he wrote to tell me that he had been working all night. On the 16th, at ten o’clock in the morning, just as I was occupied in translating an ode of Horace, I heard a stamping of feet overhead, followed by three gentle raps—the signal agreed on—to show us that the first part of our plan had been carried to a successful termination. He worked on until the evening, and the next day he wrote to say that if my ceiling was only two boards thick, his labours would be finished on that day. He told me, moreover, that he would take great care to make the hole circular, as I had suggested, and that he would not cut through the floor. This precaution was absolutely essential, for the smallest crack in the floor would have led to instant detection. The excavation, he added, was in such a state that another quarter of an hour’s work would suffice to finish it.
“I had determined to leave my cell during the night, for with a companion I felt sure of being able to make a hole in the great roof of the ducal palace, in three or four hours; and once on the roof, I would take what opportunity offered to reach the ground. But I had not yet reached the roof, alas, for my bad fortune placed yet another difficulty in my way, that demanded all my skill and address. On this very day—it was Monday—while Balbi was striking his last strokes, I heard the opening of a door close to my cell. I felt all the blood in my body freeze, but I had enough presence of mind to give the two raps that warned Balbi to hurry back to his cell, and put everything in order. In less than a minute Laurent came in, and asked my pardon for thrusting a very disagreeable companion upon me. The new comer, whom he immediately introduced, was a little thin man, between forty and fifty years of age, very ugly, and very badly dressed. There could be no doubt about his being a scoundrel, the more especially as Laurent announced the fact to his face, without making any visible impression on him. ‘The tribunal,’ I said sulkily, in reply to my jailer’s communication, ‘will of course do what it pleases.’
“Overwhelmed with vexation at this miserable misadventure, I stared fixedly at my fellow prisoner, whose hang-dog physiognomy as I have said, betrayed him. I was thinking of saying something to him, when he began a conversation by thanking me for giving him a palliasse. With a view to gaining him over, I asked him if he would share my meals with me. He kissed my hand, and asked whether his acceptance of my generous invitation would deprive him of his right to the ten sous, which the tribunal had assigned him for his support. On my telling him that it would, he fell on his feet, and drawing an enormous chaplet from his pocket, he rolled his eyes about, until his glance fell in every corner of the room. I asked him what he was looking for. ‘Pardon, Signor,’ he replied: ‘I was in hopes of finding some image of the Virgin, for I am a Christian.’ It was with difficulty that I kept from laughing—not on account of his piety, for conscience and faith are sentiments which it is not given to any of us to control—but because of the oddity of his appearance and manner. I concluded that he mistook me for a Jew, so to undeceive him, I gave him an image of the Virgin, which he kissed with great fervour, and proceeded to inform me that his father, an alquazil, had neglected to have him taught to read. ‘I am,’ he added, ‘devoted to the holy rosary;’ and he went on to relate a number of miracles he had witnessed, while I listened with the patience of an angel. When he had done, I asked him if he had dined, and he told me that he was dying of hunger. I gave him everything I had, and he ate and drank more like a beast than a human being. At length he got quite drunk, and began to weep, and to babble all kinds of foolish things. I asked him what afflicted him, and received the following answer. ‘My sole passion has always been the glory of God, and of this holy republic; and an exact obedience to the laws. Ever watchful of the tricks of rogues, I have tried to discover their secrets, and to disclose them to the authorities. I have been well paid, it is true, but that was no more than I deserved, and I have always been unable to understand the prejudices of those people who pretend to see something shameful in the trade of a spy. A spy is a person who seeks the good of the state, and is a faithful subject of his government and prince. And I can truly say, that unlike others of my calling, I have never suffered private friendship to stand in the way of my performance of a public duty.’
“The wretch went on in this manner till I knew him for the foulest spy the imagination can conceive. His last achievement had been the discovery of a political plot, but he had had the weakness—incredible, in a man of his stamp—to give one of his friends engaged in the conspiracy a recommendation to prudence. The friend, and his companions, had thereupon fled, and our spy had been sent to prison in their stead. He ended by telling me that he had hopes of being soon released, his wife being a Legrenzi, and daughter of one of the secretaries of the Council of Ten.
“I shuddered to think with what a monster I was associated, but feeling that my situation was a delicate one, I at once chose my part. I pretended to sympathise with him, and was loud in praises of his patriotism, nor did I hesitate to assure him that so excellent a man must be set at liberty in a few days. He shortly after fell asleep, and I took the opportunity of writing to Father Balbi, to tell him everything, and to warn him to suspend his labours until he should hear from me again. On the next day, I asked Laurent to buy me a wooden crucifix, an image of the Holy Virgin, and a portrait of St. Francis, and at the same time to procure two bottles of holy water. Soradaci (my companion) took the opportunity to ask for the ten sous allowed for his maintenance, and Laurent tossed twenty sous to him with an air of great disdain. When the jailer had gone away, I opened the book, and found a letter from Balbi, depicting his fright in very moving terms. He thought that all was lost, so far as our plan of escape was concerned, but he none the less congratulated me and himself on our good fortune in having Soradaci brought to my cell, rather than to theirs, ‘for if Laurent had come to our cell,’ he continued, ‘I should have been missed, and everything would have been discovered.’
“Soradaci’s tale convinced me that he was no better than a spy upon me, so I made up my mind to meet him with his own weapons of stratagem and cunning. I wrote and confided to his care two letters, so worded, that if sent to their address, they would do me neither harm nor good, while they would be likely to do me good, if handed over to the secretary, and that I did not doubt would be the case.”
Soradaci, on receiving the letters, took the most solemn and the most terrible oaths that he would faithfully deliver them at their destinations when he recovered his liberty. In some few days he was called before the secretary of the tribunal, and afterwards taken back to prison. Cassanova wishing to assure himself of the correctness of his suspicions, asked him to return one of the letters, on the plea that it contained something he wished to alter.