to the
church!"

The church door was only about twenty paces from the stairs, but the
churches were no longer sanctuaries in Venice; and no one ever took
refuge in them. The monk knew this, but fright had deprived him of his
faculties. He told me afterwards that the motive which impelled him to go
to the church was the voice of religion bidding him seek the horns of the
altar.

"Why didn't you go by yourself?" said I.

"I did not, like to abandon you," but he should rather have said, "I did
not like to lose the comfort of your company."

The safety I sought was beyond the borders of the Republic, and
thitherward I began to bend my steps. Already there in spirit, I must
needs be there in body also. I went straight towards the chief door of
the palace, and looking at no one that might be tempted to look at me I
got to the canal and entered the first gondola that I came across,
shouting to the boatman on the poop,

"I want to go to Fusina; be quick and, call another gondolier."

This was soon done, and while the gondola was being got off I sat down on
the seat in the middle, and Balbi at the side. The odd appearance of the
monk, without a hat and with a fine cloak on his shoulders, with my
unseasonable attire, was enough to make people take us for an astrologer
and his man.

As soon as we had passed the custom-house, the gondoliers began to row
with a will along the Giudecca Canal, by which we must pass to go to
Fusina or to Mestre, which latter place was really our destination. When
we had traversed half the length of the canal I put my head out, and said
to the waterman on the poop,

"When do you think we shall get to Mestre?"

"But you told me to go to Fusina."

"You must be mad; I said Mestre."

The other boatman said that I was mistaken, and the fool of a monk, in
his capacity of zealous Christian and friend of truth, took care to tell
me that I was wrong. I wanted to give him a hearty kick as a punishment
for his stupidity, but reflecting that common sense comes not by wishing
for it I burst into a peal of laughter, and agreed that I might have made
a mistake, but that my real intention was to go to Mestre. To that they
answered nothing, but a minute after the master boatman said he was ready
to take me to England if I liked.

"Bravely spoken," said I, "and now for Mestre, ho!"

"We shall be there in three quarters of an hour, as the wind and tide
are in our favour."

Well pleased I looked at the canal behind us, and thought it had never
seemed so fair, especially as there was not a single boat coming our way.
It was a glorious morning, the air was clear and glowing with the first
rays of the sun, and my two young watermen rowed easily and well; and as
I thought over the night of sorrow, the dangers I had escaped, the abode
where I had been fast bound the day before, all the chances which had
been in my favour, and the liberty of which I now began to taste the
sweets, I was so moved in my heart and grateful to my God that, well nigh
choked with emotion, I burst into tears.

My nice companion who had hitherto only spoken to back up the gondoliers,
thought himself bound to offer me his consolations. He did not understand
why I was weeping, and the tone he took made me pass from sweet
affliction to a strange mirthfulness which made him go astray once more,
as he thought I had got mad. The poor monk, as I have said, was a fool,
and whatever was bad about him was the result of his folly. I had been
under the sad necessity of turning him to account, but though without
intending to do so he had almost been my ruin. It was no use trying to
make him believe that I had told the gondoliers to go to Fusina whilst I
intended to go to Mestre; he said I could not have thought of that till I
got on to the Grand Canal.

In due course we reached Mestre. There were no horses to ride post, but I
found men with coaches who did as well, and I agreed with one of them to
take me to Trevisa in an hour and a quarter. The horses were put in in
three minutes, and with the idea that Father Balbi was behind me I turned
round to say "Get up," but he was not there. I told an ostler to go and
look for him, with the intention of reprimanding him sharply, even if he
had gone for a necessary occasion, for we had no time to waste, not even
thus. The man came back saying he could not find' him, to my great rage
and indignation. I was tempted to abandon him, but a feeling of humanity
restrained me. I made enquiries all round; everybody had seen him, but
not a soul knew where he was. I walked along the High Street, and some
instinct prompting me to put my head in at the window of a cafe. I saw
the wretched man standing at the bar drinking chocolate and making love
to the girl. Catching sight of me, he pointed to the girl and said--

"She's charming," and then invited me to take a cup of chocolate, saying
that I must pay, as he hadn't a penny. I kept back my wrath and answered,

"I don't want any, and do you make haste!" and caught hold of his arm in
such sort that he turned white with pain. I paid the money and we went
out. I trembled with anger. We got into our coach, but we had scarcely
gone ten paces before I recognised: an inhabitant, of Mestre named Balbi
Tommasi, a good sort of man; but reported to be one of the familiars of
the Holy Office. He knew me, too, and coming up called out,

"I am delighted to see you here. I suppose you have just escaped. How did
you do it?"

"I have not escaped, but have been set at liberty."

"No, no, that's not possible, as I was at M. Grimani's yesterday evening,
and I should have heard of it."

It will be easier for the reader to imagine my state of mind than for me
to describe it. I was discovered by a man whom I believed to be a hired
agent of the Government, who only had to give a glance to one of the
sbirri with whom Mestre swarmed to have me arrested. I told him to speak
softly, and getting down I asked him to come to one side. I took him
behind a house, and seeing that there was nobody in sight, a ditch in
front, beyond which the open country extended, I grasped my pike and took
him by the neck. At this: he gave a struggle, slipped out of my hands,
leapt over the ditch, and without turning round set off to run at, full
speed. As soon as he was some way off he slackened his course, turned
round and kissed his hand to me, in token of wishing me a prosperous
journey. And as soon; as he was out of my sight I gave thanks to God
that, this man by his quickness had preserved me from the commission of a
crime, for I would have killed him; and he, as it turned out, bore me no
ill will.

I was in a terrible position. In open war with all the powers of-the
Republic, everything had to give way to my safety, which made me neglect
no means of attaining my ends.

With the gloom of a man who has passed through a great peril, I gave a
glance of contempt towards the monk, who now saw to what danger he had
exposed us, and then got up again into the carriage. We reached Trevisa
without further adventure, and I told the posting-master to get me a
carriage and two horses ready by ten o'clock; though I had no intention
of continuing my journey along the highway, both because I lacked means;
and because I feared pursuit. The inn-keeper asked me, if I would take
any breakfast, of which I stood in great need, for I was dying with
hunger, but I did not dare to, accept his offer, as a quarter of an
hour's delay might, prove fatal. I was afraid of being retaken, and of
being ashamed of it for the rest of my life; for a man of sense ought to
be able to snap his fingers at four hundred thousand men in the open
country, and if he cannot escape capture he must be a fool.

I went out by St. Thomas's Gate as if I was going for a short walk, and
after walking for a mile on the highway I struck into the fields,
resolving not to leave them as long as I should be within the borders of
the Republic. The shortest way was by Bassano, but I took the longer
path, thinking I might possibly be expected on the more direct road,
while they would never think of my leaving the Venetian territory by way
of Feltre, which is the longest way of getting into the state subject to
the Bishop of Trent.

After walking for three hours I let myself drop to the ground, for I
could not move a step further. I must either take some food or die there,
so I told the monk to leave the cloak with me and go to a farm I saw,
there to buy something to eat. I gave him the money, and he set off,
telling me that he thought I had more courage. The miserable man did not
know what courage was, but he was more robust than myself, and he had,
doubtless, taken in provisions before leaving the prison. Besides he had
had some chocolate; he was thin and wiry, and a monk, and mental
anxieties were unknown to him.

Although the house was not an inn, the good farmer's wife sent me a
sufficient meal which only cost me thirty Venetian sous. After satisfying
my appetite, feeling that sleep was creeping on me, I set out again on
the tramp, well braced up. In four hours' time I stopped at a hamlet, and
found that I was twenty-four miles from Trevisa. I was done up, my ankles
were swollen, and my shoes were in holes. There was only another hour of
day-light before us. Stretching myself out beneath a grove of trees I
made Father Balbi sit by me, and discoursed to him in the manner
following:

"We must make for Borgo di Valsugano, it is the first town beyond the
borders of the Republic. We shall be as safe there as if we were in
London, and we can take our ease for awhile; but to get there we must go
carefully to work, and the first thing we must do is to separate. You
must go by Mantello Woods, and I by the mountains; you by the easiest and
shortest way, and I by the longest and most difficult; you with money and
I without a penny. I will make you a present of my cloak, which you must
exchange for a great coat and a hat, and everybody will take you for a
countryman, as you are luckily rather like one in the face. Take these
seventeen livres, which is all that remains to me of the two sequins
Count Asquin gave me. You will reach Borgo by the day after to-morrow,
and I shall be twenty-four hours later. Wait for me in the first inn on
the left-hand side of the street, and be sure I shall come in due season.
I require a good night's rest in a good bed; and Providence will get me
one somewhere, but I must sleep without fear of being disturbed, and in
your company that would be out of the question. I am certain that we are
being sought for on all sides, and that our descriptions have been so
correctly given that if we went into any inn together we should be
certain to be arrested. You see the state I am in, and my urgent
necessity for a ten hours' rest. Farewell, then, do you go that way and I
will take this, and I will find somewhere near here a rest for the sole
of my foot."

"I have been expecting you to say as much," said Father Balbi, "and for
answer I will remind you of the promise you gave me when I let myself be
persuaded to break into your cell. You promised me that we should always
keep company; and so don't flatter yourself that I shall leave you, your
fate and mine are linked together. We shall be able to get a good refuge
for our money, we won't go to the inns, and no one will arrest us."

"You are determined, are you, not to follow the good advice I have given
you?"

"I am."

"We shall see about that."

I rose to my feet, though with some difficulty, and taking the measure of
his height I marked it out upon the ground, then drawing my pike from my
pocket, I proceeded with the utmost coolness to excavate the earth,
taking no notice of the questions the monk asked me. After working: for a
quarter of an hour I set myself to gaze sadly upon him, and I told him
that I felt obliged as a Christian to warn him to commend his soul to
God, "since I am about to bury you here, alive or dead; and if you prove
the stronger, you will bury me. You can escape if you wish to, as I shall
not pursue you."

He made no reply, and I betook myself to my work again, but I confess
that I began to be afraid of being rushed to extremities by this brute,
of whom I was determined to rid myself.

At last, whether convinced by my arguments or afraid Of my pike, he came
towards me. Not guessing. What he was about, I presented the point of my
pike towards him, but I had nothing to fear.

"I will do what you want," said he.

I straightway gave him all the money I had, and promising to rejoin him
at Borgo I bade him farewell. Although I had not a penny in my pocket and
had two rivers to cross over, I congratulated myself on having got rid of
a man of his character, for by myself I felt confident of being able to
cross the bounds of the Republic.

CHAPTER XXXI

I Find a Lodging in the House of the Chief of the Sbirri--I Pass a Good
Night There and Recover My Strength--I Go to Mass--A Disagreeable Meeting
I Am Obliged to Take Six Sequins by Force--Out of Danger--Arrived at
Munich--Balbi I Set Out for Paris--My Arrival--Attempt on the Life of
Louis XV.

As soon as I saw Father Balbi far enough off I got up, and seeing at a
little distance a shepherd keeping his flock on the hill-side, I made my
way-towards him to obtain such information as I needed. "What is the name
of this village, my friend?" said I.

"Valde Piadene, signor," he answered, to my surprise, for I found I was
much farther on my way that I thought. I next asked him the owners of
five or six houses which I saw scattered around, and the persons he
mentioned chanced to be all known to me, but were not the kind of men I
should have cared to trouble with my presence. On my asking him the name
of a palace before me, he said it belonged to the Grimanis, the chief of
whom was a State Inquisitor, and then resident at the palace, so I had to
take care not to let him see me. Finally, an my enquiring the owner of a
red house in the distance, he told me, much to my surprise, that it
belonged to the chief of the sbirri. Bidding farewell to the kindly
shepherd I began to go down the hill mechanically, and I am still puzzled
to know what instinct directed my steps towards that house, which common
sense and fear also should have made me shun. I steered my course for it
in a straight line, and I can say with truth that I did so quite
unwittingly. If it be true that we have all of us an invisible
intelligence--a beneficent genius who guides our steps aright--as was the
case with Socrates, to that alone I should attribute the irresistible
attraction which drew me towards the house where I had most to dread.
However that may be, it was the boldest stroke I have played in my whole
life.

I entered with an easy and unconstrained air, and asked a child who was
playing at top in the court-yard where his father was. Instead of
replying, the child went to call his mother, and directly afterwards
appeared a pretty woman in the family way, who politely asked me my
business with her husband, apologizing for his absence.

"I am sorry," I said, "to hear that my gossip is not in, though at the
same time I am delighted to make the acquaintance of his charming wife."

"Your gossip? You will be M. Vetturi, then? My husband told me that you
had kindly promised to be the god-father of our next child. I am
delighted to know you, but my husband will be very vexed to have been
away:

"I hope he will soon return, as I wanted to ask him for a night's
lodging. I dare not go anywhere in the state you see me."

"You shall have the best bed in the house, and I will get you a good
supper. My husband when he comes back will thank your excellence for
doing us so much honour. He went away with all his people an hour ago,
and I don't expect him back for three or four days."

"Why is he away for such a long time, my dear madam?"

"You have not heard, then, that two prisoners have escaped from The
Leads? One is a noble and the other a private individual named Casanova.
My husband has received a letter from Messer-Grande ordering him to make
a search for them; if he find them he will take them back to Venice, and
if not he will return here, but he will be on the look-out for three days
at least."

"I am sorry for this accident, my dear madam, but I should not like to
put you out, and indeed I should be glad to lie down immediately."

"You shall do so, and my mother shall attend to your wants. But what is
the matter with your knees?"

"I fell down whilst hunting on the mountains, and gave myself some severe
wounds, and am much weakened by loss of blood."

"Oh! my poor gentleman, my poor gentleman! But my mother will cure you."

She called her mother, and having told her of my necessities she went
out. This pretty sbirress had not the wit of her profession, for the
story I had told her sounded like a fairy-tale. On horseback with white
silk stockings! Hunting in sarcenet, without cloak and without a man! Her
husband would make fine game of her when he came back; but God bless her
for her kind heart and benevolent stupidity. Her mother tended me with
all the politeness I should have met with in the best families. The
worthy woman treated me like a mother, and called me "son" as she
attended to my wounds. The name sounded pleasantly in my ears, and did no
little towards my cure by the sentiments it awoke in my breast. If I had
been less taken up with the position I was in I should have repaid her
care with some evident marks of the gratitude I felt, but the place I was
in and the part I was playing made the situation too serious a one for me
to think of anything else.

This kindly woman, after looking at my knees and my thighs, told me that
I must make my mind to suffer a little pain, but I might be sure of being
cured by the morning. All I had to do was to bear the application of
medicated linen to my wounds, and not to stir till the next day. I
promised to bear the pain patiently, and to do exactly as she told me.

I was given an excellent supper, and I ate and drank with good appetite.
I then gave myself up to treatment, and fell asleep whilst my nurse was
attending to me. I suppose she undressed me as she would a child, but I
remembered nothing about it when I woke up--I was, in fact, totally
unconscious. Though I had made a good supper I had only done so to
satisfy my craving for food and to regain my strength, and sleep came to
me with an irresistible force, as my physical exhaustion did not leave me
the power of arguing myself out of it. I took my supper at six o'clock in
the evening, and I heard six striking as I awoke. I seemed to have been
enchanted. Rousing myself up and gathering my wits together, I first took
off the linen bandages, and I was astonished to find my wounds healed and
quite free from pain. I did my hair, dressed myself in less than five
minutes, and finding the door of my room open I went downstairs, crossed
the court, and left the house behind me, without appearing to notice two
individuals who were standing outside, and must have been sbirri. I made
haste to lengthen the distance between me and the place where I had found
the kindliest hospitality, the utmost politeness, the most tender care,
and best of all, new health and strength, and as I walked I could not
help feeling terrified at the danger I had been in. I shuddered
involuntarily; and at the present moment, after so many years, I still
shudder when I think of the peril to which I had so heedlessly exposed
myself. I wondered how I managed to go in, and still more how I came out;
it seemed absurd that I should not be followed. For five hours I tramped
on, keeping to the woods and mountains, not meeting a soul besides a few
countryfolk, and turning neither to the right nor left.

It was not yet noon, when, as I went along my way, I stopped short at the
sound of a bell. I was on high ground, and looking in the direction from
which the sound came I saw, a little church in the valley, and many,
people going towards it to hear mass. My heart desired to express
thankfulness for the protection of Providence, and, though all nature was
a temple worthy of its Creator, custom drew me to the church. When men
are in trouble, every passing thought seems an inspiration. It was All
Souls' Day. I went down the hill, and came into the church, and saw, to
my astonishment, M. Marc Antoine Grimani, the nephew of the State
Inquisitor, with Madame Marie Visani, his wife. I made my bow; which was
returned, and after I had heard mass I left the church. M. Grimani
followed me by himself, and when he had got near me, called me by name,
saying, "What are you doing here, Casanova, and what has become of your
friend?"

"I have given him what little money I had for him to escape by another
road, whilst I, without a penny in my pocket, am endeavouring to reach a
place of safety by this way. If your excellence would kindly give me some
help, it would speed my journey for me."

"I can't give you anything, but you will find recluses on your way who
won't let you die of hunger. But tell me how you contrived to pierce the
roof of The Leads."

"The story is an interesting one, but it would take up too much time, and
in the meanwhile the recluses might eat up the food which is to keep me
from dying of hunger."

With this sarcasm I made him a profound bow, and went upon my way. In
spite of my great want, his refusal pleased me, as it made me think
myself a better gentleman than the "excellence" who had referred me to
the charity of recluses. I heard at Paris afterwards that when his wife
heard of it she reproached him for his hard-hearted behaviour. There can
be no doubt that kindly and generous feelings are more often to be found
in the hearts of women than of men.

I continued my journey till sunset. Weary and faint with hunger I stopped
at a good-looking house, which stood by itself. I asked to speak to the
master, and the porter told me that he was not in as he had gone to a
wedding on the other side of the river, and would be away for two days,
but that he had bidden him to welcome all his friends while he was away.
Providence! luck! chance! whichever you like.

I went in and was treated to a good supper and a good bed. I found by the
addresses of some letters which were lying about that I was being
entertained in the house of M. Rombenchi--a consul, of what nation I know
not. I wrote a letter to him and sealed it to await his return. After
making an excellent supper and having had a good sleep, I rose, and
dressing myself carefully set out again without being able to leave the
porter any mark of my gratitude, and shortly afterwards crossed the
river, promising to pay when I came back. After walking for five hours I
dined in a monastery of Capuchins, who are very useful to people in my
position. I then set out again, feeling fresh and strong, and walked
along at a good pace till three o'clock. I halted at a house which I
found from a countryman belonged to a friend of mine. I walked in, asked
if the master was at home, and was shewn into a room where he was writing
by himself. I stepped forward to greet him, but as soon as he saw me he
seemed horrified and bid me be gone forthwith, giving me idle and
insulting reasons for his behaviour. I explained to him how I was
situated, and asked him to let me have sixty sequins on my note of hand,
drawn on M. de Bragadin. He replied that he could not so much as give me
a glass of water, since he dreaded the wrath of the Tribunal for my very
presence in his house. He was a stockbroker, about sixty years old, and
was under great obligations to me. His inhuman refusal produced quite a
different effect on me than that of M. Grimani. Whether from rage,
indignation, or nature, I took him by the collar, I shewed him my pike,
and raising my voice threatened to kill him. Trembling all over, he took
a key from his pocket and shewing me a bureau told me he kept money
there, and I had only to open it and take what I wanted; I told him to
open it himself. He did so, and on his opening a drawer containing gold,
I told him to count me out six sequins.

"You asked me for sixty."

"Yes, that was when I was asking a loan of you as a friend; but since I
owe the money to force, I require six only, and I will give you no note
of hand. You shall be repaid at Venice, where I shall write of the pass
to which you forced me, you cowardly wretch!"

"I beg your pardon! take the sixty sequins, I entreat you."

"No, no more. I am going on my way, and I advise you not to hinder me,
lest in my despair I come back and burn your house about your ears."

I went out and walked for two hours, until the approach of night and
weariness made me stop short at the house of a farmer, where I had a bad
supper and a bed of straw. In the morning, I bought an old overcoat, and
hired an ass to journey on, and near Feltre I bought a pair of boots. In
this guise I passed the hut called the Scala. There was a guard there
who, much to my delight, as the reader will guess, did not even honour me
by asking my name. I then took a two-horse carriage and got to Borgo de
Valsugano in good time, and found Father Balbi at the inn I had told him
of. If he had not greeted me first I should not have known him. A great
overcoat, a low hat over a thick cotton cap, disguised him to admiration.
He told me that a farmer had given him these articles in exchange for my
cloak, that he had arrived without difficulty, and was faring well. He
was kind enough to tell me that he did not expect to see me, as he did
not believe my promise to rejoin him was made in good faith. Possibly I
should have been wise not to undeceive him on this account.

I passed the following day in the inn, where, without getting out of my
bed, I wrote more than twenty letters to Venice, in many of which I
explained what I had been obliged to do to get the six sequins.

The monk wrote impudent letters to his superior, Father Barbarigo, and to
his brother nobles, and love-letters to the servant girls who had been
his ruin. I took the lace off my dress, and sold my hat, and thus got rid
of a gay appearance unsuitable to my position, as it made me too much an
object of notice.

The next day I went to Pergina and lay there, and was visited by a young
Count d'Alberg, who had discovered, in some way or another, that we had
escaped from the state-prisons of Venice. From Pergina I went to Trent
and from there to Bolzan, where, needing money for my dress, linen, and
the continuation of my journey, I introduced myself to an old banker
named Mensch, who gave me a man to send to Venice with a letter to M. de
Bragadin. In the mean time the old banker put me in a good inn where I
spent the six days the messenger was away in bed. He brought me the sum
of a hundred sequins, and my first care was to clothe my companion, and
afterwards myself. Every day I found the society of the wretched Balbi
more intolerable. "Without me you would never have escaped" was
continually in his mouth, and he kept reminding me that I had promised
him half of whatever money I got. He made love to all the servant girls,
and as he had neither the figure nor the manners to please them, his
attentions were returned with good hearty slaps, which he bore patiently,
but was as outrageous as ever in the course of twenty-four hours. I was
amused, but at the same time vexed to be coupled to a man of so low a
nature.

We travelled post, and in three days we got to Munich, where I went to
lodge at the sign of the "Stag." There I found two young Venetians of the
Cantarini family, who had been there some time in company with Count
Pompei, a Veronese; but not knowing them, and having no longer any need
of depending on recluses for my daily bread, I did not care to pay my
respects to them. It was otherwise with Countess Coronini, whom I knew at
St. Justine's Convent at Venice, and who stood very well with the
Bavarian Court.

This illustrious lady, then seventy years old, gave me a good reception
and promised to speak on my behalf to the Elector, with a view to his
granting me an asylum in his country. The next day, having fulfilled her
promise, she told me that his highness had nothing to say against me, but
as for Balbi there was no safety for him in Bavaria, for as a fugitive
monk he might be claimed by the monks at Munich, and his highness had no
wish to meddle with the monks. The countess advised me therefore to get
him out of the town as soon as possible, for him to fly to some other
quarter, and thus to avoid the bad turn which his beloved brethren the
monks were certain to do him.

Feeling in duty bound to look after the interests of the wretched fellow,
I went to the Elector's confessor to ask him to give Balbi letters of
introduction to some town in Swabia. The confessor, a Jesuit, did not
give the lie to the fine reputation of his brethren of the order; his
reception of me was as discourteous as it well could be. He told me in a
careless way that at Munich I was well known. I asked him without
flinching if I was to take this as a piece of good or bad news; but he
made no answer, and left me standing. Another priest told me that he had
gone out to verify the truth of a miracle of which the whole town was
talking.

"What miracle is that, reverend father?" I said.

"The empress, the widow of Charles VII, whose body is still exposed to
the public gaze, has warm feet, although she is dead."

"Perhaps something keeps them warm."

"You can assure yourself personally of the truth of this wonderful
circumstance."

To neglect such an opportunity would have been to lose the chance of
mirth or edification, and I was as desirous of the one as of the other.
Wishing to be able to boast that I had seen a miracle--and one, moreover,
of a peculiar interest for myself, who have always had the misfortune to
suffer from cold feet--I went to see the mighty dead. It was quite true
that her feet were warm, but the matter was capable of a simple
explanation, as the feet of her defunct majesty were turned towards a
burning lamp at a little distance off. A dancer of my acquaintance, whom
curiosity had brought there with the rest, came up to me, complimented me
upon my fortunate escape, and told me everybody was talking about it. His
news pleased me, as it is always a good thing to interest the public.
This son of Terpsichore asked me to dinner, and I was glad to accept his
invitation. His name was Michel de l'Agata, and his wife was the pretty
Gandela, whom I had known sixteen years ago at the old Malipiero's. The
Gandela was enchanted to see me, and to hear from my own lips the story
of my wondrous escape. She interested herself on behalf of the monk, and
offered me to give him a letter of introduction for Augsburg Canon Bassi,
of Bologna, who was Dean of St. Maurice's Chapter, and a friend of hers.
I took advantage of the offer, and she forthwith wrote me the letter,
telling me that I need not trouble myself any more about the monk, as she
was sure that the dean would take care of him, and even make it all right
at Venice.

Delighted at getting rid of him in so honourable a manner, I ran to the
inn, told him what I had done, gave him the letter, and promised not to
abandon him in the case of the dean's not giving him a warm welcome. I
got him a good carriage, and started him off the next day at daybreak.
Four days after, Balbi wrote that the dean had received him with great
kindness, that he had given him a room in the deanery, that he had
dressed him as an abbe, that he had introduced him to the Prince-Bishop
of Armstadt, and that he had received assurances of his safety from the
civil magistrates. Furthermore, the dean had promised to keep him till he
obtained his secularization from Rome, and with it freedom to return to
Venice, for as soon as he ceased to be a monk the Tribunal would have no
lien upon him. Father Balbi finished by asking me to send him a few
sequins for pocket-money, as he was too much of a gentleman to ask the
dean who, quoth the ungrateful fellow, "is not gentleman enough to offer
to give me anything." I gave him no answer.

As I was now alone in peace and quietness, I thought seriously of
regaining my health, for my sufferings had given me nervous spasms which
might become dangerous. I put myself on diet, and in three weeks I was
perfectly well. In the meanwhile Madame Riviere came from Dresden with
her son and two daughters. She was going to Paris to marry the elder. The
son had been diligent, and would have passed for a young man of culture.
The elder daughter, who was going to marry an actor, was extremely
beautiful, an accomplished dancer, and played on the clavichord like a
professional, and was altogether most charming and graceful. This
pleasant family was delighted to see me again, and I thought myself
fortunate when Madame Riviere, anticipating my wishes, intimated to me
that my company as far as Paris would give them great pleasure. I had
nothing to say respecting the expenses of the journey. I had to accept
their offer in its entirety. My design was to settle in Paris, and I took
this stroke of fortune as an omen of success in the only town where the
blind goddess freely dispenses her favours to those who leave themselves
to be guided by her, and know how to take advantage of her gifts. And, as
the reader will see by and by, I was not mistaken; but all the gifts of
fortune were of no avail, since I abused them all by my folly. Fifteen
months under the Leads should have made me aware of my weak points, but
in point of fact I needed a little longer stay to learn how to cure
myself of my failings.

Madame Riviere wished to take me with her, but she could not put off her
departure, and I required a week's delay to get money and letters from
Venice. She promised to wait a week in Strassburg, and we agreed that if
possible I would join her there. She left Munich on the 18th of December.

Two days afterwards I got from Venice the bill of exchange for which I
was waiting. I made haste to pay my debts, and immediately afterwards I
started for Augsburg, not so much for the sake of seeing Father Balbi, as
because I wanted to make the acquaintance of the kindly dean who had rid
me of him. I reached Augsburg in seven hours after leaving Munich, and I
went immediately to the house of the good ecclesiastic. He was not in,
but I found Balbi in an abbe's dress, with his hair covered with white
powder, which set off in a new but not a pleasing manner the beauties of
his complexion of about the same colour as a horse chestnut. Balbi was
under forty, but he was decidedly ugly, having one of those faces in
which baseness, cowardice, impudence, and malice are plainly expressed,
joining to this advantage a tone of voice and manners admirably
calculated to repulse anyone inclined to do him a service. I found him
comfortably housed, well looked after, and well clad; he had books and
all the requisites for writing. I complimented him upon his situation,
calling him a fortunate fellow, and applying the same epithet to myself
for having gained him all the advantages he enjoyed, and the hope of one
day becoming a secular priest. But the ungrateful hound, instead of
thanking me, reproached me for having craftily rid myself of him, and
added that, as I was going to Paris, I might as well take him with me, as
the dullness of Augsburg was almost killing him.

"What do you want at Paris?"

"What do you want yourself?"

"To put my talents to account."

"So do I."

"Well, then, you don't require me, and can fly on your own wings. The
people who are taking me to Paris would probably not care for me if I had
you for a companion."

"You promised not to abandon me."

"Can a man who leaves another well provided for and an assured future be
said to abandon him?"

"Well provided! I have not got a penny."

"What do you want with money? You have a good table, a good lodging,
clothes, linen, attendance, and so forth. And if you want pocket-money,
why don't you ask your brethren the monks?"

"Ask monks for money? They take it, but they don't give it."

"Ask your friends, then."

"I have no friends."

"You are to be pitied, but the reason probably is that you have never
been a friend to anyone. You ought to say masses, that is a good way of
getting money."

"I am unknown."

"You must wait, then, till you are known, and then you can make up for
lost time."

"Your suggestions are idle; you will surely give me a few sequins."

"I can't spare any."

"Wait for the dean. He will be back to-morrow. You can talk to him and
persuade him to lend me some money. You can tell him that I will pay it
back."

"I cannot wait, for I am setting out on my journey directly, and were he
here this moment I should not have the face to tell him to lend you money
after all his generous treatment of you, and when he or anyone can see
that you have all you need."

After this sharp dialogue I left him, and travelling post I set out,
displeased with myself for having given such advantages to a man wholly
unworthy of them. In the March following I had a letter from the good
Dean Bassi, in which he told me how Balbi had run away, taking with him
one of his servant girls, a sum of money, a gold watch, and a dozen
silver spoons and forks. He did not know where he was gone.

Towards the end of the same year I learnt at Paris that the wretched man
had taken refuge at Coire, the capital of the Grisons, where he asked to
be made a member of the Calvinistic Church, and to be recognized as
lawful husband of the woman with him; but in a short time the community
discovered that the new convert was no good, and expelled him from the
bosom of the Church of Calvin. Our ne'er-do-well having no more money,
his wife left him, and he, not knowing what to do next, took the
desperate step of going to Bressa, a town within the Venetian territory,
where he sought the governor, telling him his name, the story of his
flight, and his repentance, begging the governor to take him under his
protection and to obtain his pardon.

The first effect of the podesta's protection was that the penitent was
imprisoned, and he then wrote to the Tribunal to know what to do with
him. The Tribunal told him to send Father Balbi in chains to Venice, and
on his arrival Messer-Grande gave him over to the Tribunal, which put him
once more under the Leads. He did not find Count Asquin there, as the
Tribunal, out of consideration for his great age, had moved him to The
Fours a couple of months after our escape.

Five or six years later, I heard that the Tribunal, after keeping the
unlucky monk for two years under the Leads, had sent him to his convent.
There, his superior fearing lest his flock should take contagion from
this scabby sheep, sent him to their original monastery near Feltre, a
lonely building on a height. However, Balbi did not stop there six
months. Having got the key of the fields, he went to Rome, and threw
himself at the feet of Pope Rezzonico, who absolved him of his sins, and
released him from his monastic vows. Balbi, now a secular priest,
returned to Venice, where he lived a dissolute and wretched life. In 1783
he died the death of Diogenes, minus the wit of the cynic.

At Strassburg I rejoined Madame Riviere and her delightful family, from
whom I received a sincere and hearty welcome. We were staying at the
"Hotel de l'Esprit," and we passed a few days there most pleasurably,
afterwards setting out in an excellent travelling carriage for Paris the
Only, Paris the Universal. During the journey I thought myself bound to
the expense of making it a pleasant one, as I had not to put my hand in
my pocket for other expenses. The charms of Mdlle. Riviere enchanted me,
but I should have esteemed myself wanting in gratitude and respect to
this worthy family if I had darted at her a single amorous glance, or if
I had let her suspect my feelings for her by a single word. In fact I
thought myself obliged to play the heavy father, though my age did not
fit me for the part, and I lavished on this agreeable family all the care
which can be given in return for pleasant society, a seat in a
comfortable travelling carriage, an excellent table, and a good bed.

We reached Paris on the 5th of January, 1757, and I went to the house of
my friend Baletti, who received me with open arms, and assured me that
though I had not written he had been expecting me, since he judged that I
would strive to put the greatest possible distance between myself and
Venice, and he could think of no other retreat for me than Paris. The
whole house kept holiday when my arrival became known, and I have never
met with more sincere regard than in that delightful family. I greeted
with enthusiasm the father and mother, whom I found exactly the same as
when I had seen them last in 1752, but I was struck with astonishment at
the daughter whom I had left a child, for she was now a tall and
well-shaped girl. Mdlle. Baletti was fifteen years old, and her mother
had brought her up with care, had given her the best masters, virtue,
grace, talents, a good manner, tact, a knowledge of society-in short, all
that a clever mother can give to a dear daughter.

After finding a pleasant lodging near the Baletti's, I took a coach and
went to the "Hotel de Bourbon" with the intention of calling on M. de
Bernis, who was then chief secretary for foreign affairs. I had good
reasons for relying on his assistance. He was out; he had gone to
Versailles. At Paris one must go sharply to work, and, as it is vulgarly
but forcibly said, "strike while the iron's hot." As I was impatient to
see what kind of a reception I should get from the liberal-minded lover
of my fair M---- M----, I went to the Pont-Royal, took a hackney coach,
and went to Versailles. Again bad luck!

Our coaches crossed each other on the way, and my humble equipage had not
caught his excellency's eye. M. de Bernis had returned to Paris with
Count de Castillana, the ambassador from Naples, and I determined to
return also; but when I got to the gate I saw a mob of people running
here and there in the greatest confusion, and from all sides I heard the
cry, "The king is assassinated! The king is assassinated!"

My frightened coachman only thought of getting on his way, but the coach
was stopped. I was made to get out and taken to the guard-room, where
there were several people already, and in less than three minutes there
were twenty of us, all under arrest, all astonished at the situation, and
all as much guilty as I was. We sat glum and silent, looking at each
other without daring to speak. I knew not what to think, and not
believing in enchantment I began to think I must be dreaming. Every face
expressed surprise, as everyone, though innocent, was more or less
afraid.

We were not left in this disagreeable position for long, as in five
minutes an officer came in, and after some polite apologies told us we
were free.

"The king is wounded," he said, "and he has been taken to his room. The
assassin, whom nobody knows, is under arrest. M. de la Martiniere is
being looked for everywhere."

As soon as I had got back to my coach, and was thinking myself lucky for
being there, a gentlemanly-looking young man came up to me and besought
me to give him a seat in my coach, and he would gladly pay half the fare;
but in spite of the laws of politeness I refused his request. I may
possibly have been wrong. On any other occasion I should have been most
happy to give him a place, but there are times when prudence does not
allow one to be polite. I was about three hours on the way, and in this
short time I was overtaken every minute by at least two hundred couriers
riding at a breakneck pace. Every minute brought a new courier, and every
courier shouted his news to the winds. The first told me what I already
knew; then I heard that the king had been bled, that the wound was not
mortal, and finally, that the wound was trifling, and that his majesty
could go to the Trianon if he liked.

Fortified with this good news, I went to Silvia's and found the family at
table. I told them I had just come from Versailles.

"The king has been assassinated."

"Not at all; he is able to go to the Trianon, or the Parc-aux-cerfs, if
he likes. M. de la Martiniere has bled him, and found him to be in no
danger. The assassin has been arrested, and the wretched man will be
burnt, drawn with red-hot pincers, and quartered."

This news was soon spread abroad by Silvia's servants, and a crowd of the
neighbours came to hear what I had to say, and I had to repeat the same
thing ten times over. At this period the Parisians fancied that they
loved the king. They certainly acted the part of loyal subjects to
admiration. At the present day they are more enlightened, and would only
love the sovereign whose sole desire is the happiness of his people, and
such a king--the first citizens of a great nation--not Paris and its
suburbs, but all France, will be eager to love and obey. As for kings
like Louis XV., they have become totally impracticable; but if there are
any such, however much they may be supported by interested parties, in
the eyes of public opinion they will be dishonoured and disgraced before
their bodies are in a grave and their names are written in the book of
history.

CHAPTER XXXII

The Minister of Foreign Affairs M. de Boulogne, the Comptroller--M. le
Duc de Choiseul--M. Paris du Vernai--Establishment of the Lottery--My
Brother's Arrival at Paris; His Reception by the Academy

Once more, then, I was in Paris, which I ought to regard as my
fatherland, since I could return no more to that land which gave me
birth: an unworthy country, yet, in spite of all, ever dear to me,
possibly on account of early impressions and early prejudices, or
possibly because the beauties of Venice are really unmatched in the
world. But mighty Paris is a place of good luck or ill, as one takes it,
and it was my part to catch the favouring gale.

Paris was not wholly new to me, as my readers know I had spent two years
there, but I must confess that, having then no other aim than to pass the
time pleasantly, I had merely devoted myself to pleasure and enjoyment.
Fortune, to whom I had paid no court, had not opened to me her golden
doors; but I now felt that I must treat her more reverently, and attach
myself to the throng of her favoured sons whom she loads with her gifts.
I understood now that the nearer one draws to the sun the more one feels
the warmth of its rays. I saw that to attain my end I should have to
employ all my mental and physical talents, that I must make friends of
the great, and take cue from all whom I found it to be my interest to
please. To follow the plans suggested by these thoughts, I saw that I
must avoid what is called bad company, that I must give up my old habits
and pretensions, which would be sure to make me enemies, who would have
no scruple in representing me as a trifler, and not fit to be trusted
with affairs of any importance.

I think I thought wisely, and the reader, I hope, will be of the same
opinion. "I will be reserved," said I, "in what I say and what I do, and
thus I shall get a reputation for discretion which will bring its
reward."

I was in no anxiety on the score of present needs, as I could reckon on a
monthly allowance of a hundred crowns, which my adopted father, the good
and generous M. de Bragadin, sent me, and I found this sum sufficient in
the meanwhile, for with a little self-restraint one can live cheaply at
Paris, and cut a good figure at the same time. I was obliged to wear a
good suit of clothes, and to have a decent lodging; for in all large
towns the most important thing is outward show, by which at the beginning
one is always judged. My anxiety was only for the pressing needs of the
moment, for to speak the truth I had neither clothes nor linen--in a
word, nothing.

If my relations with the French ambassador are recalled, it will be found
natural that my first idea was to address myself to him, as I knew him
sufficiently well to reckon on his serving me.

Being perfectly certain that the porter would tell me that my lord was
engaged, I took care to have a letter, and in the morning I went to the
Palais Bourbon. The porter took my letter, and I gave him my address and
returned home.

Wherever I went I had to tell the story of my escape from The Leads. This
became a service almost as tiring as the flight itself had been, as it
took me two hours to tell my tale, without the slightest bit of
fancy-work; but I had to be polite to the curious enquirers, and to
pretend that I believed them moved by the most affectionate interest in
my welfare. In general, the best way to please is to take the benevolence
of all with whom one has relation for granted.

I supped at Silvia's, and as the evening was quieter than the night
before, I had time to congratulate myself on all the friendship they
shewed me. The girl was, as I had said, fifteen years old, and I was in
every way charmed with her. I complimented the mother on the good results
of her education, and I did not even think of guarding myself from
falling a victim to her charms. I had taken so lately such well-founded
and philosophical resolutions, and I was not yet sufficiently at my ease
to value the pain of being tempted. I left at an early hour, impatient to
see what kind of an answer the minister had sent me. I had not long to
wait, and I received a short letter appointing a meeting for two o'clock
in the afternoon. It may be guessed that I was punctual, and my reception
by his excellence was most flattering. M. de Bernis expressed his
pleasure at seeing me after my fortunate escape, and at being able to be
of service to me. He told me that M---- M---- had informed him of my
escape, and he had flattered himself that the first person I should go
and see in Paris would be himself. He shewed me the letters from
M---- M---- relating to my arrest and escape, but all the details in the
latter were purely imaginary and had no foundation in fact. M---- M---- was
not to blame, as she could only write what she had heard, and it was not
easy for anyone besides myself to know the real circumstances of my
escape. The charming nun said that, no longer buoyed up by the hope of
seeing either of the men who alone had made her in love with life, her
existence had become a burden to her, and she was unfortunate in not
being able to take any comfort in religion. "C---C---- often comes to see
me," she said, "but I grieve to say she is not happy with her husband."

I told M. de Bernis that the account of my flight from The Leads, as told
by our friend, was wholly inaccurate, and I would therefore take the
liberty of writing out the whole story with the minutest details. He
challenged me to keep my word, assuring me that he would send a copy to
M---- M----, and at the same time, with the utmost courtesy, he put a
packet of a hundred Louis in my hand, telling me that he would think what
he could do for me, and would advise me as soon as he had any
communication to make.

Thus furnished with ample funds, my first care was for my dress; and this
done I went to work, and in a week sent my generous protector the result,
giving him permission to have as many copies printed as he liked, and to
make any use he pleased of it to interest in my behalf such persons as
might be of service to me.

Three weeks after, the minister summoned me to say that he had spoken of
me to M. Erizzo, the Venetian ambassador, who had nothing to say against
me, but for fear of embroiling himself with the State Inquisitors
declined to receive me. Not wanting anything from him--his refusal did me
no harm. M. de Bernis then told me that he had given a copy of my history
to Madame la Marquise de Pompadour, and he promised to take the first
opportunity of presenting me to this all-powerful lady. "You can present
yourself, my dear Casanova," added his excellence, "to the Duc de
Choiseul, and M. de Boulogne, the comptroller. You will be well received,
and with a little wit you ought to be able to make good use of the
letter. He himself will give you the cue, and you will see that he who
listens obtains. Try to invent some useful plan for the royal exchequer;
don't let it be complicated or chimerical, and if you don't write it out
at too great length I will give you my opinion on it."

I left the minister in a pleased and grateful mood, but extremely puzzled
to find a way of increasing the royal revenue. I knew nothing of finance,
and after racking my brains all that I could think of was new methods of
taxation; but all my plans were either absurd or certain to be unpopular,
and I rejected them all on consideration.

As soon as I found out that M. de Choiseul was in Paris I called on him.
He received me in his dressing-room, where he was writing while his valet
did his hair. He stretched his politeness so far as to interrupt himself
several times to ask me questions, but as soon as I began to reply his
grace began to write again, and I suspect did not hear what I was saying;
and though now and again he seemed to be looking at me, it was plain that
his eyes and his thoughts were occupied on different objects. In spite of
this way of receiving visitors--or me, at all events, M. de Choiseul was
a man of wit.

When he had finished writing he said in Italian that M. de Bernis had
told him of some circumstances of my escape, and he added,

"Tell me how you succeeded."

"My lord, it would be too long a story; it would take me at least two
hours, and your grace seems busy."

"Tell me briefly about it."

"However much I speak to the point, I shall take two hours."

"You can keep the details for another time."

"The story is devoid of interest without the details."

"Well, well, you can tell me the whole story in brief, without losing
much of the interest."

"Very good; after that I can say no more. I must tell your lordship,
then, that, the State Inquisitors shut me up under the Leads; that after
fifteen months and five days of imprisonment I succeeded in piercing the