ted to have
him taught to read. "I am," said he, "a devotee of the Holy Rosary," and
he told me a host of miracles, to which I listened with the patience of
an angel. When he had come to an end I asked him if he had had his
dinner, and he replied that he was dying of hunger. I gave him everything
I had, which he devoured rather than ate; drinking all my wine, and then
becoming maudlin he began to weep, and finally to talk without rhyme or
reason. I asked him how he got into trouble, and he told me the following
story:

"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