The appointed hour came, and everything being ready I got safely into the boat, landed at the Sclavonian quay, ordered the boatman to wait for me, and wrapped up in a mariner’s cloak I took my way straight to the gate of Saint-Sauveur, and engaged the waiter of a coffee-room to take me to Razetta’s house.

Being quite certain that he would not be at home at that time, I rang the bell, and I heard my sister’s voice telling me that if I wanted to see him I must call in the morning.  Satisfied with this, I went to the foot of the bridge and sat down, waiting there to see which way he would come, and a few minutes before midnight I saw him advancing from the square of Saint-Paul.  It was all I wanted to know; I went back to my boat and returned to the fort without any difficulty.  At five o’clock in the morning everyone in the garrison could see me enjoying my walk on the platform.

Taking all the time necessary to mature my plans, I made the following arrangements to secure my revenge with perfect safety, and to prove an alibi in case I should kill my rascally enemy, as it was my intention to do.  The day preceding the night fixed for my expedition, I walked about with the son of the Adjutant Zen, who was only twelve years old, but who amused me much by his shrewdness.  The reader will meet him again in the year 1771.  As I was walking with him, I jumped down from one of the bastions, and feigned to sprain my ankle.  Two soldiers carried me to my room, and the surgeon of the fort, thinking that I was suffering from a luxation, ordered me to keep to bed, and wrapped up the ankle in towels saturated with camphorated spirits of wine.  Everybody came to see me, and I requested the soldier who served me to remain and to sleep in my room.  I knew that a glass of brandy was enough to stupefy the man, and to make him sleep soundly.  As soon as I saw him fast asleep, I begged the surgeon and the chaplain, who had his room over mine, to leave me, and at half-past ten I lowered myself in the boat.

As soon as I reached Venice, I bought a stout cudgel, and I sat myself down on a door-step, at the corner of the street near Saint-Paul’s Square.  A narrow canal at the end of the street, was, I thought, the very place to throw my enemy in.  That canal has now disappeared.

At a quarter before twelve I see Razetta, walking along leisurely.  I come out of the street with rapid strides, keeping near the wall to compel him to make room for me, and I strike a first blow on the head, and a second on his arm; the third blow sends him tumbling in the canal, howling and screaming my name.  At the same instant a Forlan, or citizen of Forli, comes out of a house on my left side with a lantern in his hand.  A blow from my cudgel knocks the lantern out of his grasp, and the man, frightened out of his wits, takes to his heels.  I throw away my stick, I run at full speed through the square and over the bridge, and while people are hastening towards the spot where the disturbance had taken place, I jump into the boat, and, thanks to a strong breeze swelling our sail, I get back to the fortress.  Twelve o’clock was striking as I re-entered my room through the window.  I quickly undress myself, and the moment I am in my bed I wake up the soldier by my loud screams, telling him to go for the surgeon, as I am dying of the colic.