Luca Sarto: A Novel, a History of His Perilous Journey Into France (Classic Reprint)

May in the year fourteen hundred and seventy-one begins these adventures in France; not my first adventure, or my last; but of interest, for therein I bandied words with a king, and later tripped his royal legs when it served mie. I descended, too, into the dungeons at Loches, where his enemies were rotting and I was to have been of them had his purpose carried. And here am I safe in I taly, albeit even after these ten years the dungeons smell still festers in my nostrils. Few men besides myself have gone down the winding steps, have seen the cage where Cardinal Balue whines all day and night, have felt the damp of underground, and still have returned to the upper world to breathe the wind of it. I issued from these adventures with credit. And yet there was one rogue in France, a certain Tristan, the King sheadsman, a dirty fellow flecked with warts, who rolled me in the mire and soiled my lace, and he to my shame still lives.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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