Under the Leads | Page 4

words exercise upon the

soul! I, who the evening before so bravely fortified myself with my
innocence and courage, by the word tribunal was turned to a stone, with
merely the faculty of passive obedience left to me.
My desk was open, and all my papers were on a table where I was
accustomed to write.
"Take them," said I, to the agent of the dreadful Tribunal, pointing to
the papers which covered the table. He filled a bag with them, and gave
it to one of the sbirri, and then told me that I must also give up the
bound manuscripts which I had in my possession. I shewed him where
they were, and this incident opened my eyes. I saw now, clearly enough,
that I had been betrayed by the wretch Manuzzi. The books were, "The
Key of Solomon the King," "The Zecorben," a "Picatrix," a book of
"Instructions on the Planetary Hours," and the necessary incantations
for conversing with demons of all sorts. Those who were aware that I
possessed these books took me for an expert magician, and I was not
sorry to have such a reputation.
Messer-Grande took also the books on the table by my bed, such as
Petrarch, Ariosto, Horace. "The Military' Philosopher" (a manuscript
which Mathilde had given me), "The Porter of Chartreux," and "The
Aretin," which Manuzzi had also denounced, for Messer-Grande asked
me for it by name. This spy, Manuzzi, had all the appearance of an
honest man--a very necessary qualification for his profession. His son
made his fortune in Poland by marrying a lady named Opeska, whom,
as they say, he killed, though I have never had any positive proof on the
matter, and am willing to stretch Christian charity to the extent of
believing he was innocent, although he was quite capable of such a
crime.
While Messer-Grande was thus rummaging among my manuscripts,
books and letters, I was dressing myself in an absent-minded manner,
neither hurrying myself nor the reverse. I made my toilette, shaved
myself, and combed my hair; putting on mechanically a laced shirt and
my holiday suit without saying a word, and without
Messer-Grande--who did not let me escape his sight for an
instant--complaining that I was dressing myself as if I were going to a

wedding.
As I went out I was surprised to see a band of forty men-at-arms in the
ante-room. They had done me the honour of thinking all these men
necessary for my arrest, though, according to the axiom 'Ne Hercules
quidem contra duos', two would have been enough. It is curious that in
London, where everyone is brave, only one man is needed to arrest
another, whereas in my dear native land, where cowardice prevails,
thirty are required. The reason is, perhaps, that the coward on the
offensive is more afraid than the coward on the defensive, and thus a
man usually cowardly is transformed for the moment into a man of
courage. It is certain that at Venice one often sees a man. defending
himself against twenty sbirri, and finally escaping after beating them
soundly. I remember once helping a friend of mine at Paris to escape
from the hands of forty bum-bailiffs, and we put the whole vile rout of
them to flight.
Messer-Grande made me get into a gondola, and sat down near me with
an escort of four men. When we came to our destination he offered me
coffee, which I refused; and he then shut me up in a room. I passed
these four hours in sleep, waking up every quarter of an hour to pass
water--an extraordinary occurrence, as I was not at all subject to
stranguary; the heat was great, and I had not supped the evening before.
I have noticed at other times that surprise at a deed of oppression acts
on me as a powerful narcotic, but I found out at the time I speak of that
great surprise is also a diuretic. I make this discovery over to the
doctors, it is possible that some learned man may make use of it to
solace the ills of humanity. I remember laughing very heartily at Prague
six years ago, on learning that some thin-skinned ladies, on reading my
flight from The Leads, which was published at that date, took great
offence at the above account, which they thought I should have done
well to leave out. I should have left it out, perhaps, in speaking to a
lady, but the public is not a pretty woman whom I am intent on cajoling,
my only aim is to be instructive. Indeed, I see no impropriety in the
circumstance I have narrated, which is as common to men and women
as eating and drinking; and if there is anything in it to shock