Can you suppose that I would not have told you all about it, if I had ever left the convent, even once? I came out of it two hours ago, for the first time, and I was induced to take that step in the simplest, the most natural manner.


Tell me all about it, my love. I feel extremely curious.


I am glad of it, and I would conceal nothing from you. You know how dearly M---- M---- and I love each other. No intimacy could be more tender than ours; you can judge of it by what I told you in my letters. Well, two days ago, my dear friend begged the abbess and my aunt to allow me to sleep in her room in the place of the lay-sister, who, having a very bad cold, had carried her cough to the infirmary. The permission was granted, and you cannot imagine our pleasure in seeing ourselves at liberty, for the first time, to sleep in the same bed. To-day, shortly after you had left the parlour, where you so much amused us, without our discovering that the delightful Pierrot was our friend, my dear M---- M---- retired to her room and I followed her. The moment we were alone she told me that she wanted me to render her a service from which depended our happiness. I need not tell you how readily I answered that she had only to name it. Then she opened a drawer, and much to my surprise she dressed me in this costume. She was laughing; and I did the same without suspecting the end of the joke. When she saw me entirely metamorphosed into a nun, she told me that she was going to trust me with a great secret, but that she entertained no fear of my discretion. ‘Let me tell you, dearest friend,’ she said to me, ‘that I was on the point of going out of the convent, to return only tomorrow morning. I have, however, just decided that you shall go instead. You have nothing to fear and you do not require any instructions, because I know that you will meet with no difficulty. In an hour, a lay-sister will come here, I will speak a few words apart to her, and she will tell you to follow her. You will go out with her through the small gate and across the garden as far as the room leading out to the low shore. There you will get into the gondola, and say to the gondolier these words: ‘To the casino.’ You will reach it in five minutes; you will step out and enter a small apartment, where you will find a good fire; you will be alone, and you will wait.’ ‘For whom? I enquired. ‘For nobody. You need not know any more: you may only be certain that nothing unpleasant will happen to you; trust me for that. You will sup at the casino, and sleep, if you like, without being disturbed. Do not ask any questions, for I cannot answer them. Such is, my dear husband, the whole truth. Tell me now what I could do after that speech of my friend, and after she had received my promise to do whatever she wished. Do not distrust what I tell you, for my lips cannot utter a falsehood. I laughed, and not expecting anything else but an agreeable adventure, I followed the lay-sister and soon found myself here. After a tedious hour of expectation, Pierrot made his appearance. Be quite certain that the very moment I saw you my heart knew who it was, but a minute after I felt as if the lightning had struck me when I saw you step back, for I saw clearly enough that you did not expect to find me. Your gloomy silence frightened me, and I would never have dared to be the first in breaking it; the more so that, in spite of the feelings of my heart, I might have been mistaken. The dress of Pierrot might conceal some other man, but certainly no one that I could have seen in this place without horror. Recollect that for the last eight months I have been deprived of the happiness of kissing you, and now that you must be certain of my innocence, allow me to congratulate you upon knowing this casino. You are happy, and I congratulate you with all my heart. M---- M---- is, after me, the only woman worthy of your love, the only one with whom I could consent to share it. I used to pity you, but I do so no longer, and your happiness makes me happy. Kiss me now. Let me tell you, dearest friend, that I was on the point of going out of the convent, to return only tomorrow morning. I have, however, just decided that you shall go instead. You have nothing to fear and you do not require any instructions, because I know that you will meet with no difficulty. In an hour, a lay-sister will come here, I will speak a few words apart to her, and she will tell you to follow her. You will go out with her through the small gate and across the garden as far as the room leading out to the low shore. There you will get into the gondola, and say to the gondolier these words: ‘To the casino.’ You will reach it in five minutes; you will step out and enter a small apartment, where you will find a good fire; you will be alone, and you will wait. For whom? For nobody. You need not know any more: you may only be certain that nothing unpleasant will happen to you; trust me for that. You will sup at the casino, and sleep, if you like, without being disturbed. Do not ask any questions, for I cannot answer them. Such is, my dear husband, the whole truth. Tell me now what I could do after that speech of my friend, and after she had received my promise to do whatever she wished. Do not distrust what I tell you, for my lips cannot utter a falsehood. I laughed, and not expecting anything else but an agreeable adventure, I followed the lay-sister and soon found myself here. After a tedious hour of expectation, Pierrot made his appearance. Be quite certain that the very moment I saw you my heart knew who it was, but a minute after I felt as if the lightning had struck me when I saw you step back, for I saw clearly enough that you did not expect to find me. Your gloomy silence frightened me, and I would never have dared to be the first in breaking it; the more so that, in spite of the feelings of my heart, I might have been mistaken. The dress of Pierrot might conceal some other man, but certainly no one that I could have seen in this place without horror. Recollect that for the last eight months I have been deprived of the happiness of kissing you, and now that you must be certain of my innocence, allow me to congratulate you upon knowing this casino. You are happy, and I congratulate you with all my heart. M---- M---- is, after me, the only woman worthy of your love, the only one with whom I could consent to share it. I used to pity you, but I do so no longer, and your happiness makes me happy. Kiss me now.


I am not of your opinion. My dear M---- M---- has evidently contrived, somehow or other, to discover that, before you were acquainted with her, you were my lover. She thought very likely that you still loved me, and she imagined, for I know her well, that she could not give us a greater proof of her love than by procuring us, without forewarning us, that which two lovers fond of each other must wish for so ardently. She wished to make us happy, and I cannot be angry with her for it.


You are right to think so, dearest, but my position is very different from yours. You have not another lover; you could not have another; but I being free and unable to see you, have not found it possible to resist the charms of M---- M----. I love her madly; she knows it, and, intelligent as she is, she must have meant to shew her contempt for me by doing what she has done. I candidly confess that I feel hurt in the highest degree. If she loved me as I love her, she never could have sent you here instead of coming herself.


I do not think so, my beloved friend. Her soul is as noble as her heart is generous; and just in the same manner that I am not sorry to know that you love one another and that you make each other happy, as this beautiful casino proves to me, she does not regret our love, and she is, on the contrary, delighted to shew us that she approves of it. Most likely she meant to prove that she loved you for your own sake, that your happiness makes her happy, and that she is not jealous of her best friend being her rival. To convince you that you ought not to be angry with her for having discovered our secret, she proves, by sending me here in her place, that she is pleased to see your heart divided between her and me. You know very well that she loves me, and that I am often either her wife or her husband, and as you do not object to my being your rival and making her often as happy as I can, she does not want you either to suppose that her love is like hatred, for the love of a jealous heart is very much like it.


You plead the cause of your friend with the eloquence of an angel, but, dear little wife, you do not see the affair in its proper light. You have intelligence and a pure soul, but you have not my experience. M---- M----’s love for me has been nothing but a passing fancy, and she knows that I am not such an idiot as to be deceived by all this affair. I am miserable, and it is her doing.


Then I should be right if I complained of her also, because she makes me feel that she is the mistress of my lover, and she shews me that, after seducing him from me, she gives him back to me without difficulty. Then she wishes me to understand that she despises also my tender affection for her, since she places me in a position to shew that affection for another person.


Now, dearest, you speak without reason, for the relations between you two are of an entirely different nature. Your mutual love is nothing but trifling nonsense, mere illusion of the senses. The pleasures which you enjoy together are not exclusive. To become jealous of one another it would be necessary that one of you two should feel a similar affection for another woman but M---- M---- could no more be angry at your having a lover than you could be so yourself if she had one; provided, however, that the lover should not belong to the other


But that is precisely our case, and you are mistaken. We are not angry at your loving us both equally. Have I not written to you that I would most willingly give you my place near M---- M----? Then you must believe that I despise you likewise?


My darling, that wish of yours to give me up your place, when you did not know that I was happy with M---- M----, arose from your friendship rather than from your love, and for the present I must be glad to see that your friendship is stronger than your love, but I have every reason to be sorry when M---- M---- feels the same. I love her without any possibility of marrying her. Do you understand me, dearest? As for you, knowing that you must be my wife, I am certain of our love, which practice will animate with new life. It is not the same with M---- M----; that love cannot spring up again into existence. Is it not humiliating for me to have inspired her with nothing but a passing fancy? I understand your adoration for her very well. She has initiated you into all her mysteries, and you owe her eternal friendship and everlasting gratitude.


My dear M---- M---- expects to see me full of joy and gratitude for the generous present she thought she was making me by giving me this night, but what shall I tell her?


The whole truth. Do not keep from her a single word of our conversation, as far as your memory will serve you, and tell her especially that she has made me miserable for a long time.


No, for I should cause her too great a sorrow; she loves you dearly, and cherishes the locket which contains your likeness. I mean, on the contrary, to do all I can to bring peace between you two, and I must succeed before long, because my friend is not guilty of any wrong, and you only feel some spite, although with no cause. I will send you my letter by Laura, unless you promise me to go and fetch it yourself at her house.


Your letters will always be dear to me, but, mark my words, M---- M---- will not enter into any explanation. She will believe you in everything, except in one.


I suppose you mean our passing a whole night together as innocently as if we were brother and sister. If she knows you as well as I do, she will indeed think it most wonderful.


In that case, you may tell her the contrary, if you like.


Nothing of the sort. I hate falsehoods, and I will certainly never utter one in such a case as this; it would be very wrong. I do not love you less on that account, my darling, although, during this long night, you have not condescended to give me the slightest proof of your love.


Believe me, dearest, I am sick from unhappiness. I love you with my whole soul, but I am in such a situation that....


What! you are weeping, my love! Oh! I entreat you, spare my heart! I am so sorry to have told you such a thing, but I can assure you I never meant to make you unhappy. I am sure that in a quarter of an hour M---- M---- will be crying likewise.


Who is knocking?


What do you want?


I had not to deal with a couple of cowards, and that I had no occasion to be afraid.


The particulars which you have read, or which you are going to read, in the letter of my friend, will cause you, I hope, to forget the fault which I have committed so innocently, for I trusted, on the contrary, that you would be very happy. I saw all and heard all, and you would not have gone away without the key if I had not, most unfortunately, fallen asleep an hour before your departure. Take back the key and come to the casino to-morrow night, since Heaven has saved you from the storm. Your love may, perhaps, give you the right to complain, but not to ill-treat a woman who certainly has not given you any mark of contempt.


I entreat you, dear husband, not to send back this key, unless you have become the most cruel of men, unless you find pleasure in tormenting two women who, love you ardently, and who love you for yourself only. Knowing your excellent heart, I trust you will go to the casino to-morrow evening and make it up with M---- M----, who cannot go there to-night. You will see that you are in the wrong, dearest, and that, far from despising you, my dear friend loves you only. In the mean time, let me tell you what you are not acquainted with, and what you must be anxious to know.


Immediately after you had gone away in that fearful storm which caused me such anguish, and just as I was preparing to return to the convent, I was much surprised to see standing before me my dear M---- M----, who from some hiding-place had heard all you had said. She had several times been on the point of shewing herself, but she had always been prevented by the fear of coming out of season, and thus stopping a reconciliation which she thought was inevitable between two fond lovers. Unfortunately, sleep had conquered her before your departure, and she only woke when the alarum struck, too late to detain you, for you had rushed with the haste of a man who is flying from some terrible danger. As soon as I saw her, I gave her the key, although I did not know what it meant, and my friend, heaving a deep sigh, told me that she would explain everything as soon as we were safe in her room. We left the casino in a dreadful storm, trembling for your safety, and not thinking of our own danger. As soon as we were in the convent I resumed my usual costume, and M---- M---- went to bed. I took a seat near her, and this is what she told me. ‘When you left your ring in my hands to go to your aunt, who had sent for you, I examined it with so much attention that at last I suspected the small blue spot to be connected with the secret spring; I took a pin, succeeded in removing the top part, and I cannot express the joy I felt when I saw that we both loved the same man, but no more can I give you an idea of my sorrow when I thought that I was encroaching upon your rights. Delighted, however, with my discovery, I immediately conceived a plan which would procure you the pleasure of supping with him. I closed the ring again and returned it to you, telling you at the same time that I had not been able to discover anything. I was then truly the happiest of women. Knowing your heart, knowing that you were aware of the love of your lover for me, since I had innocently shewed you his portrait, and happy in the idea that you were not jealous of me, I would have despised myself if I had entertained any feelings different from your own, the more so that your rights over him were by far stronger than mine. As for the mysterious manner in which you always kept from me the name of your husband, I easily guessed that you were only obeying his orders, and I admired your noble sentiments and the goodness of your heart. In my opinion your lover was afraid of losing us both, if we found out that neither the one nor the other of us possessed his whole heart. I could not express my deep sorrow when I thought that, after you had seen me in possession of his portrait, you continued to act in the same manner towards me, although you could not any longer hope to be the sole object of his love. Then I had but one idea; to prove to both of you that M---- M---- is worthy of your affection, of your friendship, of your esteem. I was indeed thoroughly happy when I thought that the felicity of our trio would be increased a hundredfold, for is it not an unbearable misery to keep a secret from the being we adore? I made you take my place, and I thought that proceeding a masterpiece. You allowed me to dress you as a nun, and with a compliance which proves your confidence in me you went to my casino without knowing where you were going. As soon as you had landed, the gondola came back, and I went to a place well known to our friend from which, without being seen, I could follow all your movements and hear everything you said. I was the author of the play; it was natural that I should witness it, the more so that I felt certain of seeing and hearing nothing that would not be very agreeable to me. I reached the casino a quarter of an hour after you, and I cannot tell you my delightful surprise when I saw that dear Pierrot who had amused us so much, and whom we had not recognized. But I was fated to feel no other pleasure than that of his appearance. Fear, surprise, and anxiety overwhelmed me at once when I saw the effect produced upon him by the disappointment of his expectation, and I felt unhappy. Our lover took the thing wrongly, and he went away in despair; he loves me still, but if he thinks of me it is only to try to forget me. Alas! he will succeed but too soon! By sending back that key he proves that he will never again go to the casino. Fatal night! When my only wish was to minister to the happiness of three persons, how is it that the very reverse of my wish has occurred? It will kill me, dear friend, unless you contrive to make him understand reason, for I feel that without him I cannot live. You must have the means of writing to him, you know him, you know his name. In the name of all goodness, send back this key to him with a letter to persuade him to come to the casino to-morrow or on the following day, if it is only to speak to me; and I hope to convince him of my love and my innocence. Rest to-day, dearest, but to-morrow write to him, tell him the whole truth; take pity on your poor friend, and forgive her for loving your lover. I shall write a few lines myself; you will enclose them in your letter. It is my fault if he no longer loves you; you ought to hate me, and yet you are generous enough to love me. I adore you; I have seen his tears, I have seen how well his soul can love; I know him now. I could not have believed that men were able to love so much. I have passed a terrible night. Do not think I am angry, dear friend, because you confided to him that we love one another like two lovers; it does not displease me, and with him it was no indiscretion, because his mind is as free of prejudices as his heart is good.’


Tears were choking her. I tried to console her, and I most willingly promised her to write to you. She never closed her eyes throughout that day, but I slept soundly for four hours.


Ah! the poor Pierrot! tell us all about him, dear aunt. I am very glad he was saved. Who is he? Do you know?


Oh! yes, everything is known, for he was taken home by our gondoliers. One of them has just told me that Pierrot, having spent the night at the Briati ball, did not find any gondola to return to Venice, and that our gondoliers took him for a sequin. One of the men fell into the sea, but then the brave Pierrot, throwing handfuls of silver upon the ‘Zenia’ pitched the ‘felce’ over board, and the wind having less hold they reached Venice safely through the Beggars’ Canal. This morning the lucky gondoliers divided thirty philippes which they found in the gondola, and they have been fortunate enough to pick up their ‘felce’. Pierrot will remember Muran and the ball at Briati. The man says that he is the son of M. de Bragadin, the procurator’s brother. He was taken to the palace of that nobleman nearly dead from cold, for he was dressed in light calico, and had no cloak.


It might be so, but his name does not shew my lover to be the bastard of that nobleman, and still less his legitimate child, for M. de Bragadin was never married.


I should be very sorry, if he were his son.


I gave C---- C---- the key of your casino, to be returned to you, my own charming friend, because I believed myself trifled with and despised, of malice aforethought, by the woman I worship. In my error I thought myself unworthy of presenting myself before your eyes, and, in spite of love, horror made me shudder. Such was the effect produced upon me by an act which would have appeared to me admirable, if my self-love had not blinded me and upset my reason. But, dearest, to admire it it would have been necessary for my mind to be as noble as yours, and I have proved how far it is from being so. I am inferior to you in all things, except in passionate love, and I will prove it to you at our next meeting, when I will beg on my knees a generous pardon. Believe me, beloved creature, if I wish ardently to recover my health, it is only to have it in my power to prove by my love a thousand times increased, how ashamed I am of my errors. My painful lumbago has alone prevented me from answering your short note yesterday, to express to you my regrets, and the love which has been enhanced in me by your generosity, alas! so badly rewarded. I can assure you that in the lagunes, with death staring me in the face, I regretted no one but you, nothing but having outraged you. But in the fearful danger then threatening me I only saw a punishment from Heaven. If I had not cruelly sent back to you the key of the casino, I should most likely have returned there, and should have avoided the sorrow as well as the physical pains which I am now suffering as an expiation. I thank you a thousand times for having recalled me to myself, and you may be certain that for the future I will keep better control over myself; nothing shall make me doubt your love. But, darling, what do you say of C---- C----? Is she not an incarnate angel who can be compared to no one but you? You love us both equally. I am the only one weak and faulty, and you make me ashamed of myself. Yet I feel that I would give my life for her as well as for you. I feel curious about one thing, but I cannot trust it to paper. You will satisfy that curiosity the first time I shall be able to go to the casino before two days at the earliest. I will let you know two days beforehand. In the mean time, I entreat you to think a little of me, and to be certain of my devoted love. Adieu.


The next morning Laura found me sitting up in bed, and in a fair way to recover my health. I requested her to tell C---- C---- that I felt much better, and I gave her the letter I had written. She had brought me one from my dear little wife, in which I found enclosed a note from M---- M----. Those two letter were full of tender expressions of love, anxiety for my health, and ardent prayers for my recovery.


Let me know, I entreat you, when we are likely to meet again, either at Muran or in Venice, as you please. Be quite certain that whenever we meet we shall be alone and without a witness.


Two days afterwards, on the 4th of February, 1754, I had the supreme felicity of finding myself again alone with my beloved mistress. She wore the dress of a nun. As we both felt guilty, the moment we saw each other, by a spontaneous movement, we fell both on our knees, folded in each other’s arms. We had both ill-treated Love; she had treated him like a child, I had adored him after the fashion of a Jansenist. But where could we have found the proper language for the excuses we had to address to each other for the mutual forgiveness we had to entreat and to grant? Kisses--that mute, yet expressive language, that delicate, voluptuous contact which sends sentiment coursing rapidly through the veins, which expresses at the same time the feeling of the heart and the impressions of the mind--that language was the only one we had recourse to, and without having uttered one syllable, dear reader, oh, how well we agreed!


Both overwhelmed with emotion, longing to give one another some proofs of the sincerity of our reconciliation and of the ardent fire which was consuming us, we rose without unclasping our arms, and falling (a most amorous group!) on the nearest sofa, we remained there until the heaving of a deep sigh which we would not have stopped, even if we had known that it was to be the last!


Thus was completed our happy reconciliation, and the calm infused into the soul by contentment, burst into a hearty laugh when we noticed that I had kept on my cloak and my mask. After we had enjoyed our mirth, I unmasked myself, and I asked her whether it was quite true that no one had witnessed our reconciliation.


Come,


Now. I am going to satisfy the curiosity which you were prudent enough not to trust to paper.


But you cannot guess....


Silence, dearest! Love would not be of divine origin did he not possess the faculty of divination. He knows all, and here is the proof. Do you not wish to know whether my friend was with me during the fatal night which has cost me so many tears?


You have guessed rightly.


Well, then, he was with me, and you must not be angry, for you then completed your conquest of him. He admired your character, your love, your sentiments, your honesty. He could not help expressing his astonishment at the rectitude of my instinct, or his approval of the passion I felt for you. It was he who consoled me in the morning assuring me that you would certainly come back to me as soon as you knew my real feelings, the loyalty of my intentions and my good faith.


But you must often have fallen asleep, for unless excited by some powerful interest, it is impossible to pass eight hours in darkness and in silence.


We were moved by the deepest interest: besides, we were in darkness only when we kept these holes open. The plank was on during our supper, and we were listening in religious silence to your slightest whisper. The interest which kept my friend awake was perhaps greater than mine. He told me that he never had had before a better opportunity of studying the human heart, and that you must have passed the most painful night. He truly pitied you. We were delighted with C---- C----, for it is indeed wonderful that a young girl of fifteen should reason as she did to justify my conduct, without any other weapons but those given her by nature and truth; she must have the soul of an angel. If you ever marry her, you will have the most heavenly wife. I shall of course feel miserable if I lose her, but your happiness will make amends for all. Do you know, dearest, that I cannot understand how you could fall in love with me after having known her, any more than I can conceive how she does not hate me ever since she has discovered that I have robbed her of your heart. My dear C---- C---- has truly something divine in her disposition. Do you know why she confided to you her barren loves with me? Because, as she told me herself, she wished to ease her conscience, thinking that she was in some measure unfaithful to you.


Does she think herself bound to be entirely faithful to me, with the knowledge she has now of my own unfaithfulness?


She is particularly delicate and conscientious, and though she believes herself truly your wife, she does not think that she has any right to control your actions, but she believes herself bound to give you an account of all she does.


Noble girl!


The pains of the body do not fatten a man,


and the sufferings of the mind emaciate him. But we have suffered sufficiently, and we must be wise enough never to recall anything which can be painful to us.


You are quite right, my love; the instants that man is compelled to give up to misfortune or to suffering are as many moments stolen from his life, but he doubles his existence when he has the talent of multiplying his pleasures, no matter of what nature they may be. The Pierrot in the parlour of the convent seemed to me taller and thinner than you. If chance had not made you take the convent gondola, if you had not had the strange idea of assuming the disguise of Pierrot, I should not have known who you were, for my friends in the convent would not have been interested in you. I was delighted when I heard that you were not a patrician, as I feared, because, had you been one, I might in time have run some great danger.


I cannot conceive,


what danger you might run on account of my being a patrician.


My darling, I cannot speak to you openly, unless you give me your word to do what I am going to ask you.


How could I hesitate, my love, in doing anything to please you, provided my honour is not implicated? Have we not now everything in common? Speak, idol of my heart, tell me your reasons, and rely upon my love; it is the guarantee of my ready compliance in everything that can give you pleasure.


Very well. I want you to give a supper in your casino to me and my friend, who is dying to make your acquaintance.


And I foresee that after supper you will leave me to go with him.


You must feel that propriety compels me to do so.


Your friend already knows, I suppose, who I am?


I thought it was right to tell him, because if I had not told him he could not have entertained the hope of supping with you, and especially at your house.


I understand. I guess your friend is one of the foreign ambassadors.


Precisely.


But may I hope that he will so far honour me as to throw up his incognito?


That is understood. I shall introduce him to you according to accepted forms, telling his name and his political position.


Then it is all for the best, darling. How could you suppose that I would have any difficulty in procuring you that pleasure, when on the contrary, nothing could please me more myself? Name the day, and be quite certain that I shall anxiously look for it.


I should have been sure of your compliance, if you had not given me cause to doubt it.


It is a home-thrust, but I deserve it.


And I hope it will not make you angry. Now I am happy. Our friend is M. de Bernis, the French ambassador. He will come masked, and as soon as he shews his features I shall present him to you. Recollect that you must treat him as my lover, but you must not appear to know that he is aware of our intimacy.


I understand that very well, and you shall have every reason to be pleased with my urbanity. The idea of that supper is delightful to me, and I hope that the reality will be as agreeable. You were quite right, my love, to dread my being a patrician, for in that case the State-Inquisitors, who very often think of nothing but of making a show of their zeal, would not have failed to meddle with us, and the mere idea of the possible consequences makes me shudder. I under The Leads--you dishonoured--the abbess--the convent! Good God! Yes, if you had told me what you thought, I would have given you my name, and I could have done so all the more easily that my reserve was only caused by the fear of being known, and of C---- C---- being taken to another convent by her father. But can you appoint a day for the supper? I long to have it all arranged.


To-day is the fourth; well, then, in four days.


That will be the eighth?


Exactly so. We will go to your casino after the second ballet. Give me all necessary particulars to enable us to find the house without enquiring from anyone.


Why did you play, when there was no need of it, when you were in want of nothing, when you had all the money you could wish to satisfy your fancies?


I had an ardent wish, sir, to renew acquaintance with you, since I heard from madame that we had known each other in Paris.


I had the honour,


to dine with your excellency at M. de Mocenigo’s house, but you talked all the time with Marshal Keith, the Prussian ambassador, and I was not fortunate enough to attract your attention. As you were on the point of leaving Paris to return to Venice, you went away almost immediately after dinner, and I have never had the honour of seeing you since that time.


Now I recollect you, and I remember asking whether you were not the secretary of the embassy. But from this day we shall not forget each other again, for the mysteries which unite us are of a nature likely to establish a lasting intimacy between us.


That would be running too great a risk, but if you approve of it. I can make you sup with her at my casino, for we sleep in the same room.


It is impossible, madam, to add anything to the pleasure of your society, yet I confess I should be pleased if you could contrive to do us that great favour.


Well, I will think of it.


But, if I am to be one of the party, I think it would be right to apprize the young lady of it.


It is not necessary, for I will write to her to agree to whatever madam may propose to her. I will do so to-morrow.


I could not sleep soundly, my love, if I did not ease my conscience of an unpleasant weight. Perhaps you did not approve of the ‘partie carree’ with our young friend, and you may not have objected out of mere politeness. Tell me the truth, dearest, for, should you not look forward to that meeting with pleasure, I can contrive to undo it without implicating you in any way; trust me for that. If, however, you have no objection to the party, it will take place as agreed. Believe me, I love your soul more than your heart--I mean than your person. Adieu.


I expected your letter, my best beloved, and you cannot doubt it, because, as you know me thoroughly, you must be aware that I know you as well. Yes, I know your mind, and I know what idea you must entertain of mine, because I have exposed to you all my weakness and irritability by my sophisms. I do penance for it, dearest, when I think that having raised your suspicions your tenderness for me must have been weakened. Forget my visions, I beg, and be quite certain that for the future my soul will be in unison with yours. The supper must take place, it will be a pleasure for me, but let me confess that in accepting it I have shewn myself more grateful than polite. C---- C---- is a novice, and I am not sorry to give her an opportunity of seeing the world. In what school could she learn better than yours? Therefore I recommend her to you, and you will please me much by continuing to shew your care and friendship towards her, and by increasing, if possible, the sum of your goodness. I fear that you may entice her to take the veil, and if she did I would never console myself. Your friend has quite captivated me; he is a superior man, and truly charming.


That might have been the case, but of what good would it have been to me?


But I do not expect, to be allowed to keep this embassy very long. Be kind enough to let that remain between us. I do not wish to make M---- M---- unhappy.


You must belong to me.


Good evening, my two divinities, where is our charming Frenchman?


He has not arrived yet, but he will doubtless soon be here.


A courier, who arrived two hours ago, prevents my being happy to-night, for I am compelled to pass it in answering the dispatches I have received. I trust that you will forgive and pity me. May I hope that you will kindly grant me on Friday the pleasure of which I am so unfortunately deprived to-day? Let me know your answer by to-morrow. I wish ardently, in that case, to find you with the same guests, to whom I beg you will present my affectionate compliments.


Well, it is not his fault. We will sup without him. Will you come on Friday?


Yes, with the greatest pleasure. But what is the matter with you, dear C---- C----? You look sad.


Sad, no, unless it should be for the sake of my friend, for I have never seen a more polite and more obliging gentleman.


Very well, dear, I am glad he has rendered you so sensible.


What do you mean? Could anyone be insensible to his merit?


Better still, but I agree with you. Only tell me if you love him?


Well, even if I loved him, do you think I would go and tell him? Besides, I am certain that he loves my friend.


Do you wish me to have a fire lighted in the alcove?


You would oblige me, for the bed being large we can all three sleep comfortably in it. Your bosom, must have become perfect during the last nine months.


It is like mine, would you like to see for yourself?


Will you, darling, represent that group with me?


If I go, that night will pass with perfect decency, but I shall prove myself very ridiculous, jealous, ungrateful, and even wanting in common politeness: if I remain absent, C---- C---- is lost, at least, in my estimation, for I feel that my love will no longer exist, and then good-bye to all idea of a marriage with her. But, sir, we have not had a special courier for the last two months. What? Did not a special cabinet messenger arrive here last night?


Then he must have come in through the garret window or down the chimney, for, on the word of an honest man, none entered through the gate.


But the ambassador worked all night?


That may be, sir, but not here, for his excellency dined with the Spanish ambassador, and did not return till very late.


We were very sorry, dearest friend, when we heard that we should not have the happiness of seeing you. My dear M---- M----’s friend came shortly afterwards, and when he read your note he likewise expressed his deep regret. We expected to have a very dull supper, but the witty sayings of that gentleman enlivened us and you cannot imagine of what follies we were guilty after partaking of some champagne punch. Our friend had become as gay as ourselves, and we spent the night in trios, not very fatiguing, but very pleasant. I can assure you that that man deserves to be loved, but he must acknowledge himself inferior to you in everything. Believe me, dearest, I shall ever love you, and you must for ever remain the master of my heart.


I am certain, my own beloved, that you told a story out of pure politeness, but you had guessed that I expected you to do so. You have made our friend a splendid present in exchange for the one he made you when he did not object to his M---- M---- bestowing her heart upon you. You possess that heart entirely, dearest, and you would possess it under all circumstances, but how sweet it is to flavour the pleasures of love with the charms of friendship! I was sorry not to see you, but I knew that if you had come we would not have had much enjoyment; for our friend, notwithstanding all his wit, is not exempt from some natural prejudices. As for C---- C----, her mind is now quite as free of them as our own, and I am glad she owes it to me. You must feel thankful to me for having completed her education, and for rendering her in every way worthy of you. I wish you had been hiding in the closet, where I am certain you would have spent some delightful hours. On Wednesday next I shall be yours, and all alone with you in your casino in Venice; let me know whether you will be at the usual hour near the statue of the hero Colleoni. In case you should be prevented, name any other day.


George Dandin, tu las voulu!


No theatre to-night, let us go to the ‘ridotto’, to lose or double our money.


Now that we need not fear thieves, let us go to our supper.


I may tell you confidentially, that I believe I shall scarcely be able to return, but she must not be told, as she would be in despair. Do not grieve thus, sweetheart, go I must, but my return is a matter of equal certainty when I have finished the important business which summons me to Vienna. You will still have the casino, but, dearest, both friendship and prudence make me advise you not to come here in my absence, for after I have left Venice I cannot depend upon the faith of the gondoliers in my service, and I suspect our friend here cannot flatter himself on his ability to get reliable ones. I may also tell you that I have strong reasons for suspecting that our intercourse is known to the State Inquisitors, who conceal their knowledge for political reasons, but I fancy the secret would soon come to light when I am no longer here, and when the nun who connives at your departure from the convent knows that it is no longer for me that you leave it. The only people whom I would trust are the housekeeper and his wife. I shall order them, before I go, to look upon our friend here as myself, and you can make your arrangements with them. I trust all will go well till my return, if you will only behave discreetly. I will write to you under cover of the housekeeper, his wife will give you my letters as before, and in the same way you may reply. I must needs go, dearest one, but my heart is with you, and I leave you, till my return, in the hands of a friend, whom I rejoice to have known. He loves you, he has a heart and knowledge of the world, and he will not let you make any mistakes. I am going, to work in concert with the Austrian cabinet on a treaty which will be the talk of Europe. I entreat you to write to me unreservedly, and as a friend, and if you love our common mistress, have a care for her honour, and above all have the strength of mind to resist all projects which are certain to involve you in misfortune, and which will be equally fatal to both. You know what happened to Madame de Riva, a nun in the convent of St.----. She had to disappear after it became known that she was with child, and M. de Frulai, my predecessor, went mad, and died shortly after. J. J. Rousseau told me that he died of poison, but he is a visionary who sees the black side of everything. For my part, I believe that he died of grief at not being able to do anything for the unfortunate woman, who afterwards procured a dispensation from her vows from the Pope, and having got married is now living at Padua without any position in society. Let the prudent and loyal friend master the lover: go and see M---- M---- sometimes in the parlour of the convent, but not here, or the boatmen will betray you. The knowledge which we both have that the girls are in a satisfactory condition is a great alleviation to my distress, but you must confess that you have been very imprudent. You have risked a terrible misfortune; consider the position you would have been in, for I am sure you would not have abandoned her. She had an idea that the danger might be overcome by means of drugs but I convinced her that she was mistaken. In God’s name, be discreet in the future, and write to me fully, for I shall always be interested in her fate, both from duty and sentiment.


He is gone, and he leaves me to your care. Fatal being, whom perchance I shall see no more, whom I thought I loved but as a friend, now you are lost to me I see my mistake. Before I knew him I was not happy, but neither was I unhappy as I now am.


Nevertheless, this will not prevent my coming alone when I have any matter of importance to communicate to you. Promise me, sweetheart, to sup and sleep at the casino at least once a week, and write me a note each time by the housekeeper’s wife.


I am assured, of the good faith of the gardener’s sister. I can go out and come in without fear of being seen, for the little door leading to the convent is not overlooked by any window--indeed it is thought to be walled up. Nobody can see me crossing the garden to the little stream, which is considered unnavigable. All we want is a one-oared gondola, and I cannot believe that with the help of money you will be unable to find a boatman on whom we may rely.


Listen. I will be the boatman myself. I will come to the quay, pass by the little door, and you shall lead me to your room where I will pass the whole night with you, and the day, too, if you think you can hide me.


That plan, makes me shudder. I tremble at the danger to which you might be exposed. No, I should be too unfortunate if I were to be the cause of your misfortune, but, as you can row, come in the boat, let me know the time as closely as possible; the trusty woman will be on the watch, and I will not keep you four minutes waiting. I will get into the boat, we will go to our beloved casino, and then we shall be happy without fearing anything.


I will think it over


Ma tiranno del mar Libecchio resta. Let us set out forthwith, for if the gale gets stronger I shall not be able to double the island.


Help! I will give two sequins!


Go and sleep in the casino.


Who will take me to Venice for eighty sous?


I. I


You are too drunk to take me, lend me your boat, and I will give it you back to-morrow.


I don’t know you.


I will deposit ten sequins, but your boat is not worth that. Who will be your surety?


I know of a good room, with meals provided, you will be quite comfortable and will get it cheaply, and if you like to pay in advance, you need not even say who you are. The old man to whom the house belongs lives on the ground floor; he will give you all the keys and if you like you need see no one.


I am sure, of your goodwill, but I must talk to your mother. I must be alone, as I have to write all day, and I shall not take anything till the evening. You must never forget to deliver messages, for if you had waited any longer before bringing me this letter, it might have had the most serious consequences. Follow me,


I shall dine at noon, Tonine, take care to get what is necessary in good time.


Sir, I prepared yesterday’s supper myself, and if you like I can cook all your meals.


I am satisfied with your abilities, go on, and here is a sequin for expenses.


I still have a hundred and twenty sous remaining from the one you gave me yesterday, and that will be enough.


No, they are for yourself, and I shall give you as much every day.


In the morning. I will tell Laura to get me something less seducing;


I have, four thousand sequins and her diamonds, which are worth six thousand; we should, therefore, have a sufficient sum to enable us to live honourably in any part of Europe.


my mistress, after hearing my letter read, had fallen into a kind of convulsion, and, becoming delirious, she talked incessantly in French for three whole hours in a fashion which would have made all the nuns take to their heels, if they had understood her.


she was sure to get well if I promised to keep to my word, and to carry her off as soon as her health would allow.


if I lived she might be sure my promise would be fulfilled.


she believed herself out of danger, and that by taking care she hoped to be able to leave her room after Easter.


I should not leave Muran till I had the pleasure of seeing her at the grating, where, without hurrying ourselves, we could plan the execution of our scheme.


What! you without a cloak!


Yes, for having gone out with my mask on I forgot to bring one.


You have got so thin, that uncharitable people will be rather hard on you.


I trust they will not say that I have been passing my time with the Jesuits.


You are sarcastic. They may say, perhaps, that you have passed your time in a hot-house under the influence of Mercury.


Don’t be afraid, sir, for to escape this hasty judgment I shall go back this evening.


No, no, I am quite sure you will not.


Believe me, sir, that I deem your opinion of too much consequence not to be governed by it.


he had been longing to tell Murray of my re-appearance, and of the falsity of all the reports about me.


We will go to sup with him, and I will return after supper.


That’s of no consequence,


provided you are covered. I only want you, my dear, to dry my hair. For shame! Come, take your smock between your teeth and then I shall see no more.


Well, shall I go and dress myself and then do your hair?


No, come and sit on my knee, and cover my eyes with your hands.


What a wonder! You are not in a hurry to read that letter! Faithless man, why did you not let me cure you six weeks ago. How lucky I am; thanks to the rain! I do not blame you, dear, but love me as you love her who writes to you every day, and I shall be satisfied.


Do you know who she is?


She lives in a boarding-house, and is as beautiful as an angel; but she is there, and I am here. You are my master, and I will be your servant as long as you like. on the contrary it was time for me to get up for dinner, for she wanted to give me a dainty meal cooked in the Venetian manner.


Who is the cook?


I am, and I have been using all my skill on it since five, when I got up.


What time is it now, then?


Past one.


one or two nuns might be had for money, but that it could happen very rarely on account of the difficulties in most convents. As for the nun of Muran, justly famous for her beauty, if she be M---- M----, nun of the convent..., I not only disbelieve that Murray ever had her, but I am sure she was never the French ambassador’s mistress. If he knew her it could only have been at the grating, where I really cannot say what happens.


the English ambassador was a man of his word, and that he had the story from his own lips. If Mr. Murray, had not told it me under the seal of secrecy I would make him tell it you himself. I shall be obliged if you will take care that he never knows I told you of it.


You may rely on my discretion.


Between friends, you can get yourself the enjoyment of those charms, if you are willing to sacrifice a sum of money--not too much, either, but you must have the key.


Do you think you have it?


No, I am sure; and had less trouble than you might suppose.


If you are sure; I congratulate you, and doubt no more. I envy your fortune, for I don’t believe a more perfect beauty could be found in all the convents of Venice.


There you are wrong. Mother M---- M----, at---- in Muran, is certainly handsomer.


I have heard her talked of and I have seen her once, but I do not think it possible that she can be procured for money.


I think so, and when I think I mostly have good reasons.


You surprise me; but all the same I don’t mind betting you are deceived.


You would lose. As you have only seen her once, I suppose you would not recognize her portrait?


I should, indeed, as her face left a strong impression on my mind.


Wait a minute.


These, are rare charms, with which you have doubtless a near acquaintance? Yes, and if you recognize any of them be discreet.


You need not be afraid. Here are three I recognize, and this looks like M---- M----; but confess that you may have been deceived--at least, that you did not have her in the convent or here, for there are women like her.


Why do you think I have been deceived? I have had her here in her religious habit, and I have spent a whole night with her; and it was to her individually that I sent a purse containing five hundred sequins. I gave fifty to the good procurer.


You have, I suppose, visited her in the parlour, after having her here?


No, never, as she was afraid her titular lover might hear of it. You know that was the French ambassador.


But she only saw him in the parlour.


She used to go to his house in secular dress whenever he wanted her. I was told that by the man who brought her here.


Have you had her several times?


Only once and that was enough, but I can have her whenever I like for a hundred sequins.


All that may be the truth, but I would wager five hundred sequins that you have been deceived.


You shall have your answer in three days.


I have won; for a hundred sequins I can have the fair nun!


Alas! there go my five hundred sequins.


No, not five hundred, my dear fellow, for I should be ashamed to win so much of you, but the hundred she would cost me. If I win, you shall pay for my pleasure, and if I lose I shall give her nothing.


How is the problem to be solved?


My Mercury tells me that we must wait for a day when masks are worn. He is endeavouring at present to find out a way to convince both of us; for otherwise neither you nor I would feel compelled to pay the wager, and if I really have M. M. my honour would not allow me to let her suspect that I had betrayed the secret.


No, that would be an unpardonable crime. Hear my plan, which will satisfy us both; for after it has been carried out each of us will be sure that he has fairly won or fairly lost. As soon as you have possessed yourself of the real or pretended nun, leave her on some pretext, and meet me in a place to be agreed upon. We will then go together to the convent, and I will ask for M. M.


Will seeing her and speaking to her convince you that the woman you have left at home is a mere impostor?


Perfectly, and I shall pay my wager with the greatest willingness. I may say the same. If, when I summon M. M. to the parlour, the lay-sister tells us she is ill or busy, we will go, and the wager will be yours; you will sup with the fair, and I will go elsewhere.


So be it; but since all this will be at nighttime, it is possible that when you ask for her, the sister will tell you that no one can be seen at such an hour.


Then I shall lose.


You are quite sure, then, that if she be in the convent she will come down?


That’s my business. I repeat, if you don’t speak to her, I shall hold myself to have lost a hundred sequins, or a thousand if you like.


One can’t speak plainer than that, my dear fellow, and I thank you beforehand.


The only thing I ask you is to come sharp to time; and not to come too late for a convent.


Will an hour after sunset suit you?


Admirably.


I shall also make it my business to compel my masked mistress to stop where she is, even though it be M. M. herself.


Some won’t have long to wait, if you will take her to a casino which I myself possess at Muran, and where I secretly keep a girl of whom I am amorous. I will take care that she shall not be there on the appointed day, and I will give you the key of the casino. I shall also see that you find a delicate cold supper ready.


That is admirable, but I must be able to point out the place to my Mercury.


True! I will give you a supper to-morrow, the greatest secrecy to be observed between us. We will go to my casino in a gondola, and after supper we will go out by the street door; thus you will know the way by land and water. You will only have to tell the procurer the name of the canal and of the house, and on the day fixed you shall have the key. You will only find there an old man who lives on the ground floor, and he will see neither those who go out nor those who come in. My sweetheart will see nothing and will not be seen; and all, trust me, will turn out well.


I begin to think that I have lost my bet, but it matters not, I can gaily encounter either loss or gain.


Tell me what I am to do, sweetheart, and be sure I will refuse nothing which may be in my power.


I shall be here this evening an hour after sunset, and ask for you at this grating; come. I shall be with another man, to whom I beg of you to say a few words of politeness; you can then leave us. Let us find some pretext to justify the unseasonable hour.


I will do what you ask, but you cannot imagine how troublesome it is in a convent, for at six o’clock the parlours are shut up and the keys are taken to the abbess’ room. However, as you only want me for five minutes, I will tell the abbess that I am expecting a letter from my brother, and that it can be sent to me on this evening only. You must give me a letter that the nun who will be with me may be able to say that I have not been guilty of deception.


You will not come alone, then?


I should not dare even to ask for such a privilege.


Very good, but try to come with some old nun who is short-sighted.


I will keep the light in the background.


Pray do not do so, my beloved; on the contrary, place it so that you may be distinctly seen.


All this is very strange, but I have promised passive obedience, and I will come down with two lights. May I hope that you will explain this riddle to me at your next interview?


By to-morrow, at latest, you shall know the whole story.


My curiosity will prevent me from sleeping.


Not so, dear heart; sleep peacefully, and be sure of my gratitude.


Is the nun there?


Yes, my dear fellow. We will go, if you like, to the parlour; but you will find that we shall be told she is ill or engaged. If you like, the bet shall be off.


God forbid, my dear fellow! I cling to that hundred ducats. Let us be gone.


I shall, perhaps, make you lose the first act of the opera,


The pleasure of seeing you, madam, is worth all the operas in the world.


You are English, I think?


Yes, madam.


The English are now the greatest people in the world, because they are free and powerful. Gentlemen, I wish you a very good evening.


Well, are you convinced now that you have been cheated?


Be quiet, we have time enough to talk about that. Let us go upstairs.


Shall I come?


Do. What do you think I could do by myself for four hours with that creature who is waiting for me? We will amuse ourselves with her.


Had we not better turn her out?


No; her master is coming for her at two o’clock in the morning. She would go and warn him, and he would escape my vengeance. We will throw them both out of the window.


Be moderate, for M---- M---- s honour depends on the secrecy we observe. Let us go upstairs. We shall have some fun. I should like to see the hussy.


I don’t know you, who are you?


You are in my house, and don’t know who I am?


I am in your house because I have been betrayed. I did not think that I should have to do with a scoundrel. Put me in prison!


Will you hold your tongue, and keep quiet till Capsucefalo comes, or go to prison?


If I keep quiet what will become of me?


I promise to let you go.


With him?


Perhaps.


Very well, then, I will keep quiet.


Have you got any more weapons?


How did you make this nice acquaintance?


Six months ago, while standing at the convent gate with Mr. Smith, our consul, in whose company I had been to see some ceremony or other, I remarked to him, as we were talking over some nuns we had noticed, ‘I would gladly give five hundred sequins for a few hours of Sister M---- M----’s company.’


I have just been speaking to her, and on my mentioning your name she said she had noticed you with Mr. Smith, and vowed she would sup with you more for love than money. I, am the only man she trusts, and I take her to the French ambassador’s casino in Venice whenever she wants to go there. You need not be afraid of being cheated, as you will give the money to her personally when you have possessed yourself of her.


they were allowed to keep their hair under their caps,


Do you know me?


No, but I have often seen you passing under my window. I live at St. Roch, near the bridge.


I can’t believe,


that you have shewn so much interest without being in love with the divine nun.


I would gladly give a hundred guineas a month,


to have the privilege of visiting her at the grating.


Here is our friend,


be discreet, and you will see that he will make a full confession.


Ah, you are here; you know, of course, that the secret must be kept?


Home.


I think you may be mistaken, as it is very possible that when you leave this place you will both of you be provided with a bed in prison.


No, I am not afraid of that happening; the thing would make too much noise, and the laugh would not be on your side. Come,


put on your cloak and let us be off.


I will hold it as a pledge for that sum,


Farewell, nun procurer!


Be sure,


that the guilty parties shall be punished without anyone’s knowing the reason


You know, do you, that I have a young servant?


Yes, and a pretty one, too. She is Laura’s daughter, and if you love her I am very glad, and so is C---- C----. I hope you will let me have a sight of her. C---- C---- has seen her before.


You wish to leave me, then,


I love you, dearest, and what I propose ought to convince you of my love.


Not so; I cannot serve two masters.


You will only serve your new lover, sweetheart. I beg of you to reflect that you will have a fine dowry, on the strength of which you may marry well; and that however much I love you I cannot possibly make so good a provision for you.


Leave me to-day for tears and reflection, and come to supper with me to-morrow. I think your English friend is a very pretty man, and when he speaks in the Venetian dialect it makes me die with laughter. If my mother agrees, I might, perhaps, force myself to love him. Supposing we did not agree we could part at the end of a year, and I should be the richer by an income of two hundred crowns.


I am charmed with the sense of your arguments; speak about it to your mother.


I daren’t, sweetheart; this kind of thing is too delicate to be discussed between a mother and her daughter speak to her yourself.


I will, indeed.


for, now that you have no longer any attraction at Muran, I shall see you less than ever.


I will see him, but as his friend he shall have nothing more from me.


With pleasure, for a garden is a rarity in Venice.


I can see some at the top, and I will gather them if you will hold me the ladder.


Yes, climb away; I will hold it quite firmly. My dear Barberine, what do you think I can see?


What you have often seen with my sister.


That’s true! but you are prettier than she is.


Will you give me what I have caught, dearest?


My mother is going to Muran to-morrow, and she will stay there all the day; if you come, there is nothing I will refuse you.


But, you used to like to perform the mysterious sacrifice of Love without a veil.


It was not I but Ancilla who liked it, and as I preferred pleasing her to pleasing myself, I gave in to her taste without any difficulty.


I am delighted with your answer, as I confess it would cost me something to be the witness of your exploits with Tonine.


My mother will not be back till the evening, and my brother will take his dinner at the school. Here is a fowl, a ham, some cheese, and two bottles of Scopolo wine. We will take our mess whenever you like.


You astonish me, sweetheart, for how did you manage to get such a good dinner?


We owe it to my mother, so to her be the praise.


You have told her, then, what we are going to do?


No, not I, for I know nothing about it; but I told her you were coming to see me, and at the same time I gave her the ten sequins.


And what did your mother say?


She said she wouldn’t be sorry if you were to love me as you loved my sister.


I love you better, though I love her well.


You love her? Why have you left her, then?


I have not left her, for we supped together yesterday evening; but we no longer live together as lovers, that is all. I have yielded her up to a rich friend of mine, who has made her fortune.


That is well, though I don’t understand much about these affairs. I hope you will tell Tonine that I have taken her place, and I should be very pleased if you would let her know that you are quite sure you are my first lover.


And supposing the news vexes her?


So much the better. Will you do it for me? it’s the first favour I have asked of you.


I promise to do so.


She is pretty, but the sculptor should give her some colour.


Her pallor, will not astonish you when I tell you she has just been blooded for the hundred and fourth time. I want to send her to the country, where pure and wholesome air, and, above all, more exercise, will do her more good than all the drugs in the world.


But my dear doctor, can’t you make your own prescription?


That would be too risky a game, for I might find myself compelled to marry her, and I hate marriage like the devil.


I am, the statue you saw this morning. We do not light the candles in the evening for fear of attracting the gnats, but when you want to go to bed we will shut the door and go away. I beg to introduce you to my younger sister, my mother has gone to bed.


Very well, for her pale complexion is not an illness, and she only suffers when her breath fails her. She has a very good appetite, and sleeps as well as I do.


Whom do I hear playing the violin?


It’s the dancing master giving my sister a lesson.


The signorina would find it too tiring,


In future, my dear master. I will only dance like that, for I think the rapid motion will do me good.


They have just been burying a nun who died of consumption the day before yesterday in the odour of sanctity. She was called ‘Maria Concetta.’ She knew you, and told C---- C---- your name when you used to come to mass on feast days. C---- C---- begged her to be discreet, but the nun told her that you were a dangerous man, whose presence should be shunned by a young girl. C---- C---- told me all this after the mask of Pierrot.


What was this saint’s name when she was in the world?


Martha.


I know her.


How old is he?


He is over fifty.


Is he a married man?


Yes, his name is Count S----. He is as fond of me as a father would be, and his affection has continued the same since my childhood. Even his wife comes to see me sometimes, and to ask me to dinner. Next autumn I am going into the country with her, and I hope the fresh air will do me good. My god-father knows you are staying with us and is satisfied. He does not know you, but if you like you can make his acquaintance.


My god-father, is in possession of all the necessary documents for withdrawing from the house of Persico our family fortune, which amounts to forty thousand crowns. A quarter of this sum belongs to me, and my mother has promised my sister and myself to share her dowry between us.


Alas! whom shall I love, not knowing whether I shall be loved in return? Let me alone, 'tis perchance the cause of my illness.


No, sweetheart, that cannot be.


Do you go to bed, the fresh air is doing me good, and I want to enjoy it a little longer.


I had conspired to seduce his nephew.


I feel remorse for nothing and I am therefore guilty of nothing, and the innocent have nothing to fear.


My dear count, your daughter has just told me that you were out.


I myself told her to do so, as I have some business with these gentlemen, which, however, can wait for another day.


Your father, would have surprised me, and it is easy to guess what he would have done with the two sbirri who were with him. The plot is clear, and I have only escaped from it by the happiest of chances.


Messer-Grande, has entered my house forcibly, accompanied by a band of sbirri. He turned everything upside down, on the pretext that he was in search of a portmanteau full of salt--a highly contraband article. He said he knew that a portmanteau had been landed there the evening before, which was quite true; but it belonged to Count S----, and only contained linen and clothes. Messer-Grande, after inspecting it, went out without saying a word.


The portmanteau, was a mere pretext; it was you they wanted and thought to find. Since your good genius has made them miss you, look out for yourself; perhaps by to-morrow it may be too late. I have been a State Inquisitor for eight months, and I know the way in which the arrests ordered by the court are carried out. They would not break open a door to look for a box of salt. Indeed, it is possible that they knew you were out, and sought to warn you to escape in this manner. Take my advice, my dear son, and set out directly for Fusina, and thence as quickly as you can make your way to Florence, where you can remain till I write to you that you may return with safety. If you have no money I will give you a hundred sequins for present expenses. Believe me that prudence bids you go. The high court, may deem you guilty of crimes real or imaginary; but in any case it will give you no account of the accusations against you. Ask your oracle if you shall follow my advice or not.


If secrecy, is of the essence of the Court, you cannot possibly judge, after my escape, whether I have done so rightly or wrongly. The same reasons, which, according to your excellence, bid me go, would forbid my return. Must I then say good-bye for ever to my country, and all that is dear to me?


For Heaven’s sake! spare me the harrowing sight of your tears.


Perhaps I may be fated never to see you again, but ‘Fata viam invenient’.


yes, I am Casanova. On whose authority do you order me to do this?


By the authority of the Tribunal.


Take them,


E quello, mettetelo in deposito.


I see, sir, that you wish to know what that is for, and as it happens I can satisfy your curiosity. When their excellencies give orders that anyone is to be strangled, he is made to sit down on a stool, the back turned to this collar, and his head is so placed that the collar goes round one half of the neck. A silk band, which goes round the other half, passes through this hole, and the two ends are connected with the axle of a wheel which is turned by someone until the prisoner gives up the ghost, for the confessor, God be thanked! never leaves him till he is dead.


All this sounds very ingenious, and I should think that it is you who have the honour of turning the wheel. I haven’t thought anything about it yet,


This, is the body of some strangled wretch, and they would thus warn me of the fate which is in store for me.


Have you had time yet to think about what you will take to eat?


for if you flatter yourself that you are only here for a night, you are very much mistaken.


Then bring me whatever you think necessary.


Where shall I go for it? Here is a pencil and paper; write it down. Scratch out, scratch out books, paper, pens, looking-glass and razors, for all that is forbidden fruit here, and then give me some money to get your dinner.


Tell me what you would like for to-morrow, for I can only come here once a day at sunrise. The Lord High Secretary has told me to inform you that he will send you some suitable books, but those you wish for are forbidden.


Thank him for his kindness in putting me by myself.


I will do so, but you make a mistake in jesting thus.


I don’t jest at all, for I think truly that it is much better to be alone than to mingle with the scoundrels who are doubtless here.


What, sir! scoundrels? Not at all, not at all. They are only respectable people here, who, for reasons known to their excellencies alone, have to be sequestered from society. You have been put by yourself as an additional punishment, and you want me to thank the secretary on that account?


I was not aware of that.


Here, then, did that saintly lunatic produce that masterpiece which but for M. Cavalli I should never have known.


Where can I get some?


Nowhere. Get me the Leyden Gazette twice a week.


I can’t do that, because it is not allowed by the authorities.


Very well.


That can’t be, sir, as you have eaten nothing. You are ill, and you will experience the generosity of the Tribunal who will provide you, without fee or charge, with a physician, surgeon, and all necessary medicines.


If we want to get well, we must not be melancholy.


Write me the prescription, and take it to the only apothecary who can make it up. M. Cavalli is the bad doctor who exhibited ‘The Heart of Jesus,’ and ‘The Mystical City.’


Those two preparations are quite capable of having brought on the fever and the haemorrhoids. I will not forsake you I have obtained leave, for you to move into the garret where the heat is less, and the air better than here.


I decline the favour, as I abominate the rats, which you know nothing about, and which would certainly get into my bed.


What a pity! I told M. Cavalli that he had almost killed you with his books, and he has commissioned me to take them back, and to give you Boethius; and here it is.


I am much obliged to you. I like it better than Seneca, and I am sure it will do me good.


I am leaving you a very necessary instrument, and some barley water for you to refresh yourself with.


How can they leave me here to the mercy of their successors, to whom they cannot leave any evidence capable of condemning me?


Another, O my God! but stronger.


Who are you?


I am Maggiorin, of Vicenza. My father, who was a coachman, kept me at school till I was eleven, by which time I had learnt to read and write; I was afterwards apprenticed to a barber, where I learnt my business thoroughly. After that I became valet to the Count of X--. I had been in the service of the nobleman for two years when his daughter came from the convent. It was my duty to do her hair, and by degrees I fell in love with her, and inspired her with a reciprocal passion. After having sworn a thousand times to exist only for one another, we gave ourselves up to the task of shewing each other marks of our affection, the result of which was that the state of the young countess discovered all. An old and devoted servant was the first to find out our connection and the condition of my mistress, and she told her that she felt in duty bound to tell her father, but my sweetheart succeeded in making her promise to be silent, saying that in the course of the week she herself would tell him through her confessor. She informed me of all this, and instead of going to confession we prepared for flight. She had laid hands on a good sum of money and some diamonds which had belonged to her mother, and we were to set out for Milan to-night. But to-day the count called me after dinner, and giving me a letter, he told me to start at once and to deliver it with my own hand to the person to whom it was addressed at Venice. He spoke to me so kindly and quietly that I had not the slightest suspicion of the fate in store for me. I went to get my cloak, said good-bye to my little wife, telling her that I should soon return. Seeing deeper below the surface than I, and perchance having a presentiment of my misfortune, she was sick at heart. I came here in hot haste, and took care to deliver the fatal letter. They made me wait for an answer, and in the mean time I went to an inn; but as I came out I was arrested and put in the guard-room, where I was kept till they brought me here. I suppose, sir, I might consider the young countess as my wife?


You make a mistake.


But nature----


Nature, when a man listens to her and nothing else, takes him from one folly to another, till she puts him under the Leads.


I am under the Leads, then, am I?


As I am.


I believe you will often have visitors, as the other six cells have each two prisoners, who are not likely to be sent to the Fours. They send to the Fours all sorts of people after they have been sentenced, though they know nothing of that. The prisoners whom I have charge of under the Leads are like yourself, persons of note, and are only guilty of deeds of which the inquisitive must know nothing. If you knew, sir, what sort of people shared your fate, you would be astonished, It’s true that you are called a man of parts; but you will pardon me.... You know that all men of parts are treated well here. You take me, I see. Fifty sous a day, that’s something. They give three livres to a citizen, four to a gentleman, and eight to a foreign count. I ought to know, I think, as everything goes through my hands. I’m no thief, nor traitor, nor greedy, nor malicious, nor brutal, as all my predecessors were, and when I have drunk a pint over and above I am all the better for it. If my father had sent me to school I should have learnt to read and write, and I might be Messer-Grande to-day, but that’s not my fault. M. Andre Diedo has a high opinion of me. My wife, who cooks for you every day, and is only twenty-four, goes to see him when she will, and he will have her come in without ceremony, even if he be in bed, and that’s more than he’ll do for a senator. I promise you you will be always having the new-comers in your cell, but never for any length of time, for as soon as the secretary has got what he wants to know from them, he sends them to their place--to the Fours, to some fort, or to the Levant; and if they be foreigners they are sent across the frontier, for our Government does not hold itself master of the subjects of other princes, if they be not in its service. The clemency of the Court is beyond compare; there’s not another in the world that treats its prisoners so well. They say it’s cruel to disallow writing and visitors; but that’s foolish, for what are writing and company but waste of time? You will tell me that you have nothing to do, but we can’t say as much.


I have no money.


What! a moneyed man like you have no money?


I haven’t a sou.


Very good; in that case I will get you some army biscuit and water, according to instructions.


Don’t sigh, sir, you shall share my dinner. But I think you have made a great mistake in coming here without money.


I have some, but it does not do to let those harpies know of it.


And so you condemn yourself to bread and water. Truly a wise proceeding! Do you know the reason of your imprisonment?


Yes, sir, and I will endeavour in a few words to inform you of it. My name is Squaldo Nobili. My father was a countryman who had me taught reading and writing, and at his death left me his cottage and the small patch of ground belonging to it. I lived in Friuli, about a day’s journey from the Marshes of Udine. As a torrent called Corno often damaged my little property, I determined to sell it and to set up in Venice, which I did ten years ago. I brought with me eight thousand livres in fair sequins, and knowing that in this happy commonwealth all men enjoyed the blessings of liberty, I believed that by utilizing my capital I might make a little income, and I began to lend money, on security. Relying on my thrift, my judgment, and my, knowledge of the world, I chose this business in preference to all others. I rented a small house in the neighbourhood of the Royal Canal, and having furnished it I lived there in comfort by myself; and in the course of two years I found I had made a profit of ten thousand livres, though I had expended two thousand on household expenses as I wished to live in comfort. In this fashion I saw myself in a fair way of making a respectable fortune in time; but one, day, having lent a Jew two sequins upon some books, I found one amongst them called ‘La Sagesse,’ by Charron. It was then I found out how good a thing it is to be able to read, for this book, which you, sir, may not have read, contains all that a man need know--purging him of all the prejudices of his childhood. With Charron good-bye to hell and all the empty terrors of a future life; one’s eyes are opened, one knows the way to bliss, one becomes wise indeed. Do you, sir, get this book, and pay no heed to those foolish persons who would tell you this treasure is not to be approached.


Set free by Charron from any scruples I still might have, and from those false ideas so hard to rid one’s self of, I pushed my business in such sort, that at the end of six years I could lay my hand on ten thousand sequins. There is no need for you to be astonished at that, as in this wealthy city gambling, debauchery, and idleness set all the world awry and in continual need of money; so do the wise gather what the fool drops. Three years ago a certain Count Seriman came and asked me to take from him five hundred sequins, to put them in my business, and to give him half profits. All he asked for was an obligation in which I promised to return him the whole sum on demand. At the end of a year I sent him seventy-five sequins, which made fifteen per cent. on his money; he gave me a receipt for it, but was ill pleased. He was wrong, for I was in no need of money, and had not used his for business purposes. At the end of the second year, out of pure generosity, I sent him the same amount; but we came to a quarrel and he demanded the return of the five hundred sequins. ‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘but I must deduct the hundred and fifty you have already received.’ Enraged at this he served me with a writ for the payment of the whole sum. A clever lawyer undertook my defence and was able to gain me two years. Three months ago I was spoken to as to an agreement, and I refused to hear of it, but fearing violence I went to the Abbé Justiniani, the Spanish ambassador’s secretary, and for a small sum he let me a house in the precincts of the Embassy, where one is safe from surprises. I was quite willing to let Count Seriman have his money, but I claimed a reduction of a hundred sequins on account of the costs of the lawsuit. A week ago the lawyers on both sides came to me. I shewed them a purse of two hundred and fifty sequins, and told them they might take it, but not a penny more. They went away without saying a word, both wearing an ill-pleased air, of which I took no notice. Three days ago the Abbé Justiniani told me that the ambassador had thought fit to give permission to the State Inquisitors to send their men at once to my house to make search therein. I thought the thing impossible under the shelter of a foreign ambassador, and instead of taking the usual precautions, I waited the approach of the men-at-arms, only putting my money in a place of safety. At daybreak Messer-Grande came to the house, and asked me for three hundred and fifty sequins, and on my telling him that I hadn’t a farthing he seized me, and here I am.


I am grateful for the kindness of the Tribunal and the goodness of M. de Bragadin.


I will make them water the floor,


That would be worse, Lawrence, for the damp might cause a plethora.


Get me a doctor.


But what the doctor says is worth considering, and I shall tell them all about it, for I look upon them as my children.


Never mind the danger, buy me the ointment, or rather get me the sulphur, as I have some butter by me, and I can make it up myself. Have you any matches? Give me a few.


When?


This evening. You heard when I asked for my bed he told me that we would talk about that to-morrow. That means plainly that I shall have no need of it. And do you think it likely that a man like me would be left without anything to eat?


That was my experience.


Possibly, but between ourselves our cases are somewhat different; and without going any farther into that question, the Inquisitors have made a mistake in arresting me, and they will be in some trouble, I am certain, as to how to atone for doing so.


They will possibly give you a pension. A man of your importance has to be conciliated.


True, there’s not a broker on the exchange more useful than myself, and the five sages have often profited by the advice I have given them. My detention is a curious incident, which, perchance, will be of service to you.


Indeed. How, may I ask?


I will get you out of here in a month’s time. I know to whom to speak and what way to do it.


I reckon on you, then.


You may do so.


It’s true, that he agreed to give me fifty per cent., but you must consider that if he died before his father I should lose all.


What do you want? waking me up with a start like this.


My dear fellow, I can’t sleep a wink. Have compassion on me and let us have a little talk.


You scoundrel! You act thus and you dare to call yourself my friend! I know your lack of sleep torments you, but if you again deprive me of the only blessing I enjoy I will arise and strangle you.


Forgive me, for mercy’s sake! and be sure that I will not trouble you again.


So, gentlemen, if you have any complaints to make of me make them. Dress yourselves fully, as is customary.


My presentiment, is of the same kind as I have had before, and I have never been deceived.


I congratulate you, but don’t reckon without your host.


Do you pray to God?


From the morning unto the evening, and from the evening unto the morning, for, placed as I am, all that I feel--my anxiety, my grief, all the wanderings of my mind--can be but a prayer in the eyes of the Divine Wisdom which alone sees my heart.


Since it is from us, that you learnt what you know of religion, practise it in our fashion, pray like us, and know that you will only come out of this place on the day of the saint whose name you bear.


But which is it? It cannot be St. James of Compostella, whose name I bear, for it was on the feast-day of that saint that Messer-Grande burst open my door.


Truly, sir, I pity you, for the air here is as hot as a furnace. Get up, and thank God for giving you such good company. Come in, my lord, come in,


Where am I? My God! where have I been put? What heat! What a stench! With whom am I?


Ah! it’s Casanova.


You are very fortunate in being able to pay your court to so sweet a lady. At present the personage I represent makes the fairest land in the world no better for me than a galley. Tell the lady, I beseech you, that the laws which now prevent me speaking to her will be without force at Venice, where I shall go next year, and then I shall declare war against her.


Tell him, that I accept his declaration of war, and that we shall see who will wage it best.


I can’t think, that they will leave me here for a week.


I give you joy, sir, for the good news I am bringing you.


Wait till I put on my clothes.


It’s of no consequence, as you only have to walk from this abominable cell to another, well lighted and quite fresh, with two windows whence you can see half Venice, and you can stand upright too.


Give me the vinegar,


and go and tell the secretary that I thank the Court for this favour, and entreat it to leave me where I am.


You make me laugh, sir. Have you gone mad? They would take you from hell to put you in heaven, and you would refuse to stir? Come, come, the Court must be obeyed, pray rise, sir. I will give you my arm, and will have your clothes and your books brought for you.


Dum vita superest, bene est


I did not know what he was talking about. Do your duty, but let no one touch me.


You won’t tell me, then, where are the instruments with which you made the hole. It’s of no matter, as we shall find a way to make you speak.


If it be true that I have made a hole at all, I shall say that you gave me the tools, and that I have returned them to you.


That way, will lead me out of this place of torments.


Have you received orders, to kill me with hunger and heat?


You have already told me, sir, that I myself furnished you with the tools to make that enormous hole, and I will ask no more about it; but would you kindly tell me where you got the materials to make a lamp? I myself furnished you with the tools to make that enormous hole, and I will ask no more about it; but would you kindly tell me where you got the materials to make a lamp?


From you.


Well, for the moment, sir, I’m dashed, for I did not think that wit meant impudence.


I am not telling you any lies. You it was who with your own hands gave me all the requisites--oil, flint, and matches; the rest I had by me.


You are right; but can you shew me as simply that I gave you the tools to make that hole?


Certainly, for you are the only person who has given me anything.


Lord have mercy upon me! what do I hear? Tell me, then, how I gave you a hatchet?


I will tell you the whole story and I will speak the truth, but only in the presence of the secretary.


I don’t wish to know any more, and I believe everything you say. I only ask you to say nothing about it, as I am a poor man with a family to provide for.


In another day. Casanova would have escaped, and Lawrence would have swung, for though he pretended great astonishment when he saw the hole, there can be no doubt that he and no other provided the tools.


Nicolas has told me, that M. de Bragadin has promised him a thousand sequins if he will aid you to make your escape but that Lawrence, who knows of it, hopes to get the money without risking his neck, his plan being to obtain your liberty by means of the influence of his wife with M. Diedo. None of the guards dare to speak of what happened for fear Lawrence might get himself out of the difficulty, and take his revenge by having them dismissed.


it is of no use to break one’s head against a stone wall.


Here your task will end and mine will begin, and I will undertake to set both you and Count Asquin at liberty. I know that, reverend father, but we are not going to escape by the doors. My plan is complete, and I will guarantee its success. All I ask of you is to carry out my directions, and to make no difficulties. Do you busy yourself to find out some way of getting my bar without the knowledge of the gaoler. In the meanwhile, make him get you about forty pictures of saints, large enough to cover all the walls of your cell. Lawrence will suspect nothing, and they will do to conceal the opening you are to make in the ceiling. To do this will be the work of some days, and of mornings Lawrence will not see what you have done the day before, as you will have covered it up with one of the pictures. If you ask me why I do not undertake the work myself, I can only say that the gaoler suspects me, and the objection will doubtless seem to you a weighty one.


Lawrence, had often talked about your cloak, and Count Asquin would arouse no suspicion by asking to see it in order to buy one of the same kind. All you have to do is to send it folded up. Lawrence would never dream of unfolding it.


Very good. I will send it him with the macaroni; but get me the largest dish you have, as I wish to do the thing on a grand scale.


though, we shall only make our position worse than it is now.


The final touch, will only take a quarter of an hour.


The Court, can do what seems good to it.


What do you want?


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


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


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


That done,


you will no longer meddle in the matter.


for,


if he had come into mine, he would not have found me there, and we should possibly have shared a cell in The Wells as a reward for our endeavours.


I reckon upon your friendship and your courage. Here are two letters I want you to deliver when you recover your liberty. My happiness depends on your loyality, but you must hide the letters, as they were found upon you we should both of us be undone. You must swear by the crucifix and these holy pictures not to betray me.


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


On this precision,


our liberty depends and if you observe it all will be well.


Be seated and take this soup, and afterwards I will tell you of your good fortune, for know that the Virgin of the Rosary appeared to me at day-break, and bids me pardon you. Thou shalt not die but live, and shalt come out of this place with me. The grief I experienced at your dreadful treason made me pass a sleepless night, as the letters might condemn me to spend here the remnant of my days. My only consolation, I confess, was the certainty that you would die here also before my eyes within three days. Full of this thought not worthy of a Christian (for God bids us forgive our enemies) my weariness made me sleep, and in my sleep I had a vision. I saw that Holy Virgin, Mother of God, whose likeness you behold--I saw her before me, and opening her lips she spoke thus:


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


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


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


You may have dreamt it all.


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


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


Lo! the angel cometh!


Prostrate thyself, for the angel departeth.


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


Shall we not be able to remain at Venice?


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


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


Dost love Judas who betrayed Jesus Christ?


No.


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


What sin have I done?


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


How shall I expiate this sin?


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


I will do whatsoever you tell me.


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


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


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


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


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


Has the angel a beard?


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


Your work is ended and mine begun,


I only ask to go forward, till I find death or freedom.


If you intend, to pierce the roof and to descend from thence, I see no prospect of success, unless you have wings; and I at all events have not the courage to accompany you. I will remain here, and pray to God on your behalf.