PART TWO

He replied, a touch stung, that I was flattering myself if I thought I was the only literate person locked up here; that I would be flabbergasted if I knew the identities of those who shared my fate. Without dropping a beat I picked out the first Volume of the Chronology of Father Petau and told him to bring another book of equal importance. Four minutes later he was back with the first volume of Wolff, in Latin. Pleased with the arrangement, I rescinded the order I'd given him to buy Maffei. He went off tickled pink to have brought me to my senses in this matter. Less intent on distracting myself with scholarly reading than undertaking a correspondence with someone who could help further my plans for escape, the outlines of which had begun to take shape in my mind. I leafed through the book and found a half sheet of paper on which were written six lines of decent verse paraphrasing five words from Seneca:"Calamitosus est animus futuri anxius." I immediately composed six more and, lacking a pen, I used black mulberry juice and, having let the nail grow on my right fifth finger to clean my ears, I filed it to a fine point and held it between my thumb and forefinger, a perfect quill. Enchanted with such a clever invention, I made a catalogue of my books and tucked it in the binding. All hardcover books published in Italy have a sort of pocket beneath the back binding. On the Title Page, I wrote: latet, quere. Impatient for a reply I told Lorenzo the very next day that I'd already finished reading the entire book and asked him to exchange it for another. In no time flat Lorenzo was back with Volume Two of Wolff. He told me the person didn't want to delay such a small pleasure. I was annoyed. I preferred a reply. As soon as I was alone I opened the book and found a short letter in Latin which read: "We two who are together in this prison are grateful for the stupidity of a greedy man who affords us an unparalleled opportunity. I who write this am Marin Balbi, noble Venetian, Somaschian Monk. My cellmate is the Count Andre Asquino, Nobleman of Udine, the capital of Frioul. He directs me to tell you that all his books are at your disposal, a Catalogue of which you will find in this book and we suggest the greatest precautions so that Lorenzo never manages to discover our correspondence, if you are disposed to undertake one." The coincidence of our ideas for putting notes in the back of books struck me as peculiar as did his warning since his little letter was loose between two pages where Lorenzo would have found it in a second if he'd opened the book. Granted he didn't know how to read, but of course he would have kept the letter and gone to look for someone who could and our correspondence would have been stillborn. I knew then and there that Father Balbi was someone to whom I should never defer except in regard to his noble birth and holy character. I found the Catalogue and letter and on the back replied immediately and at length. I told them my name. I told them the story of my arrest and the expectation I had for an early release, because I could only be in for trifles. I told them nothing about excavating the floor. I returned the book the next day and received another, where I found a sixteen page letter from Father Balbi. Count Asquino didn't write anything. The monk wrote the story of his misfortune. He had been in I Piombi four years because he had had several illegitimate children and wishing to give them his name had them all baptized. His Father Superior had scolded him the first time, threatened him the second, but the third time he brought charges before the Tribunal which had locked him up. The Father Superior paid for his meals each morning. He spent four pages defending his position with a thousand platitudes. Among others, he maintained that neither his Superior nor the Inquisitors of State had any rights over his conscience and therefore what they were doing to him was tyrannical, violent and despotic. He wrote that knowing in his heart that the children were his, he couldn't deprive them of the advantages to be gained from bearing his name and an honorable man couldn't send any child to the Orphanage which in Venice is called La Pieta, where they send those born of incest whose pedigree, were it known, might cause scandal. He added that all three mothers of his children were, albeit impoverished and forced to work as chambermaids, respectable. Until they had met him, no one could have criticized their morals. The error which love had caused them to commit with him, having brought them notoriety, the least he could do would be to recognize the fruits of their union as his own, which would also keep the mothers from pinning the blame elsewhere. He concluded by saying he couldn't deny Nature by acting other than as their father. After having said a lot of negative things about his Superior, he added that there was no chance he would ever again be guilty of the same mistake because his pious attractions were now inspired only by his students, the sole objects of his total attention. Reading this long letter, I knew my man. He was creative, vicious, sophisticated in his logic without deep understanding, libertine, malicious, stupid and ungrateful because no sooner did he write how unhappy he would be without the company of the old man with his books and his money than he spent two pages detailing his defects and ridiculing them. On the outside I wouldn't have replied to a man of such character. But here I had to take advantage of everything. In the pages of this book I found two pens, Chinese ink and two sheets of paper, enough to write all I wanted with no problem. All the rest of his long letter consisted in the stories of every prisoner in I Piombi and every one who had been there and left during the four years he'd been in. He told me the Archer named Nicolas secretly brought him whatever he wanted to buy and kept him apprised of the names of every detainee and what went on in their cells and to prove it he related the story of the hole he knew I'd dug in the cell from which I'd been removed to make way for the Patrician Grancan Priuli who replaced me the very same day I left. He told me that Lorenzo had spent those two hours I waited looking for a carpenter and a locksmith to fill in and bar the hole, intimating to the workers to keep their mouths shut or pay with their lives. Nicolas had assured Father Balbi that one more day and I would have been gone which would have resulted in a good deal of gossip and the strangulation of Lorenzo. Because it was perfectly obvious that, although he tried to appear surprised at the sight of the hole and made believe he was angry with me, he had to have been in cahoots with me because only he could have given me the instruments to excavate and since no one could find them it must be that I'd returned them to Lorenzo. Nicolas also said that Monsieur de Bragadin had promised Lorenzo 1000 Sequins in the event of my escape which the Guard hoped to earn thanks to the protection of His Most Excellent Diedo, who was his wife's protector. So the Archers were sure he would find a way to procure my escape without losing his job. Lorenzo told the Archers they better not dare tell Monsieur the Secretary about all the embezzling because it would cost them their daily bread. Father Balbi concluded his letter by begging me to trust him and tell him the whole story of the perforated planks and from whom I got the tools all the while assuring me he would be as discrete as he was curious. I had no doubts about his curiosity; but with regard to his discretion I had many. The very questions he was putting to me revealed him to be the least discrete of men. I saw I would need to be wary and also that I could easily manipulate a person of such disposition to do whatever I needed to be free. I spent the entire day writing to him, but a strong intuition made me postpone sending my reply. It occurred to me that this epistolary business might be Lorenzo's trick to find out where the instruments were that I used to break up the floor. So instead I wrote him a very short letter saying that a bad headache prevented me from replying in detail but meanwhile, feeling obligated to satisfy his curiosity, wrote that the huge knife I had used to make the hole could be found on the tall ledge of the corridor window where I'd stuck it as soon as I was alone in the new cell, and where Lorenzo hadn't looked - I didn't know what else to do with it. After three days had passed, my mind was at ease because if they had intercepted my letters containing the false confidence, the guard would have checked the window, and I saw nothing exceptional. Father Balbi wrote that he knew I had a big knife because Nicolas had told him that they didn't frisk me before locking me up. He said that Lorenzo was saying that Mr. Big's men hadn't checked my pockets and that he was sure I had weapons. He claimed it wasn't up to the Archers to frisk me. Since I was hand delivered by Mr. Big, Lorenzo naturally assumed Mr. Big had discharged his duties and that had my escape been successful, all the blame would have fallen on him. Mr. Big would surely have argued that having observed me naked on the bed and then dressing in his presence he didn't need to frisk me because he was sure I couldn't be hiding anything. He finished his letter by telling me I could trust Nicolas and send him for the knife. This Monk was an odd one, wanting to know everything and Nicolas reveling in indiscretion - it had to be his master passion. His letters amused me even as they exposed his weaknesses. He told me that Count Asquino was 60 years old, burdened with a big belly and a bum leg which was broken and badly set a long time ago, laming him. Not being rich, he had been practicing law in Udine defending the peasant class when the Nobility tried to take away voting rights in Provincial Assemblies. The claims of the peasants disturbed the public order and the Nobility appealed to the Tribunal which told Count Asquino to abandon his clients! He answered that the Municipal Code authorized him to defend the Constitution and refused. Code or no code, the Inquisitors of State had him taken away and thrown in I Piombi where he'd spent five years amusing himself with books, awaiting his release. Like me he was allocated fifty soldi per day and the privilege of directing their use, which eventually put him in possession of dozens of Sequins since he only needed ten or twelve soldi per day to live. This Monk, who never had a cent, said a lot of negative things about his roommate in regard to money who, wouldn't you know it, he accused of being greedy. He informed me that in the cell across from mine were two brothers from the region of Sette Communi involved in armed rebellion who were here for disobedience. The older brother having gone mad with fury, they kept him tied down. In another cell there were two Notary Publics, one of them a Veronese Count of the house of Desiderato Pindemonte had been locked up for a week for disregarding an order to appear. Nicolas reported that this Seignior was a man of such distinction they allowed his servants to deliver his mail directly to him each day. My suspicions appeased, I reasoned as follows: I wanted to procure my liberty. The pike that I had was excellent; but I couldn't use it because every morning my cell was beaten with iron bars, every corner, except the ceiling. I could only consider getting out through the ceiling by breaking through from above. Whoever broke through would be able to escape with me by helping make a big hole in the palace roof the same night. I persuaded myself this was possible, with a partner to help. When I was on the roof, I'd figure out what to do from there. I was determined to get out this way. The Monk, though provisioned with very poor judgment, being 38 years old, could physically execute all my instructions. I had to resolve myself to confide everything in him and find a means to send him my pike. I began by asking him if he desired freedom and if he felt disposed to do whatever it took to attain it and save both of us. He replied that he as well as his companion would be ready to do anything to break their chains, but it was a waste of time to dwell on the impossible. Here he made a long detailed list of every obstacle, filling four pages, and which there would have been no end to overcoming. I replied to him that all these difficulties seemed slight but that there was no way I would confide the solutions on paper and that if he was willing to follow my instruction I promised him freedom. He answered that he was ready for anything. I then wrote to him that I would think of a way to send him the instrument I'd used to dig, which wasn't a knife, and that with this tool he should pierce the ceiling of his cell, climb out, break through the partition and he'd be directly over my cell which he would then enter from above. I would climb out and join him and the Count, and all together we'd put a hole in the great roof, lift the lead plates and as soon as we were on the roof, the route back down to freedom in the streets of Venice would be up to me. He answered that he was ready for anything but I was undertaking an impossible task and he again enumerated the impossibilities which in truth were mere difficulties. I wrote back that I was sure of my facts and that if he wished to get out with me he had only to begin following my directions, the first of which was to have Lorenzo buy forty or fifty posters of Saints on the pretext of piety, and cover every wall of his cell and especially the ceiling and I wouldn't say more until he had executed this first commission. I realized that I had to act this way with a man who could only display his cunning with arguments based on timidity and obstacles which by my calculations could all be overcome. He listed his objections in long columns like an accountant, a sure way of never making any decisions. I ordered Lorenzo to buy me the new Bible, which had been published in a huge folio where besides the Vulgate and the New Testament they included a version of the Septante. I thought this book, owing to its great dimensions, would allow me to conceal and send the pike but when I got it and tried it I was crushed with disappointment. I found the old bolt to be two inches longer than the Bible. The Monk had written to me that his entire cell was wallpapered as prescribed and Lorenzo told him I'd bought this enormous book and invited them to borrow it at my convenience. In fact Lorenzo did ask me for it and I said I had need of it myself, for three or four more days. I found no solution for the excessive length of the bolt. I would have needed a forge to shorten it and I couldn't pretend that Lorenzo would go blind and not see the overlap which would only have to stick out from the book to poke him in the eye. I had to find a happy medium, and if one existed in nature, the only way to find it was by the power of thought. I communicated my problem with Father Balbi. He answered the next morning, making fun of my lack of imagination, that there was an easy way. Lorenzo had told them I had a beautiful fur lined coat. He said that he and Count Asquino would make a show of curiosity and would beg Lorenzo to let them see it. Then I had only to put the pike inside and send it folded - which of course Lorenzo would carry without unfolding - and they would adroitly remove the pike and send the coat right back. In spite of the fact that the Monk's style irritated me, the boldness of his project didn't displease me at all. I had proof of Lorenzo's stupidity, but I thought it perfectly natural that he would unfold the coat himself in the attic to better display it for them, the more so because their cell hadn't much light. The bolt would drop to the ground at his feet. But I wrote to the Monk that I was adopting his plan and that he had only to ask me for the fur coat. The next day Lorenzo begged me to excuse the curiosity of the person who was loaning the books, but he wanted to see my coat. I gave it to him immediately, carefully folded, telling him to bring it back right away. I hope the reader won't think I was dumb enough to put the bolt inside. He brought it back two minutes later, thanking me. I took the opportunity to order, for Saint Michael's day, three pounds of boiling macaroni in a kettle on a large portable stove. I told him I wanted to personally prepare and season two platters, one of which, the biggest platter he could find in the house, would be to treat the worthy persons who were giving me books; the other, of average size, for me. I told him I wanted to melt the butter myself, as well as sprinkle the Parmesan cheese which he should bring already grated. I decided to put the bolt down the spine of the Bible, with the enormous platter of macaroni swimming in butter, on top in such a way that Lorenzo wouldn't be able to shift his gaze to the edges of the Bible. The platter had to be so overloaded that he must fear spilling it all over everything. The day after I sent the coat, I had a good laugh. Father Balbi, nervous and shaken, reported that Lorenzo had entered the attic carrying the coat unfolded and that even though he didn't let on, he must have found the pike and kept it. He said he was in despair, obliged to admit being the main cause of this irreparable misfortune, he nonetheless berated me for not giving some forethought before adopting his scheme. I had already written to him that very morning that there was nothing in the coat and that I had only gone ahead and sent it anyway to show him that in the future he could have confidence he wasn't dealing with a moron. I outlined my plan for St. Michael's Day and advised the greatest care as he took the plate and book from Lorenzo's hands because the hand to hand transfer had to be the critical instant for a fatal discovery of the pike. I told him to be extra careful not to allow his impatient eyes to wander to the edges of the book because instinctively Lorenzo's eyes would follow and he would see the overlap and all would be lost. On the eve of the great day, I wrapped the pike in paper and stuck it down the spine of the book and instead of leaving a two inch overlap at one end, I divided it in two. It stuck out one inch to the right and one inch to the left. There being no greater likelihood Lorenzo should look at one end of the book more than the other, I reasoned that by dividing the overlap I was cutting the risk in half. Lorenzo appeared bright and early with a huge kettle of boiling macaroni. I melted the butter over the stove. I sprinkled cheese on the plates. I took a sieve spoon and began filling the plates pouring butter with one hand, sprinkling more cheese with the other and I didn't stop until the Monk's plate could hold no more. The butter ran right to the edge. The diameter of the plate was about twice the length of the Bible. I picked it up and placed it on the big book which was waiting at the cell door and lifting the whole thing in my hands with the pages of the book facing Lorenzo, I instructed him to stick out his arms and extend his hands. There I gently placed my Bible, taking care that the butter not spill over. As I consigned this burden to Lorenzo, I kept my eyes fixed on his, which, I was pleased to note, didn't look toward the butter he was so worried about spilling. He received it, complaining that I'd put too much on but keeping his gaze steady saying that if drops got on the book it wouldn't be his fault. I was assured of victory the minute I saw the Bible in his hands because the two ends of the bolt which were the length of the book from my eyes became invisible to him as soon as he held everything himself. They were at shoulder height and there was no reason for him to shift his eyes or turn his head to look at one or the other corner. He couldn't pay attention to anything else. He had to concentrate. His only concern had to be keeping everything horizontal. He left and I watched him until I saw him go down the steps to the Monk's corridor. A second later I heard the sound of a nose blowing three times: the agreed upon signal that everything had gone well. I then finished filling my plate of macaroni and Lorenzo returned to assure me that not one single drop of butter had fallen on the book. It took Father Balbi eight hours to make a large enough opening in the roof of his cell to be able to get out. He punched out a chunk of ceiling putting it back in place afterward and mortaring it with well chewed bread to camouflage his work. The 8th of October, he wrote me that he had spent the entire night working on the wall which separated us and had succeeded only in extracting a single brick. He was exaggerating the resistance of the mortar which kept him from breaking the bricks loose. He promised to persevere although he kept repeating in every letter that we were going to make our circumstances worse because we wouldn't succeed and when we were discovered, we'd be sorry. I encouraged him to keep at it, and assured him the deal was done as soon as he succeeded in making a big enough hole in my cell. Alas! I wasn't really sure of anything, but I had to act as if I were or abandon the whole project. How could I tell him something I didn't know? I wanted out. That's all I really knew and I couldn't think of anything except to go one step at a time and never stop unless I encountered the insurmountable. I read somewhere that you shouldn't deliberate over great undertakings but execute them without disputing the dominion which Fortune exercises over all of us. Had I told such truths to Father Balbi, had I communicated these profound mysteries of sublime philosophy, he would have taken me for a fool. His work was difficult that first night. But from then on, the more bricks he removed, the easier it was to remove more. In the end he had taken 36 bricks out of the wall. The 16th of October, at 6 in the evening, as I was amusing myself translating one of Horace's odes, I heard a knocking and then three little taps. I got up and tapped three times on the same spot. It was the agreed up signal to be sure we weren't making any mistakes. A minute later, I heard the sounds of digging and I sent several prayers to God for a happy outcome. Toward evening, he greeted me with three more knocks which I reciprocated and then he retreated from the wall, returning to his cell. The next day, early, I received his letter, in which he said if my ceiling comprised only two layers of boards he could be sure of finishing up in four days, because the board he'd just broken through was only an inch thick. He assured me he would make a small circular passage, as I had instructed, taking great care not to pierce the last board, because the slightest crack on the inside of my cell would have aroused suspicion. He repeated this instruction and said he would dig to the point that nothing but a veneer of the last board remained so that it would take no more than a quarter hour to punch through the moment I ordered it. I had already decided on the moment. Work had to be finished Thursday and I figured on completing the opening Saturday noon, completing the rest of the work, breaking through the beams of the great roof which were directly under the lead plates which covered the Palace. Monday, two hours after noon, even as Father Balbi was at work, I heard the sound of doors opening. My blood froze, but I gave two quick knocks on the ceiling, the alarm signal. A minute later, I saw Lorenzo coming down the corridor, begging my pardon for bringing me such company, a lowlife in every sense of the word. I saw a man about forty or fifty years old, small, thin, ugly, miserably dressed with a round black wig. Two Archers were undoing his neck collar. I had no doubt he was a lowlife when Lorenzo pronounced the title in his presence without the slightest reaction on the man's part. I replied that the Tribunal was master and I begged him not to go away without leaving a mattress for the man. He did me this favor. After having locked us up, he told the man that the Tribunal allotted him ten soldi per day. My new roommate replied: "May God reimbuburse them." In spite of my disappointment I immediately began to study this scoundrel whose face betrayed him. I needed to probe and get to know him. I had to make him talk. He began by thanking me for getting him a mattress. I told him he would eat with me and he forced me to allow him to kiss my hand. He asked me if he could ask the guard to give him the ten soldi from the Tribunal and I, choosing a book and pretending to read, answered that he could very well ask. Then I saw him kneel down, pull a Rosary from his pocket and look all around for something. "What are you looking for?" I asked him. "I'm looking - I beg your pardon - for a picture of the immaculate Virgin Mary, because I am a Christian. Or at least a passable Crucifix, for I never had such a need to pray to Saint Francis, my namesake, as I do today." I had the hardest time to keep from breaking out laughing, not because of his Christian piety, which I revere, but because of the way he put it. I thought, by the way he begged my pardon, that he took me for a Jew. I hastened to give him the prayerbook of the Saintly Virgin, which he immediately kissed and returned saying his father, a convict on a galley, had neglected to teach him to read, but he certainly wanted at least to learn to write because he needed to write every day. I told him that I would read aloud from the book and that by simply listening he would get the same credit as if he recited it himself. He replied that his particular devotion was to the most saintly Rosary about which he related innumerable miracles, which I listened to with exemplary patience. When he finished he asked me to do him a favor and post the Holy Image where he could see it while saying the Rosary. I did him this favor and even accompanied him in prayer which took a half hour. I asked if he had eaten and he told me he had eaten nothing at all. I gave him everything that I had and he devoured it like a starving dog, crying the whole time. Having consumed all the wine undiluted, he got drunk and then the tears gushed double and he was overcome by the need to talk. I gave him a great subject by interrogating him on the cause of his misfortune. Here is the short version of his reply, which I wouldn't forget if I crossed the Styx and went to hell. I relate it faithfully to the reader, in the narrative style he followed himself. "My sole passion in this world, my dear Master, was always the glory of this Holy Republic and the scrupulous observation of its laws. Always on the lookout for the intrigues of scoundrels whose craft is fooling and undermining the authority of their Prince, and hiding their footsteps, I ferreted out their secrets and always reported everything faithfully to Mr. Big. It's true I was always paid. But the money wasn't as satisfying as feeling useful to the glorious Evangelist Saint Mark. I've always scoffed at the prejudices of those who attach a bad connotation to the word spy. This name only sounds bad to those who at heart don't love their government for a spy is nothing more than a friend working for the good of the State, the scourge of criminals and the loyal subject of the Prince. The sentiments of friendship and gratitude which might have affected others, never got in my way. I often kept my mouth shut to draw out important secrets which I promptly conveyed to my confessor who assured me that my vows of silence meant nothing since I had no intention of keeping my promises when I made them, and because oaths aren't binding when one is acting in the public interest. I'm a slave to patriotism. I would have betrayed my own father with a clean conscience." "Such as I was, it was three weeks ago in Isola, a little town where I was living, I observed a big meeting between 4 or 5 conspirators whom I knew to be unhappy with the government because they had been imprisoned for contraband which had been found and confiscated. The first Chaplain of the parish, born a subject of the Empress was in on this mysterious plot which I was determined to unravel." "These gentlemen assembled at night in a room in a cabaret where there was an old bed and after they'd drunk and conspired together, they went off. Finding the room wide open and empty I courageously decided to hide under the bed, certain of escaping detection." "Toward evening, the men came in and began to talk about the town of Isola. They were saying how it wasn't within the jurisdiction of St. Marks, but belonged to the principality of Trieste, because it couldn't possibly be seen as a part of the Venetian Istrie. The Chaplain told the leader of the plot whose name was Pietro Paolo, that if he were willing to sign a document and if the others would do the same, he would personally go to the Imperial Ambassador and that the Empress would not only take over the city but would reward them. They all told the Chaplain they were ready and he undertook to carry the document the next day and come here to Venice to present it to the Austrian Ambassador." "Just before leaving, he mentioned that L would sign it too, which caused me great grief because L was my Godfather, my spiritual parent which gave him an inviolable dominion over me much stronger than if he had been my brother. But after much wrestling with my conscience, I conquered my scruples and made up my mind to make this infamous scheme go up in smoke." "After they left, I had all the time in the world to escape and I thought it useless to expose myself to new risk by hiding under the same bed the next day. I'd learned enough. I left on a boat before midnight and that same morning before noon, I was here. I went to a drugstore where a young man did me a favor and wrote down the names of the six rebels, and because a State Crime was involved, I went to the home of the Secretary of the Inquisition to whom I told all." "He ordered me to come back early the next day. I went and received an order to go to Mr. Big who would assign a man to whom I must point out the Chaplain by going with him right away to Isola. He told me that after that I could relax wherever I pleased. I executed his orders. Mr. Big assigned me the man with whom I left immediately, as well as six silver Ducats for my expenses. I was sure he'd received twelve but I pretended to be satisfied. Once in Isola, I pointed out the Chaplain to my man and parted company." "Toward evening, I was passing my Godmother's window when she begged me to come upstairs to shave her husband, my Godfather, because in my first career, I was a barber and a wigmaker. After shaving him, he shared an excellent bottle of Refosque and cut several slices of garlic sausage which we shared. Finding myself alone with him, my affection overwhelmed me because I am good. Taking his hand and weeping profusely, I begged him to break off his friendship with the Chaplain and above all not to sign a certain document." "My Godfather swore that he was no more friends with the Chaplain than with anyone else; that he hadn't signed any document and he begged me to tell him what this was all about. I began laughing. I assured him I was joking and I left regretting that I had listened to my heart which had inspired me to warn him. The next day, I saw neither the man nor the Chaplain and eight hours later I left Isola to pay a visit to Mr. Big who, without further ado, had me thrown in jail yesterday at his place, and today with you. And I thank St. Francis, because I am with a respectable man and a good Christian." "You are here for some reason that you must know and I won't ask. My name is Signor Checco Da Castello, barber at the Pontesello of St. Martin. My family name is Soradaci and my wife is of the house of Logrenzi, daughter of a Secretary of the Council of Ten, who having fallen in love with me defied prejudice and wanted to marry me. She will be in despair not knowing what's become of me but I expect I won't be here more than a few days and at the convenience of the Secretary who will probably need to question me." After this arrogant narration, which informed me what species of monster I was dealing with, I made believe I felt sorry for him and making an elegy to his patriotism, I predicted his freedom in a few days. A half hour later, he fell asleep and I wrote about the whole thing to Father Balbi and the need to suspend our operations and await a more favorable opportunity. The next day, I ordered Lorenzo to buy me a wooden crucifix, a picture of the holy Virgin and a flagon of holy water. Soradaci boldly asked for his ten soldi and Lorenzo playing generous, laughing and calling him lowlife, gave him twenty. I ordered four times the usual amount of wine and garlic because my cellmate told me that garlic was his favorite food. After Lorenzo left, I shared my soup with this traitor and conceived an experiment. But first, I skillfully removed the latest letter from Father Balbi from my book and read it without him noticing. Balbi's letter expressed surprise and fright. He had gotten out in a second. He'd returned to his cell more dead than alive and had quickly replaced the engraving covering the hole. But, if Lorenzo had entered his cell sooner, all would have been lost because he would have seen the open hole and he would have seen the empty cell. Soradaci's story convinced me that he would probably be interrogated. They hadn't locked him up for giving a bad report. I decided to entrust him with two letters which if he had delivered to the addressees on the chance he was set free, would have done neither harm nor good but which could be very useful if he turned them over to the Secretary. I spent a large part of the day in writing them. The next day Lorenzo brought the wooden crucifix, a picture of the holy Virgin and a bottle of holy water. After giving Soradaci food and better yet, drink, I told him I needed to ask him a big favor. I told him I was depending on his loyalty and courage, because if it became known that he had done me the favor, he'd be punished. I told him it had to do with delivering two letters and my happiness depended upon it. I asked him if he would swear on the crucifix and on the holy Virgin that he wouldn't betray me. He answered that he was ready to swear and to die rather than let me down and he shed tears the floodgates of which opened wider with alcohol. I had given him a shirt and a cap. Then, I got up. I took off my own shirt and cap and in front of the two saintly pictures, I took an oath with various conjurations which didn't make a shadow of good sense but which were fearsome. I sprinkled holy water about the cell, on him, on me and made several signs of the cross. I made him kneel, swear and made him curse himself in the most horrible way in case he should violate his oath. Intrepid, he said everything I wanted. After that, I gave him my two letters, unsealed. He decided to sew them in the lining of the back of his vest so they wouldn't be found in case they frisked him. I was certain that this man would turn my letters over to the secretary, so I employed all my creative arts so that the tribunal wouldn't detect the ruse. These letters were designed to evoke the pity and respect of the three all-powerfuls who held me in harsh enslavement. They were addressed to M. de Grimani and M. de Brigandi. I begged them to keep me in their good graces, and not to worry on my behalf because the gentle manner in which I was being treated made me hope to obtain a pardon soon. I wrote to them that after getting out, my imprisonment, far from being a misfortune, would appear to have been necessary, that nobody in Venice was in greater need of reform than me. I begged M. de Grimani to send me several flagons of the wine of Valpolacella and from M. de Bragadin, the History of Venice by Cantorini and size extra large boots lined with bear skin for winter because, being in a cell where I could stand upright, I needed to keep my feet warm. I didn't want Soradaci to know that my letters were innocent at this point because if he had known, he might have capriciously acted like an honest man and delivered them. Two days later, Lorenzo came up at Terza and told Soradaci to come downstairs. Not seeing him return, I throught I wouldn't see him again. I wrote to the Monk to resume his work. But, towards evening, I saw Lorenzo bringing back this malicious animal. Soradaci told me after the guard left that the Secretary suspected him of having warned the Chaplain because not only didn't he go to the Ambassador's, but he arrived in Venice without letters or documents. He related that after the interrogation in which the secretary ought to have been assured of his innocence, they had put him all alone in a little cell where they left him for seven hours. After that, they'd uncollared him for the second time, brought him back in front of the Secretary who demanded he confess to having told someone in Isola that the Chaplain better not return to Venice with the document which he couldn't confess because it wasn't exactly true. The Secretary finally put him back with me. I understood without saying so and with some bitterness, that it was quite possible they would leave him with me a long time. During the night, while he slept, I wrote the whole story to Father Balbi after taking his letter from the book. It was on this occasion that I developed a talent for writing in the dark. The next day, after swallowing my bouillon, I decided to confirm something I already suspected. I told Soradaci I wanted to add a postscript to one of the two letters and that we could sew them back in afterwards. The drunkard told me that this would be useless and risky because they could come in at any moment and take us by surprise. With that, I was certain of his treason and I told him that I absolutely wanted the letters. The beast threw himself to his knees and swore to me that at his second appearance before the fearsome Secretary, he was overcome by a great shaking and an intolerable pressure in his back in the very spot where the letters were and that the Secretary asking him what was the matter, he hadn't been able to keep from telling the truth. They called Lorenzo who unchained him, removed his vest and found my letters. The Secretary had put them in a drawer after reading them. He told me that the Secretary had assured him that if he'd delivered the letters, they would certainly have known and it would have cost him his life. I made believe I was sick. I brought my hands to my face. I threw myself to my knees on the bed before the crucifix and the Virgin and demanded vengeance on the monster who had cost me my life by violating the most solemn of all oaths. After that I went to bed on my side with my face turned toward the wall and stayed this way without a word the entire day, pretending I didn't hear his tears, his cries and his protestations of repentance. I played my part perfectly in a comedy the outline of which was sketched in my head. I wrote for Father Balbi to come at 7 PM sharp, not one minute before or after, and to work only four hours so that without fail, he would leave exactly at the tolling of 11 p.m. I told him our freedom depended on his faithful execution of this plan and there was nothing to fear. It was the 25th of October and the time was approaching when I would either execute my project or abandon it forever. The State Inquisitors and even the Secretary spent the first three days of every year on the mainland. Lorenzo, during these three days the Masters were away, got totally drunk every night, slept until Terza and didn't appear until very late in I Piombi. I had learned this a year ago. It was only prudent to make the escape on one of these three nights to be sure that we wouldn't be discovered until late morning. Another reason for haste, which made me resolve to go ahead with the escape plan even though I had no doubt as to the untrustworthiness of my present roommate was an important one and merits discussion. For a man in pain, the greatest consolation he can have is the hope of being free of it soon. He looks forward to the happy moment when he will see the end of his misery; he flatters himself that it won't be long and he would do anything in the world to know the exact moment it will be over. No one can know the exact timing of something that depends on another person's free choice unless the other person tells him. But a man gets impatient and weak and begins to believe that by magic he can figure out the exact moment. They say God must know and in that case, maybe He could pass along the information. As soon as the person asking the question has gone through this reasoning, he doesn't hesitate to consult the occult whether he is disposed or not to believe it infallible. Such was the spirit of those who in ancient times consulted oracles. Such is the spirit of those who even today consult the Cabala and seek revelations in verses of the Bible or of Virgil, which makes his Sortes Virgilianae so popular. Not knowing how to use the Bible to learn the moment of my liberation, I decided to consult Orlando Furioso, the divine poem by Messier Ludovico Ariosto, that I had read a hundred times and which always delighted me. I idolatrized his genius and I believed him to be more appropriate than Virgil to predict my happiness. I framed a short question asking a presumed higher intelligence in which canto of Ariosto I would find the day of my deliverance. After that, I constructed a cabalistic pyramid composed of the numbers derived by the words of my question, and by subtracting the number nine from every two figures, I obtained nine as the last number telling me that in the Ninth Canto I would find what I was looking for. I used the same method for determining the stanza of the canto and I came up with the number 7 and, finally, to know in which verse of the stanza I would find my oracle, I derived the number 1. Instantly, I grabbed Ariosto with my heart skipping and the first Verse of the seventh Strophe of the ninth Canto was: Tra il fin d'Ottobre e il capo di Novembre. The precision of this verse and its suitability were so impressive I didn't need to add blind faith, but the reader will pardon me if I am inclined to do everything possible to test oracles. The remarkable fact is that Tra il fin d'Ottobre e il capo di Novembre can only mean midnight and as it turned out it was exactly at the stroke of midnight, on the 31st of October, that I escaped, as the reader will see. I beg the reader not to dismiss me as being more superstitious than average, nor as having a mentality capable of letting such coincidences lead to the formation of entire belief systems; they would be wrong. I relate this prediction because it came true and because the respect I gave it may well have saved my life. This isn't one of those predictions that would have happened anyway. In this case the outcome completely verified the prediction. When a prediction doesn't come true, the issue is moot; but there are many events in human history which might never have happened if they hadn't been predicted. I spent the whole day until 7 PM, demoralizing the evil ignoramus, by sowing confusion in his frail brain with remarkable and extraordinary visions to neutralize his power to harm me. In the morning, after Lorenzo left with another book for Father Balbi, I told Soradaci to come have some soup. The guy was sitting there, having told the guard he was sick, and wouldn't have gotten up if I hadn't called him. He rose from his pallet and threw himself at my feet which he kissed, sobbing, begging me at the very least to forgive him or he would die this very day. He could already feel the onset of the curse of the vengeance of the Holy Virgin which I had called down on him. He was feeling colicky pains tearing up his guts and his tongue was coated with ulcers. He showed me and I was slightly surprised to see that his tongue really was covered with sores. I didn't care to examine it more closely; all I cared was that he believed it was the curse and craved forgiveness. I had to get him to eat. If he hoped to deceive me, I was determined to fool him first. It was a matter of seeing which one of us was a more skillful manipulator. I was struck with a look of divine inspiration and commanded him to sit: "Let's have some soup, and then I’ll tell you the good news. You need to know that the Saintly Virgin appeared before me at sunrise this morning and ordered me to forgive you. You're not going to die and you will find true happiness." Totally flabbergasted, he ate his soup with me, on his knees, since there weren't any chairs. Then he sat down on his mattress to listen to what I had to say. Here's my speech: "Your treason caused me such pain and suffering, I was awake all night. My letters, which you gave to the secretary virtually guarantee I'll be here the rest of my life. I'll admit, my only consolation was that you would die, in front of my own eyes, in three days or less. My head was burning with such passions, unworthy of a Christian - because God wants us to forgive - that I passed out at dawn and had a vision. I saw this picture of the Holy Virgin which you see before you come to life, move, stand before me, open its mouth and pronounce these words: 'Soradaci is a devotee of my most Saintly Rosary; I am his protector; you will be so kind as to pardon him and God's curse will be suspended. In return for your most Christian and generous act, I will order one of my Angels to take human form and leave heaven immediately to break through the roof of your cell and carry you off, in 5 or 6 days. The Angel will begin work today at 7 PM and will work until a half hour before sunrise because he has to be back in heaven during daylight hours. When you escape you will take Soradaci with you and care for him the rest of his life, on the single condition that he give up his occupation as a spy, forever. You will relate to this unfortunate man everything I have come to tell you.' The speech over, the Holy Virgin disappeared and there I was, my eyes wide open." Remaining perfectly serious, I couldn't help notice that he appeared petrified. When I saw that he wasn't answering, I picked up a prayer book, made the sign of the cross, kissed the picture of the Virgin, sprinkled my cell with holy water and made believe I was praying. After an hour of this, without having so much as opened his mouth or budged from his straw, it occurred to the animal to ask me what time the Angel was due down from heaven and if there would be some sign of his arrival. "I am sure," I answered, "that he will come at 7 PM, that we'll hear him working, that he'll leave at 11, and it seems to me that a four hour shift is enough for an Angel." Half an hour later, he says to me I might have been dreaming. I replied coolly that I was sure I wasn't and added that he really ought to swear to give up his spying. He stretched out on his mattress and slept a couple of hours. Scarcely awake, he asked if he could postpone swearing the oath to give up spying until tomorrow. I told him that he was permitted to delay his decision until the very moment I left the cell, but that I would never take him with me unless he had already sworn the oath that his guardian, the Holy Virgin, demanded. That's when I saw him relax because he was sure, deep inside, that the Angel wouldn't get here. The hours up to 7 PM went by slowly for him but they didn't pass any faster for me. This comedy amused me and I was confident of its effect. But I was tormented by uncertainty anyway. I saw myself lost if by oversight Lorenzo hadn't taken the book to Father Balbi. At 6 PM I was ready for dinner. I drank water and Soradaci drank all the wine that I had and ate all the garlic for dessert: it was his candy. When I heard 7 PM sound I threw myself to my knees and ordered Soradaci to do the same in a resounding voice which terrified him. He obeyed me staring at me like an imbecile. When I heard the little noise from the tunnel in the wall I announced: "The Angel comes." I lay face down on my stomach and pushed him down the same way. There was a loud cracking noise. I stayed stock still a good quarter hour and when I arose I felt like laughing when I saw Soradaci still face down, displaying the greatest obedience. I spent three and a half hours reading and mumbling the Rosary to him, praying, sighing, falling asleep a couple of times, and gesturing at the Virgin's picture. It couldn't have been more farcical. At 11 PM, I got up and signaled him to imitate me and get down on his belly again, since the Angel had to leave now and we should thank him. Father Balbi left and we didn’t hear another sound. Confusion, fright and astonishment all blended together in the facial expression of this wretched man. I began talking to him to learn his thoughts. He seemed delirious. The associations of his ideas were far fetched. He spoke of his sins, his devotions, the miracles his wife told him about, of what to do with me, simple minded as he was, and he made a very striking observation to which I replied in the most oblique possible way. He said that if he hadn't betrayed me, I would never have been singled out for favor by the Virgin Saint and therefore I owed him. He was ready to give his oath then and there, but I told him that first I wanted real evidence of his obedience. I told him he should lie down on his mattress, his face toward the wall, the entire time Lorenzo stayed in the cell that morning and that, if Lorenzo spoke to him, he had to answer without looking and not say anything except that the fleas kept him awake. He promised he would do exactly as I ordered. I added, in a gentle but forceful tone, that I was going to keep my eyes on him and run over and strangle him if I saw him so much as glance at Lorenzo. That night I wrote the Monk the whole prodigious story to underscore the importance of the "Angel's" punctuality. I told him that we'd be getting out the night of the 31st, and that there would be four of us, counting him. Soradaci executed his orders to perfection that morning, pretending to sleep. He displayed the same astonishment, the same resurgence of belief after dinner when the Angel returned. I made nothing but profound sermons to him, encouraging his fanaticism, and I left him in peace only when he was drunk on wine, ready to pass out or on the point of falling into convulsions in the thrall of a metaphysics alien and new to a brain which had never exercised its faculties except for spying. He put me on the spot one day by commenting that he couldn't understand how an Angel could take so long to break a few boards. When I was sure that the tunnel was complete, I accepted his oath to quit his filthy occupation and I, in turn, swore never to abandon him. It's likely that at this point, some reader might want to know what I really thought about swearing oaths and the use to which I put the sacred mysteries of our religion deceiving this creature. I too feel the need to make a general statement, by way of apology, because I neither wish to offend anyone nor to be hypocritical. I will say without boasting or confessing: my goal is only to write the truth, without regard to anyone's possible judgment of my reasoning or my ethics. But, for appearance sake, I will explain myself a bit. I'm not proud of having abused my religion or the germ thereof residing in that man's soul, because I knew I was doing it in bad faith. I was unable to do otherwise, obliged as I was to save my life. I'm not confessing either, because I don't blush over it, because I don't repent about it, and because I would do it again today if I had to. Nature directed me to save my life. Religion didn't forbid it. I had no time to lose. I had to keep my spy from warning Lorenzo that someone was breaking through the ceiling. What should I have done? I had only two options: either the one I chose, enslave his soul or suffocate him by strangulation, which would have been a lot easier and less risky, because I would have said he died a natural death. And, I don't think anyone would have gone to any trouble, in his case, to find out if it was true or not. Now which of my readers thinks I should have strangled him? If there is one, God can enlighten him - his religion will never be mine. I did my duty, and the victory which crowned my exploit stands as the stamp of approval of eternal providence. With regard to the oath I took to care for him forever: he abrogated it for me, thank God, because he didn't want to escape with me. But, even if he had escaped with me, I admit to the reader that I it wouldn't have been perjury if I'd dumped him straightway because I knew I could get away with it if I'd hung him from a tree. When I swore him eternal assistance, I knew that his faith wouldn't last longer than his fanatic ecstasy which was bound to evaporate as soon as he discovered the Angel was a Monk. No merta fe chi non la serba altrui, says Le Tasse. The individual has a lot more reason to destroy everything to save his life, than Sovereigns do to save their States. The night of the 30th, I wrote to Father Balbi to make the opening at 6 PM and come inside. I told him to bring scissors which I knew the Count had the privilege of possessing. Bright and early on the 31st I saw Lorenzo for the last time and as soon as he was gone I said to Soradaci that the Angel would arrive at 6 PM through a hole in the ceiling through which we would exit to go make another hole. I told him the Angel would have a long beard like mine and scissors and Soradaci should cut both our beards. Still stunned with amazement he didn't doubt a thing, and he again promised obedience but I no longer cared how ardently he believed. Everything was in place. Never did seven hours take so long. At the slightest sound I heard outside, I expected to see Lorenzo returning to take away the spy who undoubtedly hadn't told all his prodigious exploits the first time he'd testified. I would have died in agony. I hadn't slept and I couldn't eat or drink. Finally, 6 PM sounded. It took the angel no more than ten minutes to open the tunnel by breaking a hole. I caught Father Balbi in my arms as he came through feet first. I gave him a big hug saying"Now your work is finished. Mine is about to begin." First I got hold of the pike and then I gave the scissors to Soradaci so that he could cut our beards. The man was dazed, staring at the Monk who looked like anything but an Angel. Despite his disorientation he cut both our beards in less than an hour and did his job to perfection. In Latin, I told the Monk to stay with Soradaci, that I didn't trust the scoundrel alone. Standing on my armchair and pushing with my leg I got out and found myself standing on the roof of my cell. I went over to the wall where I had a lot of trouble getting through the hole which, despite my clear instructions, was too high and too narrow, but I got through. On the other side of the wall I found myself in the Count's cell. I went in and cordially embraced the miserable old man. I saw the physique of a man who wasn't made to undertake the difficulties and dangers to which such an escape must expose us; on a huge slanting roof covered with lead shingles. He immediately asked what my plan was, adding that he thought I'd taken too many ill considered steps. I replied that I purposely put myself in a position of no return, of advancing to liberty or death. He then said, shaking my hand, that if my intention was to perforate the palace roof and climb out to look for an escape route he couldn’t even imagine, he personally didn't have the courage to follow me because it was a sure thing he'd fall right off the roof and that being the case, he'd just as soon stay behind to pray to God on our behalf, while we were seeking a path to freedom. Anxious to reconnoiter, I climbed out and made my way to the edges of the attic where I could touch the eaves, stooping as much as possible to get as close to the edge as I could. Seated quite comfortably amidst the junk with which the attics of all great buildings are full, I spent two minutes testing the planks with the point of my pike and I discovered dry rot. I was sure of making a very big opening in less than an hour. From the bottom of my heart I gave thanks to eternal providence and returned through the wall to my cell where I spent four hours cutting every bedsheet I had lengthwise, every towel, every mattress cover and napkin, personally knotting them all together so that I wound up with 100 armslengths of very strong rope, and I could trust the strength of the knots having tied them personally using a weaver's knot. This attention to detail was essential, because one bad knot and whoever was hanging from the end of the rope would plummet. In great enterprises, there are certain decisive details which the master who deserves success must never delegate. After that I made up a package including my suit, my silk lined coat, a couple of shirts, some socks and handkerchiefs and all three of us went into the Count's cell with our baggage. The count began by complimenting Soradaci on the doubly good fortune to have me for a cell mate and his courage to follow my leadership. Soradaci said nothing. His dumbfounded appearance gave me the giggles. I wasn't worried. I said to hell with the mask of hypocrisy I'd worn all week. I could see the spy realized he'd been fooled, without knowing exactly how. He couldn't figure out how I'd communicated with the so-called Angel who came and went according to my schedule. He could definitely understand the Count who was saying how we were putting our lives in the greatest peril, and yellowbelly that he was, had to be mulling over schemes for doing without the dangerous trip. I told the Monk to get his package together while I was making a hole at the edge of the loft. An hour and a half after dark, I completed the work, having not only broken but pulverized every plank. This hole was quite ample and covered only by a lead shingle which I had entirely exposed. I got Father Balbi's help to lift it because it was riveted or crimped to the edges of the marble gutter. But, by pushing with the pike between gutter and shingle I detached it and with my shoulders tilted it to the necessary angle for us to get out. Putting my head through the hole, I was disappointed to see the light of the crescent moon which was due to reach its first quarter the next day. This was a setback we had to suffer patiently, waiting to get out until midnight, the moment when the moon would leave to go shine on the other half of the planet. On this magnificent night, when everyone who was anyone had to be out walking in St. Mark's square, I couldn't be seen strolling about up here. Our elongated shadows on the paving of the square would have noticed. They would have looked up and our persons would have been a most extraordinary spectacle and would have caused great excitement especially for Mr. Big whose men keep watch all night, the only watchmen in the city. He would certainly have found a way of sending up a gang of men to derail my entire project. Commending myself to the will of God, I asked only help, not miracles. Exposed to the vagaries of fortune, I had to leave as little to chance as possible. If my effort failed, I didn't want to reproach myself for the slightest carelessness. The moon had to set, inevitably, within six hours and the sun to rise in less than thirteen and a half. That left us six hours of total darkness during which we could act. I told Father Balbi we would be spending the next four hours chatting with Count Asquino and to go immediately and warn him he needed to loan me 30 Sequins which would be as essential from here on as the pike had been thus far. He did my bidding and four minutes later told me to go myself, alone, and talk to him without witnesses. This nice old man began by sweetly telling me I didn't need money to escape; he didn't have any; he wasn't rich; he had a big family; that were I to perish any money he gave me would be lost and many other arguments artfully contrived to conceal his greed. My reply took a half hour and the reader can imagine what it was. Excellent arguments, but since the world began, argument has never had enough force to uproot a passion, nor to overcome with oration, persuasion and eloquence this most powerful of obstacles: it was a matter of nolenti baculus and I wasn't cruel enough to resort to this with the Count. I ended up saying if he wanted to escape I would carry him on my shoulders like Aenaeus Anchise but if he wanted to stay here and pray God for our safe conduct, I warned him his prayers were a waste of time because he was asking God's help when he was unwilling to provide any of the conventional kind himself. Quisque sibi est deus. The sound of his voice made me aware that he was crying. I was moved. He asked me if two Sequins would be enough and I answered they would have to do. He gave them to me begging me to return them if, after having taken a turn on the roof, I were to retreat to my cell. This nearly made me laugh out loud because such a retreat seemed unlikely. I called my companions together and we put our gear next to the hole. I divided the 100 armslength of "rope" in two and we spent the next three hours talking. Father Balbi began by giving me a good sampling of his character, repeating ten times how I'd broken my word, since in my letters I'd assured him the escape plan was tried and true which it certainly wasn't and if he'd known, he never would have pulled me out of my cell. The Count was saying the wisest course was to stay put, because he guaranteed that escape was impossible and the chance of getting killed was considerable. He opined that the pitch of the lead plated roof wouldn't allow anyone to stand much less walk, that all the dormers had iron grills, that they were inaccessible anyway because they stuck out over the edges of the roof and that the ropes I had were worthless because we wouldn't be able to find a spot to secure them properly and even if we did, no man would have the strength to let himself down from such a height with his arms; that it would have taken one of the three of us to lower the other two, one at a time, like buckets in a well; and that whoever performed this charitable operation would be exhausted and want to go back to his cell. He said that even if all three of us got down it would have to be on the canal side because on the other, the courtyard, the Armory Guards kept watch all night and since nothing awaited us in the canal, no gondola, no boat, we would have to swim to the bank, emerging in a deplorably drenched state, having no idea where to go in the middle of the night to get ready for an escape at daylight when they'd arrest us. He said the slightest missed step on the lead plates would cause us to slip and fall into the canal where just knowing how to swim wouldn't stop us from getting killed. Because it wasn't a matter of drowning so much as splattering since the canal was no deeper than 8 or 9 feet at flood and 2 or 3 feet at ebb tide; that a man falling from such a height would be crushed, the water being too shallow to cushion his plunge. At the very least he would break his arms or legs. I heard this discourse with a most uncharacteristic patience. The monk's reproaches, hurled without restraint, angered me and inspired me to rebut them in appropriate terms. But, I saw that I was going to destroy everything I'd built, because it looked impossible to get out alone or with Soradaci, traitor by trade and coward by nature. I limited myself to replying sweetly to Father Balbi that he could be sure I wasn't mistaken and that we would make it even if I wasn't in a position to share all the details of my plan. I said to Count Asquino that his reasoning was prudent but that I would manage, that we certainly wouldn't fall into the canal and that my confidence in God was greater than his. Soradaci never opened his mouth. I poked him a few times to see if he was awake or asleep. I laughed thinking about what could be rolling about in his conniving brain which must have known I'd fooled him. After four and a half hours, I told him to go see where the crescent moon was in the sky. He came back saying it would set in a half hour and that the fog was thick and must have made the lead plates quite slippery and dangerous. I replied we'd be OK as long as the fog wasn't made of oil and asked him if he'd put his coat in the package. "Kindly do me the pleasure," I said to him,"of hanging some of the rope around your neck; I'll carry the rest myself." I was surprised to find the man at my knees, grabbing my hands, kissing them, crying and begging me not to kill him. He was sure, he said, of falling into the canal where knowing how to swim wouldn't help. He assured me that he couldn't be of any use, and quite the opposite, might be a burden, and that if I left him behind, he would spend the whole night praying to Saint Francis to help me. The creep concluded his begging saying that I was master of his life and could kill him if I wished, but not being desperate he couldn't commit himself to follow me. I listened to this harangue with pleasure, because such a comrade could only bring bad luck. I replied that staying in his cell and praying to Saint Francis would be much more helpful than following me and that then and there I was making him a gift of all my possessions except for the books, which he should go get now and deliver to the Count. Without answering, Soradaci ran to the cell and in four trips brought the Count all my books which the Count said he'd keep for me, and gave no reply at all when I said I'd rather he buy them for five or six Sequins. A greedy man is always pathetic, but there are cases which our humanity must forgive. The hundred or so Sequins that this old man possessed were the only consolation he had in jail. Nonetheless, it's true that had I thought that without his money my escape would have been impossible, my reasoning would have silenced my sentiments. I asked the Monk for some paper, a pen, and ink which he possessed despite the rules, and this is the letter I left with Soradaci and which I wrote in the pitch dark more legibly than if it had been broad daylight. I recited it out loud as I wrote because I wouldn't have been able to read it back. I began with an especially apposite and inspired quotation: "Non moriar, sed vivam et narrabo opera Domini. David, in psalmis. " Our Seigniors the Inquisitors of State, are obliged to do everything in their power to keep the guilty in jail. Fortunately, the guilty parties aren't on the honor system, and are equally obliged to do everything in their power to escape. Ja. Ca., who is writing this in the bitterness of his heart, knows perfectly well that he may have the misfortune, before he can cross the border, to be recaptured and delivered into the very hands of those who directed the torture he fled, in which case he supplicates from his knees the humanity of his generous judges that they not render his fate more painful still by punishing him for what he had to do, forced as he was by Reason and by Nature. He begs that you give him back, if he is retaken, everything that belongs to him and leave him in the cell he vacated. But, if he has the good fortune to reach freedom beyond the borders of the State, he makes a gift of all that he leaves behind to Francois Soradaci, who remains a prisoner because he's scared of the dangers to which I'm about to expose myself and unlike myself, doesn't love liberty more than his life. C....begging the virtuous magnanimity of L.L.E.E. not to dispute this pathetic gift. Written midnight, in the pitch dark, in the cell of Count Asquino, this 31 of October, 1756." "Castigans castigavit me Dominus et morti non tradidit me." I gave this letter to Soradaci warning him not to give it to Lorenzo, but to the Secretary himself, who certainly without fail would be up. The Count told him my epistolary style was such that its effect was guaranteed and that way everything I had would belong to him; but he had to return it all, were I to reappear. He answered that he wasn't greedy and he'd love to see me again. This answer made all of us laugh. But the time had come to leave. Father Balbi wasn't talking. I expected to hear him decline to follow me, and that would have been a disaster. But, he came. I tied a bundle of rope around his neck, and rested it on his left shoulder and on his right shoulder he tied his bundle of old clothes. I did the same with mine. Both of us were in vests, our hats on our heads, we left by the opening, me first, the Monk second, on all fours. My companion put back the lead plate. The fog wasn't thick. In the glimmer of light, I extended my right arm and pushed the pike at an angle between plates, pried them apart and gripping with four fingers of my left hand managed to pull myself up to the summit of the roof. The Monk, in order to follow me, had hooked the four fingers of his right hand in my belt buckle, making me a beast of burden carrying and dragging and, what's more, climbing a slope wet with fog. Halfway up this rather dangerous ascent, the monk told me to stop. One of his packets having come loose from his neck had rolled down the roof, possibly no further than the gutter. My first impulse was to give him a good kick: all it would take to send him quick quick to join his packet. But, God gave me self-control. The consequences would have been too great for both of us, because all alone I wouldn't have been able to escape. I asked him if it was the packet of rope; but when he told me it was the one with his black riding coat, two shirts and a precious manuscript he'd found in I Piombi which, he figured would make his fortune, I told him calmly that we had to be patient and go our way. He sighed and, still hooked to my backside, he followed me. After crossing fifteen or sixteen plates, I reached the peak of the roof where, extending my legs, I sat comfortably astride. The monk did the same right behind me. We had our back to the little Island of Saint George’s the Greater, and face to face with the numerous domes of the magnificent Church of Saint Mark, a part of the Ducal Palace. It's the Chapel of the Doge, and no monarch on earth can boast of anything close. I immediately divested myself of my burdens and said to my associate he should do the same. He placed the pile of rope between his thighs pretty well, but his hat which he wanted to put there got loose and after all the necessary somersaults it reached the gutter and fell into the canal. My companion whined in despair:"A bad omen. Here I am, at the beginning of this business without shirts, without hat and without a manuscript which contained the invaluable and totally unknown history of all the parties in the Palace of the Republic."" Less ferocious than when I was climbing, I told him coolly that his two accidents so far weren't enough for even the most superstitious to dignify as omens, that I didn't take them for omens and that I wasn't discouraged. But, they ought to serve as final warnings to be careful and wise and to consider that if his hat, instead of falling to the right, had fallen to the left, we would have almost certainly been lost since it would have fallen into the palace courtyard where the Armory Guards make their nightly rounds. They would have picked it up and figured somebody was on the roof, and they wouldn't have wasted time discharging their duties and paying us a visit. After spending several minutes looking right and left, I told the monk to stay there with the packages and without moving until I came back. I took off with only my pike in hand, marching on my backside, still horseback on the roof, without any difficulty. I spent nearly an hour checking everywhere, looking, examining and seeing nothing along any of the edges where I could secure one end of my rope to get down from a spot where I'd be seen for sure, I was in the greatest uncertainty. The canal was out, and so was the palace courtyard. The roof of the church offered nothing but cliffs and cupolas which wouldn't lead anywhere that wasn't locked. To get past the church, toward the canonical I would have had to scale some very steep slopes. It was natural to write off as impossible that which didn't seem do-able. I needed to be bold without being reckless. It's among the most imperceptible of balance points, in my opinion, among the most difficult to determine. My gaze was arrested as were my thoughts by a dormer window on the canal side, two thirds of the way down. It was far enough from where I got out so that I could be certain the attic it illuminated wasn't within the prison enclosure which I'd just broken out of. It could only have led to more attics, occupied or not, above some apartment in the palace, where at daybreak I would find the doors unlocked. The servants of the palace, or those of the Doge's family who might have seen us would have been in a hurry to get us out of there and would have done everything except return us to the hands of justice, even if they took us for the greatest State Criminals. With this in mind, I needed to check out the dormer from in front and I immediately got there by lifting one leg and sliding until I found myself sort of sitting on the little roof of the window which was three feet long and one and a half feet wide. Then I leaned way over holding tight to the edges, head first. I saw, and better yet felt a rather flimsy iron grill and behind it a window with round leaded glass panes. I wasn't worried about the window, but the grill, even decorative as it was, required a file and I had only my pike. Thoughtful, sad and confused, I didn't know what to do when a perfectly natural occurrence had a truly prodigious effect on my spirits. I hope that my honest confession won't diminish me in the eyes of my reader who might like a good philosopher consider that a man in a state of high anxiety and distress isn't half what he can be undisturbed. The bells of Saint Mark's which struck midnight at that very moment were what gave my spirit a vigorous jolt, galvanizing it out of the dangerous paralysis which was crushing it. These bells reminded me that the day which was beginning was All Saint's Day, among whom my patron saint, if I had one, must be found. But what encouraged me even more and energized my physical faculties was the profane oracle I received from my cherished Ariosto: Tra il fin d'Ottobre e il capo di Novembre. This was the moment. If great suffering makes a strong spirit devout, inevitably superstition is going to want to play a part. Those bells were talking to me, telling me to act, promising me victory. I pushed my pike into the frame which surrounded the grill, determined to destroy it and remove the whole thing in one piece. It didn't take more than fifteen minutes to reduce the wooden frame to splinters. The grill was entirely free in my hands and I put it next to the dormer. I had no great difficulty breaking the entire window, scoffing at the blood pouring from my left hand, cut in several places by glass shards. With the aid of the pike I followed my original method for getting back to the peak of the roof and ensconced on the spot where I'd left my companion. I found him in despair and out of his mind with anger. He insulted me for having left him alone an hour and a half; he assured me he wasn't planning to wait past 7 AM before returning to his cell and he was surprised to see me again, because he thought I'd already fallen off a cliff. I ignored him, blaming the cruel situation and his character. I tied my baggage around my neck again as well as the ropes and told him to follow me. When we were just behind the dormer, I related exactly what I'd accomplished so far and asked his opinion as to the best way to get both of us inside. I could see it would be easy for one man to lower the other with the rope; but I couldn't see how to secure the rope so that I could get down after lowering him. I could easily break a leg climbing in and jumping. Besides, I had no idea of the height of such a bold leap. To this balanced and friendly discussion, the Monk replied that I had only to let him down and afterward I would have all the time in the world to think of a way to join him. I had just enough self-possession to keep from reproaching the cowardice of this answer but not enough to defer getting him out of his predicament. I began by undoing my bundle of rope and harnessing him around the chest and under the armpits. I made him lie flat and go down little by little as far as the small dormer roof while I remained astride the ridge, controlling the rope. I told him to enter the window, feet first up to his hips, and hang on by his elbows. Then I slid down like I'd done before and lying prone I told him to let go, he had nothing to fear, I was holding tight to the rope. When he reached the floor he undid the knot and as I reeled it back up, I measured the distance from dormer to floor: six armslengths. It was much too high to risk jumping. He informed me that the floor of the loft he was standing on was also made of lead plates. The advice he gave from down below, which I didn't follow, was to throw down the rope. All alone in this predicament, I regretted having yielded too quickly to my indignation which had impelled me to lower him. I went back up to the summit and not knowing what else to do, made my way to a spot near a cupola which I hadn't explored before. There I could see an open air terrace, also paved with lead plates, with a huge shuttered dormer and on the terrace a vat of lime, a trowel and a ladder long enough to get down to my companion. The ladder got my attention. I quickly went and got the rope, tied it to the first rung of the ladder and dragging it with me, I got back up on the ridge of the roof and over to the little dormer window. Now I had only to get it inside. The difficulties I encountered in this undertaking were such that I reproached myself again for doing without my companion with whose help, by hook or by crook, we would have gotten it in. I dragged my ladder to the point where one end reached the window and the other the gutter. I slid out over the roof of the dormer and pulling the ladder alongside, I secured the rope to the eighth rung and let it down again parallel to the window, then pulled it in with the rope but it got through only as far as the 6th rung and it jammed against the ceiling and no power on earth would budge it. The only way to get the rest inside would be to lift the far end thereby lowering the angle of the other end inside. I could have positioned the ladder crosswise to the opening and tied my rope to it and quite safely let myself down but my ladder would have stayed right where it was and in the morning the archers, seeing it, would have gone straight to the spot and might have found me. There was no choice but to get the entire ladder inside by personally lifting the end in the gutter. I steeled myself for a risk which, without a lot of luck, could well have cost me my life. I was able to let go of the rope and leave it behind because the third rung of the ladder was firmly stuck on the gutter. My pike in hand, and very gingerly, I slid down to the gutter where I held on with the pike as I delicately rolled over to face the window, the ladder to my right. My toes were touching the marble gutter and I was flat on my belly. From this position I had enough strength to lift the ladder six inches and give it a push. I was gratified to see it enter by a good foot. The reader can appreciate how its weight on my arm diminished considerably. Now it was a matter of lifting the ladder two feet higher to get it in far enough to assure that it would go the rest of the way after I retrieved the rope still tied to it. To raise it those two feet, I got to my knees but the effort that was intended to lift the ladder caused the tips of my shoes to slip and me to fall over the edge up to my chest, and left me hanging by my elbows. In that frightful instant I called on every ounce of strength I had to hoist myself onto the edge and hang there by my ribs and I succeeded. Careful not to let go, I managed with the help of my arms right to the fingertips to secure myself over the gutter with my whole belly. I didn't have to worry about the ladder which my efforts had pushed in three more feet. Finding myself in the gutter literally on hands and groin, I realized if I lifted my right thigh I could get one knee in the gutter, then the other and I would find myself out of danger. The effort it took to execute this plan caused a muscle spasm that would have overcome the strongest of men. And, it struck just as my right knee touched the gutter. Not only did the cramp almost cripple every muscle in my body, but I had to remain absolutely immobile and wait for it to subside as cramps had in the past. Terrible moment! Two minutes later I tried again and, thank God, got one knee in the gutter, then the other, and as soon as I had enough breath, straightway and still on my knees, I lifted and pushed the ladder so that it was nearly parallel with the opening of the window. Then I took my bolt and, employing the usual methods, I climbed up to the window where I easily finished introducing the ladder, the end of which my companion received in his arms. I threw the bundles of rope into the loft and the package of clothes and carefully descended. We embraced. I pulled the ladder inside and the two of us, arm in arm, felt our way around the room we were in which might have been thirty feet long and ten wide. It really was a loft, the floor of which, as he said, was covered with lead plates. At one end we found a very big door, composed of iron bars. Turning the lock, I pulled it toward me. We went into the adjoining room and in the darkness we made a tour of the walls and trying to cross, stumbled upon a big table surrounded by stools and chairs. We went back to where we had felt windows. I opened the shutters and looking down, the feeble light revealed nothing but a precipice. Not for an instant did I think of going down that way, because I needed to know where I was going and I didn't recognize anything. I closed the shutters and we left the room to get our baggage which was under the dormer. Too exhausted to go on, I threw myself on the ground and a moment later I was stretched out, with a bundle of rope under my head. Body and soul bereft of force, I didn't think I was falling asleep so much as having a lovely death. The sweetest swoon carried away my entire being. I slept nearly four hours and was only awakened by the Monk's piercing calls and vigorous shakes. He said it was 5 AM. He found my ability to sleep in such a situation unbelievable and inconceivable. He was right. But, my sleep wasn't voluntary. My will was at bay. The labor of body and soul, the weakness which comes from not eating or sleeping for two days, all demanded sleep and already I felt my vigor renewed. He said he was beginning to think I wouldn't wake up, since all his yelling and shaking had no effect for the past two hours. I laughed and rejoiced to be able to see where we were. It wasn't as dark: the faint light of the new day was coming in through two small windows. I got up saying:"There has to be a way out of here; let's go break everything. We have no time to lose." We made our way to the opposite end from the iron door and in a very narrow corner I thought I felt a door. I put the point of the bolt in the keyhole hoping that it wasn't a closet. After three or four shakes, I opened it and saw a little room followed by a gallery with niches full of notebooks: we were in the archives. I saw a stairway, which I quickly went down, and found a toilet. I went down another stairway at the end of which a glass door permitted free entry into the Ducal Chancellery. Then I rushed back, retracing my steps to get the package I'd left below the dormer window. I got everything and returning to the little room, I saw a key on a chest of drawers. I thought it might be for the door. I wondered if I had ruined the lock. I tried it and closed and locked it perfectly, and put the key back where it belonged. All these precautions weren't essential but I thought they were at the time and it seems like I have to tell every detail. Back in the Chancellery, I saw my companion at the window, looking to see if we could have gotten down using our ropes. I saw nooks and crannies which seemed to belong to the church where we would find ourselves locked in. On a desk I saw a metal instrument with a blunt point and wooden handle, a tool used by the secretaries to make holes in parchment for attaching the strings with the lead Chancellery seals. I put this instrument in my pocket and opening the desk, I found a copy of a letter which mentioned three thousand Sequins that the Most Serene Prince was sending to the Maritime Provider General to make repairs on the old fortress at Corfou. If I had found the money I would have taken it without thinking it a theft. I was in a situation where I had to be grateful for all of God's providence. Necessity is a powerful mistress who teaches man his rights. After quickly examining it, I saw I would have to force the Chancellery door. But, my bolt, in spite of my efforts, never sprung the lock. I decided to make a hole in one of the panels of the door where I saw the fewest knots. I had great difficulty making the first cut into the board, finally splitting the groove where two boards joined, and in a few minutes the whole thing began to give way. I had the Monk wedge the wood handled tool in the cracks I made with my pike and then, pushing as hard as I could, right and left, I broke, bashed and battered the wood scorning the enormous racket I was making which frightened the Monk because it could be heard far off. I recognized the danger but I had to risk it. In half an hour the hole was big enough and a good thing too because I couldn't have made it any bigger. Knotty wood to the right, to the left, above and below would have required a saw. The circumference of this hole was fearsome, bristling with splinters just right for tearing clothes and lacerating skin. It was five feet up. I put a stool below it and the Monk climbed up. He stuck his arms and his head in and with me on another stool behind him hiking his legs up and then his feet and pushing he made it to the other side where it was very dark. I wasn't worried because I knew this terrain. My companion on the other side, I threw all my belongings to him and left the ropes in the Chancellery. I stacked a third chair on top of the other two and climbed up. The hole was level with my thighs. I crammed myself through as far as my belly with some difficulty because the passage was narrow and there was no one behind to help. Unable to advance on my own, I directed the Monk to grab hold of my upper body and pull without pity, in pieces if need be. He executed my order and I hid the pain I felt as the skin of my flanks and upper thighs was shredded. As soon as I was through, I quickly picked up my clothes, went down two staircases and without any problem opened the door at the bottom. The lock was what Venitians call "a la tedesca" which needs a key from without, but opens by pulling a spring from inside and I found myself in the aisle with the Great Doorway and Royal Staircase ahead and the Office of the Secretary of War, called"savio alla scritura" on one side. The door to the Four Door Room was locked as were the doors to the stairway which were thick as a city gate - it would have required a ram or a small explosive. It only took one glance to realize that my pike had done all it was going to do in this great work. It had become a tool worthy of hanging ex voto on the altar of my Guardian Angel. With serene calm I sat down, saying to the Monk my work was done. It was up to God to do the rest. "I don't know whether the palace sweepers will decide to come today on All Saint's Day, or tomorrow, the Day of the Dead. If someone comes, I'll escape as soon as I see the door open and you will follow in my tracks. But, if no one comes, I'm not budging if I starve to death. I don't know what else to do." Hearing my discourse, the poor man grew furious. He called me crazy, desperate, seducer, traitor and I don't know what else. My patience was heroic. I let him talk on. 6 AM sounded. From the minute I awoke beneath the dormer to this, scarcely an hour had gone by. While the Monk indulged his delirium, I occupied myself for half an hour with the important business of changing all my clothes. Father Balbi looked like a peasant but he wasn't in shreds. His red flannel vest and violet leather pants weren't torn. My appearance was enough to provoke fear and horror. I was torn up and covered with blood. I peeled my stockings off the wounds I had on each knee. They were still bleeding. The lead plates and marble gutter did that. The hole in the Chancellery door had slashed my vest, my shirt, my pants, my haunch and my thighs and there were alarming scratches everywhere. I tore up a handkerchief and bandaged myself as well as I could, tying the pieces with string from a ball I carried in my pocket. I put on my handsome suit which, on such a cold day, had to look comical. I did my hair as well as I could collecting it in a hairnet. I put on white stockings, a lace shirt because I had no other kind and two more shirts on top, stuffed handkerchiefs and more stockings in my pocket and I threw the rest behind the door. I had the air of a man who, after the ball was over, had stopped by a brothel where someone tousled his hair. The conspicuous bandages around my knees spoiled the otherwise perfect elegance of my attire. I told Father Balbi to throw my beautiful overcoat over his shoulders and, fed up with his insolence and attired as I was, I opened a window and stuck out my head. My face, accented by my glittering Spanish style hat tipped with gold and a white feather, was noticed by the loiterers in the palace courtyard, who fixed me with their gaze, apparently trying to figure out how somebody could be where I was at such a time on such a day. I immediately withdrew, seriously regretting my impulsiveness. I flopped down on a bench, deeply depressed. Six months later, I learned that this imprudent act was the cause of my happiness. Someone went to tell the man with the keys to the place that there were people inside who must have spent the night there. Apparently he'd locked them in without realizing it, something he considered possible, for he had locked up late and someone could have been asleep in there. This man, named Andreoli, felt obliged to run up right away to see to whom he'd given one very bad night, albeit inadvertently. In the thick of the darkest meditations, I heard the sound of keys and footsteps on the stairs. Very excited, I got up. I looked through the gap between the great doors and I saw a man all alone, with a black wig and no hat, casually climbing the stairs, holding a ring of keys. I said to the Monk in my most serious voice, not to say a word, to stay behind me and follow my steps. I gripped my pike, keeping it hidden under my suit and posted myself behind the doors so that as soon as one opened I could take the staircase. I prayed to God this man put up no resistance, because otherwise I saw myself obliged to kill him. Certainly, I was ready to. Just then the door opened. I saw the man's look of terror at my appearance. Without stopping and without saying a word to him, I went down the staircase with the greatest alacrity, followed closely by the Monk. Without slowing down or running, I took the magnificent staircase they call the Giant's, scorning Balbi's words of advice which he repeated over and over: "Let's get inside the church; into the church." The church door was on the right, at the foot of the Giant's Staircase. Churches in Venice don't offer the slightest sanctuary for any guilty party, be he criminal or civil. Nor is there anyone who would retreat there as a shield from Archers with orders to arrest. The Monk knew this but it wasn't enough to keep him from temptation. He said afterwards that what impelled him to run for the altar were religious feelings which I ought to respect. "Why," I asked him, "didn't you go alone?" He answered that he didn't have the cruelty to desert me. I logically proved to him that what he called religious sentiment in that situation was nothing but pure cowardice and he never forgave me. It's true I could have spared him the logic but the fact is that basically I couldn't stand him. The sanctuary that I was seeking was outside the boundaries of the Most Serene Republic. I was setting forth on the path. I was already there in spirit but I had to get my body there as well. I went straight for the Royal Entry, La Carte, without meeting anyone's eye (a means for getting people to look away), crossed the piazetta, approached the dock and getting in the first gondola I saw, said to the gondolier on the poop: "Call another oarsman." An oarsman ran over in a second and grabbed an oar while the other, the Captain, asked me where I wanted to go. I answered loudly, delighted to see fifty other sailors in hearing range, always curious: "I want to go to Fusina and if you row fast I'll pay you a Phillipe." That was more than the fare. The Phillipe was a Spanish coin, worth half a Sequin. They couldn't have asked for more. After giving the order, I relaxed nonchalantly on the cushion in the middle and Father Balbi, with my coat and no hat, sat like a junior officer on the little bench. The comical face of the Monk went a long way toward making me appear a charlatan or astrologer, because my suit riveted the eyes of those who saw it. The gondola quickly pushed off, passed the custom house, and began cleaving the water of the Grand Canal of Giudecca down which we had to go whether bound for Fusine or Mestre where, in fact, I really wanted to go. When we were halfway down the canal, I stuck my head out and said to the Barcarol on the poop: "Do you think we can be in Mestre before 8 AM?" I had heard 7 AM sound when Andreoli was opening the great door. The Bacarol answered that I had directed him to go to Fusine and I replied he must be crazy since I had nothing to do in Fusine. The second Bacarol confirmed that I'd ordered us to Fusine and appealed to Father Balbi as a witness. With a pitiful expression, Balbi declared that he had a conscience and had to agree with the Barcaroli. "I give up," said I, with a big laugh, "I haven't slept all night and maybe I did say Fusina. But it's to Mestre I want to go." "And we," replied the Barcarol, "will go to Mestre, or even to England if you like; but if you had simply asked if we'd be there before 8 you would have wound up stuck in Fusine, because that's where we were heading. Yes, yes, Monsieur, we'll be there by 8 AM because we've got favorable water and wind." That's when I looked back at the beautiful canal, and not seeing a single boat, beheld the prettiest day one could wish, the first rays of a superb sun projecting over the horizon, the two young Barcaroli rowing at a forced pace. At the same time I was thinking about the brutal night just past, about the place where I was the day before and of all the lucky coincidences. A wave of emotion bore up my soul toward a merciful God, releasing a flood of gratitude and overwhelming me with such a gentle force that tears suddenly opened a broad path to my heart, dammed up with an excess of joy. I sobbed. I cried like a child forced to go to school. My charming partner who hadn't said a thing until then except to side with the Barcaroli, felt called upon to calm my tears, the sublime source of which he didn't understand. And the way he went about it made me switch from tears to laughter so abruptly that, not understanding anything, he swore several days later he was sure I'd gone mad. This Monk was dumb, and malice was a result of his stupidity. I'd resigned myself to the inevitable, but he'd nearly blown it without realizing. He never would admit that I'd ordered us to Fusina with the intention of going to Mestre. He maintained that this idea couldn't have occurred to me until we were on the Grand Canal. We arrived in Mestre. I went straight for the Campane, where there are always carriages for hire. I went into the stable, saying I wanted to leave immediately for Treviso. The owner of two horses which looked OK, said he could get me there in a light carriage in an hour and fifteen minutes for fifteen pounds. I told him to hitch up immediately, which he accomplished in two minutes. I assumed that Father Balbi was behind me. But when I turned to say "let's get in" he was gone. I looked for him, I asked where he could be; no one knew anything. I told the stableboy to go look for him, determined to scold him even if he had disappeared to satisfy the call of nature, because in our situation we had to defer even these needs. We looked for him. We didn't find him. He didn't return. I was like a soul in hell. I thought about taking off alone, but my heart opposed my head, I couldn't resolve to do it. I ran outside, I inquired and all the ragamuffins told me they'd seen him but didn't know where'd he'd gone. All alone I steal down the main road, traverse arcades, It occurs to me to stick my head in a cafe and there he is, seated near the counter having chocolate, completely at home, chatting with a servant girl. He sees me and says: "Sit down and have some chocolate since you're going to have to pay for it." "I don't want any," I said, sick at heart and I squeezed his arm with such anger that a week later he still had a bruise. He made no reply. He could see I was trembling with rage. I paid and we left to get in the carriage which was waiting for us at the door to the Inn. Scarcely had we gone ten feet, when a certain Balbo Tomassi, a good man with a reputation for taking bribes from the Tribunal, sees me, comes up and cries: "How do you like that, Monsieur! I am truly charmed to see you. You must have just escaped from I Piombi. I'm delighted. Tell me how you accomplished such a prodigious feat." I maintained my self-control. I answered, laughing, that he did me too great an honor, that I'd been at liberty for two days. He replied that couldn't be true since just the day before he was in a place where he ought to have heard. The reader can imagine my feelings at that moment: I'd been discovered by a man I believed would be paid to turn me in and who could do it with a wink at the first Archer we came upon, and Mestre was crawling with them. I told him to speak softly and to follow me behind the Inn. He did as I said, and when I saw no one, and we were next to a small ditch and a vast open country field, I put my right hand on my pike and extended my left towards the neck of my man. Quite nimbly, he jumped the ditch and began running full speed away from Mestre, turning now and then, kissing his hand as if to say: Bon voyage, bon voyage. Go in peace.. At last he was out of sight and I thanked God that this man's good judgment kept me from committing a crime, because he harbored no evil intentions. My situation was awful. I was in a state of war with the entire might of the Republic, and I was alone. Everything must be sacrificed to caution and anticipation. I put the pike back in my pocket, and gloomy as any man who has narrowly escaped death, I glanced scornfully at the coward who reduced me to this state and I set out for the carriage, where we got in. We arrived in Treviso without any sinister occurrence. My companion, who never felt guilty of anything, didn't dare provoke me out of my silence. I was thinking of some way to rid myself of his company which was looking more and more lethal all the time. I could almost see in front of me a squad of archers in the process of executing me by strangulation. It seemed to me that being recaptured meant not only a loss of freedom but of honor. I set off from the Saint Thomas gate and left town like a man out for a stroll. After having gone a thousand feet on the main road, I got off it and never got back on. I had decided to get out of the State across fields and never via Bassan, the biggest town in Treviso, which would have been the shortest route except for Feltre. Those who are escaping should choose the longest route because they're always chasing escapees down the main highway, and catching them. After hiking three hours, I stretched out on the hard ground, unable to go another step. I had to get some nourishment or die on the spot. I told the Monk to put my coat beside me and go to a farmer's house which I could see in the distance and to get us bread, soup, meat, wine and water and I gave him a Philippe to leave as security for the plates and utensils. After saying he didn't think I was so timid, he went on his mission. This miserable man was stronger than me. He hadn't slept but the day before he'd eaten. He'd had chocolate, and caution didn't weigh heavily on his soul. In spite of that he was thin. I looked to be ten times stronger and more resistant to fatigue than he; but it wasn't so. Even though this house wasn't an Inn, the farmer's wife prepared a very good meal for a peasant. The Monk told me that she looked long and hard at the Philippe and suspected counterfeit and he had assured her that his friend would pay with the coin of Saint Marks. My poor friend looked like a thief. The farmer's wife had good reason to be suspicious. Seated on the grass, we had an excellent meal which ended up costing me only 30 soldi. In those days, I had teeth which found no meat too tough. When I felt sleep about to overpower me I got going again, navigating pretty well. Four hours later, I stopped near a cluster of buildings and learned from a kind peasant woman that I was 20 miles from Treviso. I was extremely weak and my feet were swollen to the ankles. There was no more than an hour of daylight remaining. I lay down in the middle of a small woods, and had my companion sit next to me. I told him in a tone of the most tender friendship that we should go to Borgo di Val Sugana, the first real town across the borders of the Republic, a town belonging to the Bishopric of Trente, where we'd be as safe as in London and where we could recuperate our strength. But, to get to this town, we needed to take certain elementary precautions, the first of which was for us to separate. He should get there one way and me another, him by the Montello Wood and me over the mountains near Feltre, him by the easier route with every soldi I had, me penniless by the most difficult. I told him I was making him a gift of the coat, which he could easily trade for a cloak and hat and that way he would be well disguised, and with his face, everyone would take him for a real peasant. I then begged him to leave immediately and go to Borgo di Val Sugana, where he could expect to arrive the day after tomorrow and where I asked that he wait for me 24 hours. I specified the first Inn as you enter the town, on the left hand side. I said I needed to rest and I wouldn't get any without perfect peace of mind. As soon as I was alone, even without money, I was sure God would inspire me with a plan to recuperate without exposing me to the worst misfortune of all, getting caught. Besides, we could be sure that by now every Archer had to have been alerted, by messenger, and under orders to look for us in every Tavern and Inn and the very first description that would have been sent out had to be that there were two of us and what we were wearing and his outfit, hatless in a threadbare silk coat had to be the more conspicuous. I painted the most vivid possible picture of my deplorable state and my absolute need to rest ten hours free from all anxiety, dangerously weakened as I was by such fatigue I was virtually quadriplegic. I showed him my knees, my legs, my blistered feet, because the flimsy shoes I had were made for the elegant paving stones of Venice, and I'm not exaggerating, I would have certainly perished that night without a decent bed and I had to rule out those in Public Houses. At that very moment, even as I spoke, one man could have collared me and taken me to jail because I didn't have the strength to put up the least resistance. In relating this to him, I convinced him that seeking shelter together, we were subjecting ourselves to being summarily arrested on the mere suspicion that we might be the two wanted men. My lovable companion let me finish my speech with earnest attention and not the slightest comment. When I was done he answered in the fewest words saying he had fully expected to hear everything I just said to him and he'd already made up his mind on the entire subject back when he was still in jail. H'd decided never ever to let me go, even if it cost him his liberty or his life. Such a resounding and unexpected answer surprised me to the greatest possible degree. I wound up knowing this man very well but I saw that he had no idea who I was. Not for a minute did I postpone the execution of a project, conceived then and there and which necessity unveiled as the only antidote to such stupidity; it verged on the comical but at the same time might have ended tragically. I got up, not without effort. I tied my two garters end to end and then proceeded to measure him and trace his height and breadth on the ground and then, with the pike and great urgency, commenced a small excavation, making no answer to all the questions he kept putting to me. After fifteen minutes of hard work, I looked at him sadly and said that as a Christian I felt duty bound to warn him to prepare his soul to meet his maker: "I will bury you here alive" said I, "or, if you're stronger, it will be you who buries me. Your beastly stubbornness reduces me to this. You may, of course, run away, because I won't chase after you to get back together." Seeing that he made no reply, I pursued my work. I was beginning to worry I might be pushed to the extreme of having to wrestle this animal, because I definitely wanted to be rid of him. Finally, whether from fear or reflection, he threw himself down next to me. Not knowing his intentions, I showed him the point of my pike. But, there was nothing to fear. He said he would do whatever I wanted. Then I hugged him. I repeated all the instructions. I confirmed again my promise to rejoin him and gave him all that was left of the two Sequins the Count had given me. I was left without a soldi and I had to get across two rivers. In spite of this I was fairly well pleased with myself to have figured out how to get free of such a character. From that moment, I no longer had any doubt of eventually extricating myself from this entire business. Fifty feet off, on top of a small hill, I saw a shepherd leading ten or twelve lambs and I went up to him to get some information. I asked him the name of this region and he told me it was called Val de Piadene. It surprised me what good time I'd made. I asked him who owned the five or six houses which from this height could be seen here and there and found out they were all owned by acquaintances of mine who were in the country at this time of year when Venetians all go somewhere for Saint Martin's day. I had to be very careful to avoid running into anyone at all. I saw a palace belonging to the Grimani's and the elderly occupant, who happened to be a State Inquisitor at the time was home. I didn't dare let him see me. I asked who owned a bright red house which could be seen in the distance and was surprised to learn it belonged to the Field Captain who is the head of the Archers. It is inconceivable that I set off toward this terrible place which by reason and instinct I should have gone out of my way to avoid. But, as if drawn against my will, I made a beeline for it. If it's true that each of us has an invisible benefactor pushing us toward happiness, as befell Socrates from time to time, might I not believe without fearing some reader will make fun of me that I was impelled toward this house by my good genius? I must believe it because Nature and Reason were both pushing me the other way and I know of no third force in all of Theoretical Physics. I admit that in my entire life I never committed a greater imprudence. I entered the house without hesitation, almost casually. In the courtyard, I see a little boy spinning a top and I ask where his father is. He doesn't answer but goes to call his mother and a moment later I see a beautiful pregnant woman, who asks me politely what I want of her husband who wasn't home. I was imposing on her and I said I was really sorry my old pal wasn't home but just as pleased to meet his prettier half. "Pal?" says she, "You must be his Excellency Vetturi who was good enough to promise my husband to be the Godfather of this child I'm carrying. I am truly delighted to meet you and my husband will be mortified he wasn't home." I said I hoped he would be back before long because I needed to ask for a meal and a bed, not wanting to be seen publicly in the state I was in. She answered enthusiastically that a good bed and decent supper wouldn't be a problem, but I mustn't expect her husband because he left no more than an hour ago at the head of six riders to hunt down two prisoners who had escaped from I Piombi . One of them was a Patrician and the other an individual named Casanova. She said if they were found they'd be escorted back to Venice and if not, her husband would be spending two or three days looking for them. Happy to be persuaded, I pretended to be upset and refused to stay, fearing to be a bother but she employed charms which common decency demanded I respect and I gave in. To give my fairy tale greater verisimilitude, I said that a servant might come looking for me with my carriage but that if I were asleep, I begged her not to wake me up. I got a kick out of adding that none of my friends would ever guess where I was. I noticed that she was looking at my knees and I didn't wait for her to question me. I told her I was injured falling off my horse. She then called her mother and her mother-in-law too; and after whispering to them who I was, she told them to get me somethin