I fixed my escape for the eve of St. Augustine’s Day, because I knew that the Grand Council assembled on that feast, and there would consequently be nobody near the room through which I must pass in getting away.  This would have been on the twenty-seventh of the month, but a misfortune happened to me on the twenty-fifth which makes me still shudder when I think of it, notwithstanding the years which have passed since then.

Precisely at noon I heard the noise of bolts, and I thought I should die; for a violent beating of the heart made me imagine my last hour was come.  I fell into my easy chair, and waited.  Lawrence came into the garret and put his head at the grating, and said, “I give you joy, sir, for the good news I am bringing you.”  At first, not being able to think of any other news which could be good to me, I fancied I had been set at liberty, and I trembled, for I knew that the discovery of the hole I had made would have caused my pardon to be recalled.

Lawrence came in and told me to follow him.

“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.”——­ I could bear no more, I felt that I was fainting.  “Give me the vinegar,” said I, “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.”  Seeing that resistance was of no avail, I got up, and was much comforted at hearing him give orders for my arm-chair to be brought, for my pike was to follow me, and with it hope.  I should have much liked to have been able to take the hole—­the object of so much wasted trouble and hope—­with me.  I may say with truth that, as I came forth from that horrible and doleful place, my spirit remained there.

Leaning on Lawrence’s shoulder, while he, thinking to cheer me up, cracked his foolish jokes, I passed through two narrow passages, and going down three steps I found myself in a well-lighted hall, at the end of which, on the left-hand side, was a door leading into another passage two feet broad by about twelve long, and in the corner was my new cell.  It had a barred window which was opposite to two windows, also barred, which lighted the passage, and thus one had a fine view as far as Lido.  At that trying moment I did not care much for the view; but later on I found that a sweet and pleasant wind came through the window when it was opened, and tempered the insufferable heat; and this was a true blessing for the poor wretch who had to breathe the sultry prison air, especially in the hot season.