e cause of his exile
was of an extraordinary and disgusting nature.

A Venetian nobleman, noble by birth, but very ignoble in his
propensities, called Sgombro, and belonging to the Gritti family, fell
deeply in love with him, and Croce, either for fun or from taste, shewed
himself very compliant. Unfortunately the reserve commanded by common
decency was not a guest at their amorous feats, and the scandal became so
notorious that the Government was compelled to notify to Croce the order
to quit the city, and to seek his fortune in some other place.

Some time afterwards the infamous Sgombro seduced his own two sons, who
were both very young, and, unfortunately for him, he put the youngest in
such a state as to render necessary an application to a surgeon. The
infamous deed became publicly known, and the poor child confessed that he
had not had the courage to refuse obedience to his father. Such obedience
was, as a matter of course, not considered as forming a part of the
duties which a son owes to his father, and the State Inquisitors sent the
disgusting wretch to the citadel of Cataro, where he died after one year
of confinement.

It is well known that the air of Cataro is deadly, and that the Tribunal
sentences to inhale it only such criminals as are not judged publicly for
fear of exciting too deeply the general horror by the publication of the
trial.

It was to Cataro that the Council of Ten sent, fifteen years ago, the
celebrated advocate Cantarini, a Venetian nobleman, who by his eloquence
had made himself master of the great Council, and was on the point of
changing the constitution of the State. He died there at the end of the
year. As for his accomplices, the Tribunal thought that it was enough to
punish the four or five leaders, and to pretend not to know the others,
who through fear of punishment returned silently to their allegiance.

That Sgombro, of whom I spoke before, had a charming wife who is still
alive, I believe. Her name was Cornelia Gitti; she was as celebrated by
her wit as by her beauty, which she kept in spite of her years. Having
recovered her liberty through the death of her husband, she knew better
than to make herself a second time the prisoner of the Hymenean god; she
loved her independence too much; but as she loved pleasure too, she
accepted the homage of the lovers who pleased her taste.

One Monday, towards the end of July, my servant woke me at day-break to
tell me that Laura wis