enormous beam which deprived me of light. The floor of my cell was
directly over the ceiling of the Inquisitors' hall, where they commonly
met only at night after the sitting of the Council of Ten of which the
whole three are members.

As I knew my ground and the habits of the Inquisitors perfectly well, the
only way to escape--the only way at least which I deemed likely to
succeed--was to make a hole in the floor of my cell; but to do this tools
must be obtained--a difficult task in a place where all communication
with the outside world was forbidden, where neither letters nor visits
were allowed. To bribe a guard a good deal of money would be necessary,
and I had none. And supposing that the gaoler and his two guards allowed
themselves to be strangled--for my hands were my only weapons--there was
always a third guard on duty at the door of the passage, which he locked
and would not open till his fellow who wished to pass through gave him
the password. In spite of all these difficulties my only thought was how
to escape, and as Boethius gave me no hints on this point I read him no
more, and as I was certain that the difficulty was only to be solved by
stress of thinking I centered all my thoughts on this one object.

It has always been my opinion that when a man sets himself determinedly
to do something, and thinks of nought but his design, he must succeed
despite all difficulties in his path: such an one may make himself Pope
or Grand Vizier, he may overturn an ancient line of kings--provided that
he knows how to seize on his opportunity, and be a man of wit and
pertinacity. To succeed one must count on being fortunate and despise all
ill success, but it is a most difficult operation.

Towards the middle of November, Lawrence told me that Messer-Grande had a
prisoner in his hands whom the new secretary, Businello, had ordered to